CHAPTER XXIII.
LOCOMOTIVE VERSUS AEROPLANE.
DACRES had overestimated the advantage caused by the escort beingbarefooted. The men, unslinging their rifles, scaled the sun-driedbank with considerable agility and prepared to pour a volley into thefugitive locomotive. One thing only deterred them: they feared thepresence of the dangerous contents of the trucks.
Still gathering speed the engine dashed across the bridge, greeted byan irregular and futile volley from the Valderian soldiers. Everyshot either flew high above the cab or went wide.
The oscillation of the engine now began to be greatly in evidence.The speed soon mounted up to fifty miles an hour, practically arecord for the La Paz railway. Dacres, still holding his revolver inreadiness, was glad to lean back against a pile of coal and grasp arail with his left hand; while his companion, standing behind thetrembling fireman, kept looking anxiously through the square windowin front of the cab.
The line, badly laid and maintained, caused the engine to swerve andjolt till at almost every instant it seemed as if it would leave themetals. Without a load the pace was exceedingly dangerous, till atDacres' suggestion Henri gave orders for speed to be materiallyreduced.
Mile after mile sped by. Although the driver assured his captors thatno other train was on the line between them and La Paz, Dacres hadhis doubts. He knew that the telegraph would soon be working, andutterly regardless of the lives of the engineer and driver, therailway authorities at La Paz would not hesitate to send a number ofempty trucks down the long, gradual incline, or possibly tear up andportion off the track and derail the captured engine.
"Stop her!" ordered Dacres, an inspiration flashing across his mind,and his companion communicated the order to the driver, who seemedonly too glad to obey.
With a heavy grinding of brakes the engine was brought to astandstill. The two Valderians, wondering what was going to happen,cowered in front of their resolute kidnappers.
During the run Dacres' sharp eyes had caught sight of amagazine-rifle of an American pattern stowed away inside the cab.Evidently the lot of an engineer on the republic of Valderiagovernment railways was not a happy one, since he had to be providedwith a rifle to defend the train from robbers and "express agents."
Seizing the weapon Dacres jerked back the bolt. A loaded cartridgefalling out and another appearing ready to be thrust into the breech,told him that the magazine was charged.
"Keep an eye on both men for half a minute," he cautioned, thenresting the barrel of the rifle on a ledge of the cab he tookdeliberate aim at one of the two insulators of the nearest telegraphpost.
Simultaneously with the sharp crack of the rifle the insulator flewinto pieces, while the copper wire dropped to the ground, cutcompletely through.
With a hideous yell of fright the engineer, imagining that hiscomrade had been deliberately shot from behind, leapt from the cab.
"Don't fire," shouted Dacres, as Henri was about to blaze away withhis revolver. "Mark time on the fireman."
So saying Dacres jumped from the engine and started in pursuit of thefugitive. Ere the latter had covered fifty yards the Englishmanoverhauled him. The moment the Valderian felt himself gripped by theshoulder he stopped short, whipped out a formidable-looking knifewhich he had hitherto kept concealed, and made a savage lunge at hispursuer.
Dacres felt the keen blade pass between the right arm and his ribs.Adroitly springing backwards he raised his revolver and fired--not atthe half-frantic engineer but at the glittering blade.
The knife was wrenched from the Valderian's grasp. He fell on hisknees, begging for mercy. "Get up, you silly idiot," roared Dacres."We are not going to hurt you. Get back to the engine."
Although the fellow knew not a word of English, the gestures thatDacres used were sufficiently emphatic to be understood. Like a lambhe allowed himself to be taken back towards the post he had butrecently deserted.
Henri was alone on the engine. The fireman, profiting by thediversion caused by Dacres' revolver shot, had made a bolt forliberty. Forbearing to fire on the fugitive, the Frenchman watchedthe fellow running for dear life through the long grass of the plainthat stretched on either hand as far as the eye could see.
"Can't be helped," said Dacres cheerfully. "We'll have to do our ownstoking--putting the coals on the furnace, you know. Tell thatengineer he's in no danger so long as he sticks to his post and obeysorders. After all, it doesn't very much matter. In fact, it's a goodjob, since we've only one man to keep in order. Now for the remainingtelegraph wire. Tell the fellow to turn round and see what I am goingto do, in case he gets another jumpy fit."
With the second shot the wire was severed. Telegraph communicationbetween Naocuanha and La Paz was, for the time being, totallyinterrupted.
"Hope we're not too late," muttered Dacres.
"They may have wired through already. If they have there's tenprecious minutes thrown away. Tell the fellow to start her up again,Henri."
As the engine gathered speed Dacres glanced back. The single trackwas visible for nearly four miles. There were no signs of pursuitfrom that direction.
Ejecting the cartridge from the magazine of the rifle, the Englishmanfound that there were still eleven rounds. Having made thisreassuring discovery he reloaded, set the weapon carefully in acorner, and devoted his attention to keeping a sharp look-out.
The engine had now gained the foot of the forty-five mile incline upto La Paz. Along this section the danger of being derailed by aloaded truck was not only possible but probable, provided theauthorities at La Paz had already been warned. So long as the railran in a fairly straight direction there would be ample time to slowdown and jump off before the impact occurred; but the fugitives knewthat before long the railway would make several sharp and awkwardturns.
Soon it became evident that more coal was required. Ordering theengineer to step back and face aft, Dacres plied the shovel whileHenri still kept the prisoner covered.
As the vile Lota coal was shovelled into the furnace, clouds of blacksmoke poured from the squat inverted triangle-shaped funnel, andeddying downwards momentarily obscured the out-look.
The amateur fireman was in the act of throwing on another shovelfulwhen Henri shouted into his ear and with his disengaged arm pointedobliquely in the direction of Naocuanha.
A rift in the pungent cloud of smoke revealed a very unpleasantsight. Overhauling the fugitives, hand over fist, were two largebiplanes.
The engineer saw them also, and a wave of ashy grey passed over hissallow olive features.
"Madre!" he gasped. "They will blow us all up."
He realized that the danger was greatest from his compatriots.Without the least compunction the Valderian airmen would sacrificethe luckless engineer if by so doing they would involve the fugitivesin the destruction of the engine.
"Tell that fellow to get back upon the foot-plate," ordered Dacres,at the same time picking up the rifle. "Keep a bright look out ahead,Henri. We'll stop their little game."
The young Frenchman was now entirely carried away by the excitementof the wild ride. What little fear he had at the commencement of theadventure had completely left him. Although he lacked the cool,calculating manner of his Anglo-Saxon companion, and manifested allthe vivacity of the Gaul, he was not deficient in courage.
There could be no doubt as to the intentions of the two aeroplanes.Flying low--less than three hundred feet from the ground--theyfollowed the line of rails. In front and slightly the pilot in eachwas a light automatic gun. The airman-gunner, however, was busy notwith this weapon but with a number of cylindrical objects that Dacresrecognized as bombs. The idea of the airman was to overtake thefugitive engine and drop a charge of high explosive on or immediatelyin front of it. This manoeuvre must be frustrated at all costs.
Setting the sliding bar of the back-sight to a hundred yards, theEnglishman waited. He realized that he was at a disadvantage owing tothe jarring and swinging of the engine, but the targets were fairlylarge ones and moving at les
s than ten miles an hour more than theobject of their pursuit.
Soon the whirr of the aerial propeller of the leading biplane wasaudible above the rush of the wind and the rattle of the locomotive.The bomb-thrower poised one of his missiles.
"Idiot!" muttered Dacres. "He'd make a better show of it with thatautomatic gun--well, here goes."
Gently pressing the trigger, the Englishman let fly. The bulletpassed close enough to the pilot to make him duck, but withoutcutting any of the wire stays and struts it zipped through the upperplane and whistled away into space.
"Lower, Basil, my boy," quoth Dacres reprovingly.
The pilot, realizing the danger to which he was exposed, tilted theelevating planes.
As the biplane darted upwards the Englishman's rifle spoke again. Thebrilliant sunshine seemed out-classed by the vivid flash thatfollowed. Fragments of the aeroplane flew in all directions, fallingwith widely varying velocities to the ground, while only a trailingcloud of smoke marked the position of the unfortunate Valderianbiplane a second before it was blown out of existence.
Struck by the furious eddy that followed the detonation the secondaeroplane rocked violently. The gunner grasped one of the struts asif expecting the frail craft to plunge headlong to the ground. Itlurched through the still falling debris of its disintegratedconsort, then, gradually recovering its equilibrium it followedgrimly in the wake of the fleeing locomotive.
"There's pluck for you," said Dacres under his breath. "I should havethought it was enough to knock the stuffing out of those fellows. Ah!they're going to tickle us up with that gun."
Three shots from Dacres' rifle in quick succession had no apparenteffect. The biplane, soaring upwards, was momentarily presenting asmaller target against the dazzling light of the afternoon sky.
"_Phit, phit, phit!_" The automatic gun began spitting out bullets.Most of the shot went wide. One perforated the funnel, anotherricochetted from the huge bell that takes the place of a steamwhistle on American locomotives; the rest kicked up the dust.
Crack went the Englishmen's rifle: this time a bad miss.
"_Phit, phit, phit!_" The Valderian bullets were finding billets now.One, penetrating the boiler plate, let loose a fierce blast ofhissing steam; another, piercing the roof of the cab, struck apressure gauge, sending fragments of glass in all directions. Thespeed of the locomotive began to decrease appreciably.
This was more than the driver could stand. He threw himself flat uponthe foot-plate, holding his hands to his ears as if to shut out thedin of the unique engagement.
"Take cover!" shouted Dacres to his comrade. "Don't worry about theengine: she's stopping, worse luck."
The comparatively rapid diminution of speed on the part of thelocomotive resulted in the aeroplane overshooting the limit at whichit could use the automatic gun. The respite from the missiles waswelcome until Dacres noticed the observer making ready to drop abomb.
Three cartridges only remained in the Englishman's rifle; after thathe would have to trust to his revolver. Beyond a range of fifty yardsthat weapon was practically useless for deliberate aiming.
Once again Dacres raised his repeater. He lingered over the sightstill the biplane was almost overhead, then pressed the trigger.
"Missed, by Jove!" he ejaculated disgustedly. "Try it with yourrevolver, Henri."
Before Dacres could reload the Frenchman emptied four of the chambersof his revolver. The Valderian aeroplane, swinging like a woundedbird, began to fall towards the earth. The left aileron, bendingupwards, threw the tottering fabric more and more on one side. Thepilot, still grasping the wheel, was wedged against the padded rim ofthe chassis. His companion, hurled from his seat, fell to the groundwith a dull thud thirty seconds before the biplane crashed upon thetrack.
Then with a detonation that shook earth and sky the six dynamitebombs exploded, blowing the wrecked aircraft to atoms and leaving ahole six feet in depth where the railway lines had been.
Almost at that identical moment the locomotive came to a standstill ahundred yards from the scene of the disaster. Fortunate it was thatDacres and his companion were sheltered from the blast of theexplosives by the riddled hood of the cab, for stones and fragmentsof metal flew all around them.
Well-nigh deafened and with their senses dulled by the awfulness ofthe termination of the encounter the two men rose to their feet. Theengineer was still lying face downwards upon the foot-plate.
"Now what's to be done?" asked Dacres, more of himself than with theidea of asking Henri's opinion. "Here we are stranded fifty milesfrom the 'Meteor' and with that rotten town of La Paz between us andour friends."
"We must walk," said the Frenchman. "See, there is our guide: thepeaks of the Sierras. But this poltroon?" and he pointed to themotionless Valderian.
"Let him stop," replied Dacres. "He'll buck up when he finds he'salone. It will be all the better for us if he doesn't see in whichdirection we go."
Removing the breech-action from the rifle, Dacres began to makepreparations for the long tramp. A bottle half-full of wine, a coupleof small cakes made of Indian corn, and a piece of sun-dried meatcomprised their stock of provisions after a careful search of thelockers of the cab had been made.
Presently Henri astonished his companion by shouting "_Prenezgarde!_" and pointing through the forward window, which was partlyobscured by the steam that was still escaping from the boiler.
Whipping out his revolver in anticipation of another attack, Dacreslooked in the direction indicated.
Travelling swiftly down the long incline was a number of trucks. Inanother two or three minutes they would be crashing into thestationary engine.