by John Blaine
He moved back quickly, intent on finding an upright down which he could go, and something ground into his hip. He shifted position and looked back.
Soapy Strade was closing in, and he was smiling. As Rick watched, the gang chief reached into his pocket and pulled something out. There was a click as a spring-blade knife snapped open.
The early light gleamed from a blade six inches long.
CHAPTER XVIII
Proof of the Pudding!
Even as Rick saw the knife snap open he realized that he was completely trapped.
There was no upright directly under the top of the coaster!
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To reach an upright he had to go back toward the gangster, or go forward into the broken frame. There was death either way.
He had to fight as best he could!
If only he had a weapon . . . any kind.That bump on his hip! He groped for it and realized that it was the original Tractosaur control unit. He had completely forgotten it. He pulled it out and hefted it. It wasn’t heavy enough to throw.
A wild thought struck him. If it worked!
Soapy Strade paused. He stuck the knife into a tie and pulled the pistol from his pocket. “What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Rick said hurriedly.“Nothing.” He snapped the toggle switch with a finger, his mind racing.
What were the command words?
“Switch,” he said.“Switch!”
As though from far away he heard the muffled sound of a motor roaring into life.“Go,” he said, and hope rose in him like a tide. At the same moment he realized he had used the wrong command. “To!” he called.“To!”
Strade was puzzled, and a little worried. “What’re you doing?” he demanded. “What is that thing?” He half lifted the pistol, pointing it at Rick. “I don’t want to shoot. Don’t make me!”
“Don’t kill me,” Rick pleaded, and he emphasized the word kill. That word would register on the machine’s electronic brain. The other words wouldn’t.
Rick had done all he could. He snapped off the switch and put the little unit back into his pocket. “I’m not doing anything,” he protested.
He backed up until he was at the very edge of the break,then felt for a loose board. The nearest tie was wobbly. He cast a quick look at Strade.
The gangster grinned. “Thanks, kid. I didn’t want to shoot.” The pistol disappeared and was replaced by the knife. Strade began to move forward, more rapidly now because he was at the top of the curve.
There was a faraway splintering sound. Rick’s hopes leaped high. The Tractosaur was coming! It was coming right through the closed door and it would come through the fence. He slipped the little unit from his pocket and added one word he had forgotten. “Jump,” he said.“Jump!”
Soapy growled. “Put that thing away! What is it?”
Rick thrust the unit into his pocket and wrenched with all his strength at the loose board. He nearly toppled off the coaster. He fought to regain his balance and tried again. The board came loose in his hands just as the Tractosaur plowed through the fence with a mighty crash, lights boring a pair of white beams through the pale dawn.
The gangster turned and his eyes widened at the sight. “What is it, kid?” His voice was shaky.
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Rick didn’t reply.
From below a voice yelled. “Soapy!Soapy!”
Lefty was below the roller coaster, looking up.
“Up here,” Soapy called.“Lefty! Find out what that machine is and stop it!”
The Tractosaur crashed through a concession stand as though it didn’t exist. It was headed directly for the spot underneath Rick.
Strade snarled, “I’m through fooling, kid. Start praying.” He closed the knife and drew the pistol from his pocket, and as he got it halfway out of the cloth, Rick jumped. He swung the board like a flail, directly at Strade’s hand. It connected solidly. The gangster screamed. The gun slipped out of his nerveless hand and fell to the ground.
Rick lifted the board for a blow at Strade’s head and the gangster grabbed his ankle, dumping him. He clawed frantically at the track and his hands found a grip. He lashed out with his free foot and caught the gang chief in the chest. Strade grunted and let go.
The board had fallen on the very edge of the track. Rick grabbed for it desperately as he pulled away, barely touched it, and saw it tilt and fall. His only weapon was gone.
Strade’s teeth were bared. He held his wounded hand up, reaching for his knife with the other.
The Tractosaur roared across the park blindly,then smashed into the fun house. The roller coaster rocked with the blow. The uncanny machine backed off, smashed again. It backed off once more, swung slightly left, and came on again. This time it missed the corner of the building and plowed head on into an upright. Rick reached frantically for a handhold as the coaster swayed.
Down theShore Road a siren wailed.
Rick had lost sight of Lefty. He emerged from behind the fun house, pistol in hand. He fired at the Tractosaur. He fired again. The Tractosaur circled. Rick didn’t realize it then, but when he had added the command jump, he had forgotten to snap off the toggle switch on the control unit. It was the most fortunate error he had ever made. With the unit off, the Tractosaur would simply have plowed ahead in a straight line, breaking or avoiding everything in its path. With the unit on but no commands forthcoming, the Tractosaur reached the spot directly under the controlling radio beam and began circling, confused by the lack of orders.
Lefty fired again as the Tractosaur spun. Its lights picked out the thug momentarily, and Lefty ran, apparently under the impression that the thing would come after him!
The rapidly turning Tractosaur, motor roaring, picked off another upright as though it had been a matchstick. The coaster tilted, farther, farther, then stopped at an angle of 60 degrees. Another upright gone would send the whole thing toppling!
Strade was definitely shaken. He stared at Rick fixedly, trying simultaneously to hold on and crawl ahead. He didn’t make very good progress.
“Throw your knife to the ground,” Rick said calmly.
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“No!” Strade sounded strangely peevish.
“Throw it,” Rick said, “or I’ll command the machine to take out another upright.”
He lifted the control unit to his lips.
The gang leader looked at the ground far below. “No,” he said again. “No!”
“One more upright and we’re both cooked,” Rick said. “Better both of us than just me.How about it?”
“Will you send it away?” Strade asked.
“Yes.” Rick had to be careful of his words for fear of giving the machine a command.
Strade took the knife and tossed it away.
Rick looked down and saw that the machine was still circling. He waited until it was pointed at the highway gate, then said, “Go.”
The Tractosaur took off in a straight line. Rick watched, saw that it would hit the fence a little to the right of the gate, and said, “Left.” When the Tractosaur had corrected enough, he added again, “Go.”
The way was open and the engine still was roaring at high speed. The Tractosaur covered the ground in a few seconds and battered into the gate. That portion of the fence dissolved into kindling. Rick waited until the machine was completely through the fence, then said, “To. Get.”
The Tractosaur whirled and came back through the opening, its blade plowing the rubble aside as it did so. Rick grinned with sheer delight. It worked! It really worked!
Something made him look at Strade. The gangster was almost on him, hands out and teethbared .
“You’re going to get it,” he grated.
This was it. At least they were about matched in size and weight. Rick spoke into his control unit.“Stop.”
The Tractosaur engine coughed and died. Rick threw the control unit with all his strength straight into Soapy’s face. The lightweight transmitter glanced off the gang chief’s forehead. He s
hook his head and kept coming, hands reaching.
There was no room for judo, or Rick could have grabbed Strade’s hands and fallen backward, flipping the gangster over him. He did the next best thing. Holding with one hand to the tilted track, he swung with the other, keeping his fingers stiff and striking with the side of his hand. He picked the gangster’s injured hand, the one he had hit with the board.
Strade saw the blow coming and pulled his hand back, but not quite in time. Rick’s judo blow caught him across bleeding knuckles. He groaned with pain, but he kept coming.
It was much lighter now. Rick could see his eyes as faint, mad shadows. He realized that Soapy Strade would keep coming, no matter what.
One or both of them would plummet to the ground before this was over.
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The siren reached a crescendo and the police car swung through the break in the fence, but Rick didn’t see it. He didn’t dare take his eyes from Strade.
Somehow, he had to keep the gangster from getting a grip on him. He realized that the man would take both of them to the ground and never regret it. Strade knew he was done, anyway. He had known it from the moment the siren sounded.
There was another sound, too. Rick had heard it for several seconds without realizing its meaning.
The motorboat! Lefty was saving his own skin.
Strade was only a foot beyond reach. He covered the distance with deliberation, and he was grinning.
Rick waited until he was within reach and launched another judo blow, his fingers grouped together in a pointed bunch, straight at Soapy Strade’s eyes.
The gangster jerked his head to one side and the fingers slid past. Rick recovered quickly, pulling his hand around so that the edge connected with the gangster’s ear. But there had been no chance to put any force into the blow. Strade ignored it and reached for Rick’s jacket.
Rick writhed to one side and brought his knee up, and the motion unbalanced him. He felt himself slipping and yelled. His hands scratched frantically, slipped past handholds, and finally caught on the downside track. His fingers tightened convulsively as his body went over and dangled in mid-air.
Strade was pleased. He sat back for a moment and looked into Rick’s helpless, agonized face.
“Now,” Strade said, “I have a choice. Do I kick you and get it over with in a hurry? Or do I pry your fingers loose one at a time?”
He appeared to think it over. Finally he made a decision. Balancing delicately on the tilted track, he got to his feet. He placed one foot between Rick’s hands, bracing his shoe against the track. Then, knees bent, crouching to keep his balance, he lifted the other foot and poised it over Rick’s head!
CHAPTER XIX
Strade Imitates a Bird
Rick closed his eyes. He was helpless. There was nothing he could do but take it. He let hisbody go limp, let his knees flex. He would fall relaxed. It was his only chance.
Just the same, he wasn’t giving up. He tightened his grip on the rail. He wouldn’t fall easily! He opened his eyes and saw Strade’s foot descending, saw the gangster’s cruel grin.
It was the grin that did it. Anger boiled up in Rick. He might drop, but he would take Soapy Strade with him!
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With a mighty pull he swung, shifting his entire weight to his left hand, freeing his right. His right reached high and grabbed the gangster’s descending foot. He pulled!
Strade screamed! The gangster jerked forward, flying through the air over Rick’s head.
The force of the pull almost broke Rick’s grip. His shoulder wrenched violently, and he felt something give. But he held on desperately, teeth gritted together.
Strade writhed in mid-air like a cat and landed with knees flexed. The force of the fall drove him forward on his face. He sprawled for a moment,then tried to get to his feet. With a groan he pitched forward again and tried to crawl.
Then, suddenly, Scotty and a trooper were standing over him. The police car had arrived unnoticed by the two on the roller coaster.
“Hang on, Rick!” Scotty called. “I’m coming!”
Rick’s left arm had been strained almost to the point where he had no strength left. He had managed to regain a grip with his right hand, but with his left growing numb he was actually hanging on with only his right hand.
“You’d better hurry!” he gasped.
Scotty surveyed the leaning structure, crossed under it so that he would not be climbing against the overhang, and went up an upright to the first crossbar. He sized up the situation and planned what he would do. Then, realizing that Rick couldn’t hang on long, he went right up to the track itself.
This was the bad part. Rick was hanging free between two uprights, but too far away to reach either.
Scotty did a handwalk along the track, his own body hanging free, until he was directly opposite Rick.
“How much strengthhave you?” he asked.
“Not much,” Rick said faintly. Both hands were aching and his left was practically useless. “Better hurry.”
“Can you keep your arms down if I get my feet under your armpits?”
Rick knew he could do that much. “Yes.”
The track was about five feet wide. Scotty gauged the distance. “I’m going to swing my legs over and wrap them around your chest. When I give the word, let go and clamp your arms down over my legs.”
Rick realized the strain that would come suddenly on Scotty’s hands as he let go and jolted down. “Can you do it?”
“Yes.”
Two troopers had been in the car with Scotty. One of them had started climbing after Scotty almost instantly. The other had put handcuffs on Soapy Strade and was examining him for broken bones. He was finding a few.
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The trooper who had climbed was holding to the upright, waiting. “I’m standing by,” he called.
“Okay,” Scotty said.“Here goes!”
He swung slightly to gain momentum,then made a big swing that brought his legs up around Rick’s waist.
He moved his legs until they were around Rick’s chest, but to do it he had to put the weight of his legs, one at a time, on Rick.
It was almost too much. Rick was within an ace of dropping when Scotty called, “Now!”
Rick let go and dropped. He brought his arms down sharply and locked them to his sides over Scotty’s legs, and he held his breath. The drop set him to swinging like a giant pendulum. Scotty groaned with the sheer effort of hanging on. Somehow he flexed his knees to stop the swing.In a moment both boys were motionless, only the grip of Scotty’s hands keeping them aloft.
Scotty began to move his hands, one at a time, an inch at a time, toward where the trooper waited.
The trooper wrapped his legs around the upright and leaned far out. “Keep coming,” he said. “Two feet more and I can get him.”
Two feet was like a mile to Scotty with Rick’s weight added to his own. He moved slowly, carefully, covering the distance.
The trooper called, “I’ve got my arms around him now.”
He had, too. Rick welcomed the firm grip. Scotty let go and the trooper pulled Rick against the upright.
Rick was out of danger for the moment, but he was still a long way from the ground. Scotty swung to the track over the trooper’s head and called down, “Any strength left, Rick?”
“Some. Not much. I can get down the upright if someone supports me. I’ve only got one arm. The other is numb.”
Scotty took his belt off, then tucked it into his pocket and examined the track carefully. Satisfied, he turned so that he was sitting with his back to the track’s edge. He hooked both feet under a tie and tried to swing backward. It didn’t work. He tried another plan. Lying on his stomach across the track, he slid forward a little at a time. As his stomach reached the edge of the track, he hooked his heels under the ties, legs spread wide. He inched forward a little,then swung down, hanging headfirst with hands free.
Rick was within reach. Scotty inched forwa
rd a little more and removed Rick’s belt. Then he took his own belt and buckled the two together.
“I’m going to lash you to the upright,” he said.
“Trooper, can you support him from below? He won’t be able to fall away from the post if he’s tied.”
The trooper replied, “I can do it. Hold him when you have the belt in place. I’ll get under him. Rick, put your knees on my shoulders. Support yourself all you can. I’ll do the rest.”
“Got it,” Rick said.
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Scotty looped the belt around his chest, under the arms, then brought it around the upright and tied it securely. It was too long to buckle. Then he took Rick’s wrists in his hands and called, “Got him. Go ahead down.”
The trooper let go of Rick and lowered himself, then moved around the upright to a spot directly under the boy. He climbed until Rick could rest his knees on the trooper’s shoulders.
“Now,” the trooper said.
Rick had his arms around the upright. He supported himself as best he could,slipping down as the trooper moved. They reached the first crosspiece easily.
Scotty came down the upright and took up a position on the crosspiece. The next stage was easier, since Scotty could hold to Rick’s upstretched hands part of the way.
At the crosspiece nearest the ground, Scotty did the same thing. Then the trooper’s feet touched and he lowered Rick to the solid earth.
Scotty came down and untied the belt and Rick took a deep breath, feet spread wide to keep his balance. He was a little wobbly.
He grinned at Scotty and the trooper. “Thanks, both of you. Any time you need jobs as circus acrobats, I’ll write you a letter of recommendation.”
Scotty grinned back.“All right?”
“All but my arm.There’s some life coming back into it, but it’s still numb.” He tried to move the arm and felt something grate painfully.
“Might be dislocated,” Scotty advised. “Take it easy.”
“I will.” Rick put his hand into his shirt front to support the arm. It felt better that way. Then he walked over to where Soapy Strade lay outstretched on his back, hands handcuffed on his chest.
