Part 17

Scattered over a system of miniature track, the men were shovelling earth into strings of small dump-cars, which when filled were run out over the completed western end of the viaduct, and dumped. As Alex stood regarding the active scene, a string of cars rumbled toward him from one of the more distant sidings. Others had been pushed by several men. This was being driven by a single burly giant. With admiration Alex watched. Suddenly a sense of something familiar about the figure stirred within him. The man came opposite, and Alex uttered an involuntary ejaculation. It was Big Tony, the Italian who had led the trouble amongst the trackmen at Bixton two years back, and with whom he had had the thrilling encounter at the old brick-yard.

When the Italian glanced toward him, Alex started back. But the foreigner did not recognize the young operator, with his two years of rapid growth, and passed on. Breathing a sigh of relief, Alex turned and made his way to the foreman in charge of the gang.

"How do you do," he said, introducing himself. "Who is that big Italian pushing the string of cars alone?"

"Tony Martino. The best man in the gang," responded the foreman. "Why? Do you know him?"

"He was on a surfacing-gang near my father's station two years ago," said Alex, "and caused no end of trouble. He was discharged finally."

"He must have reformed, then," the foreman declared. "He's certainly the best man we have--more than willing, and strong as an ox."

"He had nothing to do with the trouble you have had here, then?"

"He helped me put it down," said the foreman. "No; I only wish we had a few more like him."

Alex passed on, thoughtful. At Bixton Big Tony had been no more remarkable for his willingness to work than for his peaceableness. Had he really changed for the better? Or was it possible he was "playing possum," to cover the carrying-out of some plan of revenge against the road?

Three evenings later, a beautiful, moonlit night, Alex left the camp for a stroll. To obtain a look up and down the old river-bed by the moonlight, he made his way out on the now nearly completed viaduct.

As he stood gazing down the ravine to the south, a half-mile distant a dark figure passed over a bright patch of sand. It was quickly lost in the dark background beyond. But not before Alex had recognized the unmistakable figure and walk of the Italian, Big Tony. His suspicions at once awakened, Alex was but a moment in deciding to follow the foreigner, and returning to the eastern bank, he scrambled down to the gully bottom, and hastily followed, keeping well in the shadows on the eastern side of the ravine.

Reaching the spot at which he had seen the Italian, he went on more cautiously. A quarter-mile farther the ravine swung abruptly to the west. As Alex arrived at the bend, subdued voices reached him. Continuing cautiously, and keeping to the deepest shadows, Alex reached a clump of willow bushes.

He glanced beyond, and in a patch of moonlight discovered Big Tony in conversation with an almost equally tall stranger, apparently a cowboy. The latter's back was toward him.

The stranger turned, and Alex drew back with a start, and then a smile.

It was the second man of the two who on the previous Sunday had attempted to wreck the track-machine--the one who had made his escape.

As the man turned more fully, and he caught his words, Alex's jubilant smile vanished.

"... enough to blow the whole thing to matchwood, if you place it right," he was saying.

There was no doubt what this meant. They were planning to blow up the viaduct.

"Oh, I fixa it alla right, alla right," declared Big Tony confidently. "No fear. I usa da dynamite all-aready. I blow up da beega da house once."

"A house and a big wooden bridge are quite different propositions. And a wooden bridge isn't to be blown up like a stone or iron affair, you know."

"Suppose you come, taka da look, see my plan all-aright, den," the Italian suggested. "No one on disa side da bridge, to see, disa time night."

The cowman hesitated. "Well, all right. It would be best to make sure.

"We don't want to carry this, though. Where'll we put it?"

As he spoke the man leaned over and picked up a good-sized parcel done up in brown paper. From the careful way he handled it there could be no doubt of its contents. It was the dynamite they proposed using.

"Here, I fin' da place."

Alex caught his breath at the display of carelessness with which the foreigner took the deadly package. Backing into a nearby clump of bushes, Big Tony stooped and placed the dynamite on the ground, well beneath the branches.

"Dere. No one see dat. Come!"

As the two conspirators strode toward him, Alex crept closer into the shadows of the willows. Passing almost within touch of him, they continued up the gully, and soon were out of sight.

Before the footsteps of the two men had died away Alex was sitting upright, debating a suggestion that caused him to smile. With decision he arose, approached the bush under which the dynamite was concealed, and reaching beneath with both hands, very carefully brought the package forth and placed it on the ground in the moonlight. With great caution he then undid the twine securing the parcel, and opened it. On discovering a second wrapping of paper within, he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. Lifting out the inner parcel intact, he glanced about, and choosing a group of bushes some distance away, carried the dynamite there and concealed it. Returning, he secured the piece of outer wrapping paper, and proceeded to carry out his idea.

Where the moonlight struck the western wall of the gully was a bed of cracked, sun-baked clay. Making his way thither, Alex found a fragment a little larger than the package of dynamite, and with his knife proceeded to trim it into a square. Carefully then he wrapped this in the brown paper, and wound it about with the cord just as the original parcel was secured. And with a smile Alex placed this under the bush from which he had taken the genuine package.

"Dynamite with that as much as you please, Mr. Tony," he laughed as he turned away.

When Alex had covered half the distance in returning to the viaduct he began keeping a sharp lookout ahead for the returning of the Italian and his companion. He was within a hundred yards of the great white structure when he discovered them. Turning aside, he concealed himself behind a small spruce.

With no apprehension of danger Alex waited, and the two men came opposite. Suddenly, without a motion of warning, the two turned and darted toward him, one on either side of the tree. Before Alex had recovered from his astonishment he found himself seized on either side, and threateningly ordered to be silent.

They dragged him on some distance, then into the moonlight. "Why, it's one of the fellows who captured Bucks on Sunday!" declared the cowboy. "What are you doing here, boy?" he demanded angrily.

"I was out for a moonlight stroll," Alex responded, stifling his apprehension.

"Why did you hide behind that tree, then?"

"Well--perhaps I was afraid," said Alex vaguely. "There are some rough people here among the foreign laborers."

As he spoke Alex noted with new alarm that the Italian was regarding him sharply. He turned his back more fully to the moonlight. Immediately he chided himself for his stupidity. The move emphasized the struggling sense of recognition in the Italian's mind, he smartly turned Alex's face full to the moon, and uttered a cry in Italian.

"Now I know! I know!" he cried exultingly. "I know heem before! And he a spy! A boy spy!"

Rapidly he gave the stranger a distorted account of the strike at Bixton, and Alex's part in his final discomfiture.

The cowman listened closely. "Is that so, boy?" he demanded.

"Partly. But it was not a strike. It was a simple piece of murderous revenge against one man, the section-foreman. And I helped spoil it."

"Good. That's all I want to know," said the cowboy with decision. "Not that I care one way or the other about the affair itself. It shows you are a dangerous man to leave around loose. I'll just take you along with me. Come on!"

"Come? Where?" said Alex, holding back in alarm.

"Never mind! Just come!" Securing a new hold on Alex's arms, the speaker and the Italian dragged him with them back down the gorge.

As they neared the spot at which the dynamite was supposed to be safely hidden, the stranger halted abruptly, studied Alex intently a moment, then sent Big Tony on ahead, after a whispered word in his ear.

Alex knew the foreigner had gone to learn whether the dynamite had been touched. In suspense he awaited the result. Would the Italian be deceived? Would he notice the new footprints about the bush?

Big Tony returned. "All-aright," he announced. Alex breathed a sigh of relief, and continued forward with his captors.

They proceeded some distance in silence, and presently Alex had sufficiently plucked up courage to again ask what they proposed doing with him.

"I'm going to take you where you will be out of mischief, that's all," replied the unknown cowman. As he spoke he halted, looked about, and resigning Alex to the guardianship of the Italian, disappeared in the shadow of an over-hang of the ravine. A moment later there was a clatter of hoofs, and he reappeared leading a horse.

"Make heem rida too?" questioned Big Tony.

"Hardly," responded the cowman, at the same time freeing and swinging a lariat from the saddle-horn. "He's going to trot along behind me like the blame little coyote he is.

"Hold out your hands, kid!" he ordered. Seeing resistance was useless, Alex reluctantly complied. Running the noose of the lassoo about the boy's wrists, the cowman tightened it, and secured it with several knots. Swinging into the saddle, he fixed the other end to the saddle-horn.

"You may go now, Tony," he said to the foreigner as he caught up the reins and headed the pony toward a path to the surface which Alex had not noticed.

"Gooda night, Meester Munson. And gooda-by, smart boy," said the Italian. "Lucky for you I havanta my way. 'Scrugk!' That's what you get," he declared, drawing his hand across his throat.

"Munson, eh?" murmured Alex as the lassoo tightened, and he stumbled up the path behind the pony. "That's another good thing learned."

Arrived at the surface, his captor halted to look about, then set off across the plains due south, at a walk, Alex trailing after at the end of the rope.

The situation was not without its humorous side, it occurred to Alex after his first apprehension had worn off. When a few minutes later the pony broke into a slow canter, and he was forced into an awkward dog-trot, a chuckle broke from him.

The man ahead turned in surprise. "Well, you're sure a game one," he observed. "Imagine it's funny, eh?"

"I was thinking how I would look to some of my friends, if they could see me here," explained Alex good-naturedly. "Trotting along like a little dog on a string."

The cowman pulled up and laughed. "Youngster, you're all right," he said heartily. "I'm sorry you're--that is--"

"On the wrong side?" suggested Alex, smiling.

"Very well. Let it go at that. Look here! If I take that thing off, will you promise to come along, and not play any tricks?"

"Yes, I will," agreed Alex readily. For he saw there was little chance of making his escape from the horseman on an open plain.

"Hold up your hands, then," directed the cowboy. Alex complied, and quickly he was free.

"How far are we going?" he asked as they moved on, Alex walking abreast.

"About twenty miles," replied the cowman.

XXI

TURNING THE TABLES

The moonlight had given place to darkness, and Alex was thoroughly exhausted from his long walk when the fence of a corral, then a group of small buildings, loomed up, and his captor announced that they were at their destination.

"Do you live here all alone?" Alex asked, seeing no lights.

"Since you fellows captured Bucks--yes," responded the cowboy, halting at the corral bars. Dismounting, he whipped saddle and bridle from the pony as it passed inside, and replacing the bars, led the way to the house.

It was a small, meagerly-furnished room that a match, then a lamp, disclosed. Against the rear wall was a small stove, in the center a rough table, at either end a low cot, and in one corner a cupboard. Two or three chairs, some pictures and calendars and two or three saddles completed the contents. The floor was of hard earth.

"That'll be your bunk there," said the owner, indicating one of the cots. "And you can turn in just as soon as you like."

Crossing the room, he stood at the foot of the bed, thinking. "What's the trouble? It looks comfortable enough," observed Alex, following.

"I have it," said the cowman, and going to the saddles, he returned with a coiled lariat. Alex laughed uncomfortably.

"Lie down," the man directed. "Or, hold on! Let's see first if you have any knives about you." Objection would have been fruitless, and Alex of his own accord surrendered his pocket-knife.

"Now lie down."

With what grace he could, Alex complied. Making a slip-loop in the center of the lariat, the cowman passed it over one of the boy's ankles, and made the holding-knot as firm as he could draw it. Then passing the two ends of the rope inside one of the lower legs of the cot, he ran them across the room and secured them to his own bed.

"That'll leave you comfortable, and put the knots out of temptation," he remarked. "Also, if you start any wriggling this old shake-down of mine will act as watch-dog. It squeaks if you look at it. And I'm a powerful light snoozer, and powerful quick with the gun when it's necessary," he added, with an emphasis which Alex could not doubt.

Nevertheless, when presently the cowman blew out the light, and retired, Alex only waited until a steady, deep snore announced that the man was asleep. Cautiously he sat up, and reached toward his encircled ankle.

The knots had been secured cleverly and tightly. Pry and pull as he could, they gave no more than if they had been made of wire.

Working lower, Alex sought to reach the cot leg, to see whether it was fixed to the floor. With some difficulty, because of the sitting position made necessary, he was straining toward it, when suddenly the bound foot lunged from him, the rope tightened, and from the cot opposite came a squeak. The snoring instantly ceased, and Alex sat motionless, holding his breath. The ominous silence continued, and finally he lay back with a movement as though turning in his sleep.

Minute after minute passed, and still the breathing of the man across the room did not resume.

Then suddenly, it seemed, Alex found himself sitting upright, and daylight flooding the room. He had fallen asleep.

The second cot was empty, but a moment after the door opened and the cowman appeared.

"How did you sleep, stranger?" he inquired. "I thought for a spell last night you were trying some funny business."

Alex laughed. "I slept like a log," he declared truthfully, ignoring the last remark. "Are you going to keep me tied up here all day?"

"Until after breakfast anyway," responded his host, proceeding to start a fire in the stove. "Suppose you'll have some bacon and coffee?"

"Thank you, yes. I'm more than hollow, after that Marathon run you gave me last night."

As the cowman turned to the cupboard Alex seized the opportunity to examine the leg of the cot about which the lassoo was passed. With disappointment he discovered it to be a stout post driven into the floor.

Despite the discomfort of his position Alex enjoyed the simple breakfast of biscuits and bacon. He was passing his cup for a third filling of the fragrant coffee, when his host abruptly sat the coffee-pot down and listened. "Someone coming," he remarked. Alex also heard the hoofbeats. They approached rapidly, there was a step at the door, and a tall, well-dressed figure in riding-breeches and leggings appeared. At sight of Alex he halted in surprise.

"Who's this, Munson?" he demanded.

The cowman led the way outside and closed the door, and low words told Alex that he was explaining the previous night's occurrences. More, they told him that this well-dressed man was the connecting link between the K. & Z. and the men who were seeking to interfere with the Middle Western in the race for the Yellow Creek Pass.

What would be the outcome of the man's visit for him? Alex asked himself. For the newcomer would not fail to appreciate the disadvantage of having been seen there by the young employee of the M. W.

The young operator was not left long in doubt. The door again opened, and the stranger re-entered, followed by the cowman, and without preliminary placed a chair before Alex and dropped into it.

"Look here, my boy," he began, "how would you like to earn some extra money--a good decent sum?"

At once seeing the man's intention, Alex bridled indignantly. But suppressing his feelings, he responded, "I'd like to as well as anyone else, I suppose--if I can earn it honorably."

At the last word a flush mounted to the stranger's cheeks, but he continued. "Well, that's all a matter of opinion, you know. Every man has his own particular code of honor. However--

"You probably have guessed who I am?"

"A K. & Z. man."

"Yes. Now look here: Suppose the K. & Z. was anxious to know from day to day the precise progress the Middle Western is making in this race for Yellow Creek, and suppose they were willing to pay a hundred dollars a month for the information--would that proposition interest you?"

Alex replied promptly, "No, sir. And anyway, it's not the information you want. It's my silence."

The man's face darkened. He had one more card to play, however.

"Well, let it go at that, then. And suppose, in addition to a hundred a month to keep silent as to seeing me here, and what you have learned generally, I should give you--" He thrust his hand into an inside pocket and brought forth a long pocketbook. "Suppose I should give you, say two hundred dollars, cash?"

Alex caught a knee between his hands and leaned back against the wall.

"I'm not for sale," he replied quietly.

The would-be briber thrust the book back into his pocket and sprang to his feet, purple with anger.

"Very well, my young saint," he sneered, "stay where you are, then--till we're good and ready to let you go!"

He strode to the door, Munson following him. "If he tries to get away," Alex heard him add as he mounted his horse, "shoot him! I'll protect you!"

"You _are_ a young fool, all right," Munson said, returning. "You've simply made it worse for yourself. You've sure now got to stay right here, indefinite.

"And, as he ordered," the cowman added determinedly, "if you try to make a break-away of it, I'll sure shoot--and shoot to kill! When I go into a thing, I put it through!"

Alex, however, had no intention of staying, whatever the risks, and when presently Munson, after assuring himself that the knots were secure, passed out, he immediately addressed himself to the task of making his escape. It did not look difficult at first sight, since both hands were free, and only one foot tied. But an energetic attempt to loosen the cleverly-tied slip-loop failed as completely as it had the night before. Likewise, strain as he could at the cot leg, he could not budge it, so firmly was it driven into the hard ground.

With something like despair Alex at last relinquished these endeavors, and turned to the problem of cutting the rope in some way. In the hope of finding a nail with which he might pick or fray the lariat apart, he made a thorough examination of the cot. There were nails, but they were driven in beyond hope of drawing with his fingers.

Dispiritedly Alex relinquished the search, and sat up. His eyes wandered to the window near him. Starting to his feet, he strained toward it.

The lower corner of one of the panes had been broken, and the triangle of glass leaned inward loosely. With a low expression of hope Alex was reaching for it, when from the rear of the cabin sounded the returning footsteps of the cowman. Speedily Alex sank back on the cot, and assumed an air of dejection.

A few minutes later the boy again found himself alone. But in the meantime he had decided to leave the securing of the fragment of glass and the attempt at escape until night. In further preparation for the attempt Alex that afternoon stretched himself on the cot, and slept several hours.

To the young operator it seemed that the cowman would never retire that night. And when at length he blew out the light, and threw himself upon his bed, he apparently lay an interminable time awake. At length, however, when the moonlight in the window pointed to approaching midnight, there came a faint regular breathing, then a full long snore. Without loss of time Alex got to his feet at the foot of the cot, and leaning against the wall, reached toward the window.

He could just touch the broken corner of pane with the tips of his fingers. Moving his supporting hand farther along the wall, he drew back, and reached forward with a lunge. This time he got his wrist on the window-ledge. Thus leaning, he finally secured a hold on the fragment of glass with his fingers, and pulled on it. A crackle caused him to falter. Munson's breathing continued undisturbed. At the next pull the piece came free. The next moment Alex was sitting on the cot-end, sawing at the rope with the sharp edge of the broken glass.

To his disappointment, the edge, though sharp to the feel, did not cut into the closely-woven and seasoned twine as he had expected. Vigorously he sawed away, however, and at last found that the extemporized knife was taking hold.

And finally, as the last gleam of moonlight died from the window-panes, the remaining strand was severed, and there was a faint slap as the rope fell to the floor. A restless move by the sleeper and a momentary cessation of the snoring gave Alex a thrill of fear. Then the heavy breathing resumed, and getting to his feet, he slipped to the door, found the catch, lifted it, and passed out.

As he closed the door, Alex paused a moment to assure himself that the cowman was still breathing regularly, and turned away jubilantly.

Exultation over his escape was considerably tempered when Alex discovered that the moon was almost down in the west, and that in addition the sky overhead was clouding. He set off immediately, however, heading straight north, and when a safe distance had been put between him and the cabin, broke into a run.