_Chapter III_
HOW IT BEGAN
Ding-ding-ding-ding--Ding-ding-ding-ding--went the bell of the railwaytelegraph--Ding-ding-ding-ding----
Tom Gardner looked up from his work and leaned his ax against the wallof the low tin-roofed shanty which represented both his home and thestation Swallowtown on the Oregon Railway. "Nine o'clock already," hemumbled, and refilling his pipe from a greasy paper-bag, he lighted itand puffed out clouds of bluish smoke into the clear air of the hot Maymorning. Then he looked at the position of the sun and verified the factthat his nickel watch had stopped again. The shaky little house hunglike a chance knot in an endless wire in the middle of the glitteringdouble row of rails that stretched from east to west across the floweryprairie. It looked like a ridiculous freak in the midst of the widedesert, for nowhere, so far as the eye could reach, was it possible todiscover a plausible excuse for the washed-out inscription "Swallowtown"on the old box-lid which was nailed up over the door. Only a broad bandof golden-yellow flowers crossing the tracks not far from the shanty anddisappearing in the distance in both directions showed where heavycart-wheels and horses' hoofs had torn up the ground.
By following this curious yellow track, which testified to the existenceof human intercourse even in the great lonely prairie, in a southerlydirection, one could notice about a mile from the station a slightrising of the ground covered with low shrubs and a tangled mass ofthistles and creepers: This was Swallowtown No. 1, the spot where onceupon a time a dozen people or more, thrown together by chance, hadfounded a homestead, but whose traces had been utterly obliteratedsince. The little waves of the great national migration to this virginsoil had after a few years washed everything away and had carried theinhabitants of the huts with them on their backs several miles farthersouth, where by another mere chance they had located on the banks of theriver. The only permanent sign of this ebb and flow was the tin-roofedshanty near the tracks of the Oregon Railway, and the proud name ofSwallowtown, fast disappearing under the ravages of storm and rain, onthe box-lid over Tom Gardner's door.
Tom Gardner regarded his morning's work complacently. With the aid ofhis ax he had transformed the tree-stump that had lain behind thestation for years into a hitching-post, which he was going to set up forthe farmers, so that they could tie their horses to it when they came tothe station. Tom had had enough of fastening the iron ring into theouter wall of his shanty, for it had been torn out four times by theshying of the wild horses harnessed to the vehicles sent fromSwallowtown to meet passengers. And the day before yesterday BobCratchit's horses had added insult to injury by running off with a boardout of the back wall. Tom was sick and tired of it; the day before hehad temporarily stopped up the hole with a tin advertisement, whichnotified the inhabitants of Swallowtown who wanted to take the trainthat Millner's pills were the best remedy for indigestion. Tom decidedto set up his post at midday.
He stopped work for the present in order to be ready for station-dutywhen the express from Pendleton passed through in half an hour. Fromforce of habit and half unconsciously, he glanced along the yellow roadrunning south, wondering whether in spite of its being Sunday theremight not be some traveler from Swallowtown coming to catch the localtrain which stopped at the station an hour later. He shaded his eyeswith his right hand and after a careful search did discover a cart withtwo persons in it approaching slowly over the waving expanse of theflower-bedecked prairie. Tom muttered something to himself and traipsedthrough the station house, being joined as usual by his dog, who hadbeen sleeping outside in the sun. Then he walked a little way along thetracks and finally turned back to his dwelling, the trampled-downflowers and grass before the entrance being the only signs that the footof man ever disturbed its solitary peace. The dog now seemed suddenly tobecome aware of the rapidly approaching cart and barked in thatdirection. Tom sent him into the house and shut the door behind him,whereupon the dog grew frantic. The cart approached almost noiselesslyover the flowery carpet, but soon the creaking and squeaking of theleather harness and the snorting of the horses became clearly audible.
"Halloo, Tom!" called out one of the men.
"Halloo, Winston!" was the answer; "where are you off to?"
"Going over to Pendleton."
"You're early; the express hasn't passed yet," answered Tom.
Winston jumped down from the cart, swung a sack over his shoulder, andstepped toward the shanty.
"Who's that with you?" asked Tom, pointing with his thumb over his rightshoulder.
"Nelly's brother-in-law, Bill Parker," said the other shortly.
Nelly's brother-in-law was in the act of turning the cart round to driveback to Swallowtown when Tom, making a megaphone of his hands, shoutedacross: "Won't the gentleman do me the honor of having a drink on me?"
"All right," rang out the answer, and Nelly's brother-in-law drove thehorses to the rear of the station.
"Yes, the ring's gone," said Tom. "Bob Cratchit's horses walked off withit yesterday. You can hunt for it out there somewhere if you want to."
Bill jumped down and fastened the horses with a rope which he tied toTom's old tree-stump.
"Come on, fellows!" said Tom, going toward the house. Scarcely had heopened the door when his dog rushed madly past him out into the open,barking with all his might at something about a hundred yards behind thestation.
"I guess he's found a gopher," said Tom, and then the three entered thehut, and Tom, taking a half-empty whisky bottle out of a cupboard,poured some into a cup without a handle, a shaving-cup, and an old tincup.
"The express ought to pass in about ten minutes," said Tom, and thenbegan the usual chat about the commonplaces of farm life, about thecrops, and the price of cattle, while hunting anecdotes followed. Nowand then Tom listened through the open door for sounds of the express,which was long overdue, till suddenly the back door was slammed shut bythe wind.
It was Bill Parker's turn to treat, and he then told of how he had soldhis foals at a good profit, and Bob launched out into all sorts of vaguehints as to a big deal that he expected to pull off at Pendleton thenext day. Bill kept an eye on his two horses, which he could just seethrough the window in the rear wall of the shanty.
"Don't let them run away from you," warned Tom; "horses as fresh asthose generally skip off when the express passes by."
"Nothing like that!" said Bill Parker, glancing again through the openwindow, "but they are unusually restless just the same."
... "He was willing to give twenty dollars, was he?" asked Tom, resumingthe former conversation.
But Bill gave no answer and continued to stare out of the window.
"Here's how, gentlemen!" cried Tom encouragingly, touching Bill's tincup with his shaving-cup.
"Excuse me a minute," answered the latter; "I want to look after my--"He had got up and was moving toward the door, but stopped halfway,staring fixedly at the open window with a glassy expression in his eyes.The other two regarded him with unfeigned astonishment, but when theyfollowed the direction of his glance, they also started with fright asthey looked through the window.
Yes, it was the same window as before, and beyond it stood the same teamof stamping, snorting horses before the same cart; but on the ledge ofthe window there rested two objects like black, bristling hedgehogs, andunder their prickly skins glistened two pairs of hostile eyes, andslowly and cautiously two gun-barrels were pushed over the ledge of thewindow into the room. At the same moment the door-knob moved, the doorwas pushed open, and in the blinding sunlight which suddenly poured intothe room appeared two more men in khaki clothes and also armed withguns. "Hands up, gentlemen!" cried one of them threateningly.
The three obeyed the order mechanically, Tom unconsciously holding uphis shaving-cup as well, so that the good whisky flowed down his arminto his coat. He looked utterly foolish. Bill was the first torecover, and inquired with apparent nonchalance: "What are you gentlemenafter?" In the meantime he had noticed that the two men at the door woresoldiers' caps with broa
d peaks, and he construed this as a new holduptrick.
The men outside were conversing in an unintelligible lingo, and theirleader, who was armed only with a Browning pistol, looked into the hutand asked: "Which of you gentlemen is the station-master?" Tom loweredhis shaving-cup and took a step forward, whereupon he was at once haltedby the sharp command: "Hands up!"
But this one step toward the door had enabled Tom to see that there wereat least a dozen of these brown fellows standing behind the wall of hisshanty. At the same time he saw his dog slinking about outside with histail between his legs and choking over something. He called the dog, andthe poor creature crept along the ground toward him, evidently makingvain attempts to bark.
"The damned gang," growled Tom to himself; "they have evidently giventhe poor beast something to eat which prevents his barking."
The man with the Browning pistol now turned to Tom and said: "Has theexpress passed yet?"
"No."
"No? I thought it was due at 9.30." The highwayman looked at his watch."Past ten already," he said to himself. "And when is the local trainfrom Umatilla expected?"
"It ought to be here at 10.30."
"The express goes through without stopping, doesn't it?" began the otheragain. "Good! Now you go out as if nothing had happened and let theexpress pass! The other two will remain here in the meantime and my menwill see that they don't stir. One move and you can arrange your funeralfor to-morrow."
The two bristly-headed chaps at the window remained motionless, andfollowed the proceedings with a broad grin. The two men from Swallowtownwere compelled to stand with uplifted hands against the wall oppositethe window, so that the gun-barrels on the window-sill were pointingstraight at them. Winston had had sufficient time to study the twohighwaymen at the window and it gradually dawned upon him what sort ofrobbers they were; in a low tone of voice he said to Tom: "They'reJaps."
The man with the Browning overheard the remark; he turned around quicklyand repeated in a determined voice: "If you move you'll die on thespot."
Then he allowed Tom to leave the station, and showed him how two of hismen opened the shutters of the windows that looked out on the tracks andcut two oblong holes in them down on the side, through which they stuckthe barrels of their guns. Then Bill's cart was pushed forward, so thatonly the horses were hidden by the station. One of the men held thehorses to prevent their running away when the train came, and two armedmen climbed into the cart and kneeled ready to shoot, concealingthemselves from the railroad side behind two large bags of corn.Thereupon the leader told Tom once more that he was to stand in front ofthe station as usual when the train approached. If he attempted to makeany sign which might cause the train to stop, or if he merely opened hismouth, not only he, but also the occupants of the train, would have topay for it with their lives.
Ding--ding--ding--ding went the railway telegraph,ding--ding--ding--ding. The man with the Browning consulted hisnote-book and asked Tom: "What signal is that? Where is the expressnow?"
Tom did not answer.
"Go out on the platform!" commanded the other. With a hasty glance alongthe tracks, Tom assured himself that the spot back there, where the twotracks, which glittered like silver in the sun, crossed, was stillempty. So there was still a little more time to think. Then he began tostroll slowly up and down. Fifteen steps forward, fifteen back, eighteenforward, twenty back. Suppose he ran to meet the train----
"Halloo! Where are you going?" shouted the leader to him. "Don't youdare go five steps beyond the station house!"
Fifteen steps forward, fifteen back. And suppose now that he did jumpacross and run along the tracks? What would it matter--he, one amongmillions, without wife or child? Yes, he would warn the engineer; and ifthey shot at him, perhaps the people on the train also had revolvers.The express must come soon--it must be nearly half past ten.Mechanically, he read the name Swallowtown on the old box-lid.
Not a sound from the interior of the station. Would they hit him or misshim when the train came? He examined the rickety old shutters. Yes,there was a white incision in the wood near the bottom, and above it thetin was bent back almost imperceptibly, while below it there was asmall, blackish-brown ring. On the other side there was another littlehole, and here the tin was bent back rather more, showing a secondsmall, blackish-brown ring. And suppose he did call out as the trainrushed by? He would call out!--A burst of flame from the twoblackish-brown rings--If he could only first explain everything to theengineer--then they could shoot all they wanted to.
Horrid to be wounded in the back! Long ago at school there had oftenbeen talk about wounds in the back and in the chest--the former weredisgraceful, because they were a sign of running away. But this was notrunning away--this was an effort to save others.
Were the rails vibrating? Four steps more, then a quiet turn, one lookinto the air, one far away over the prairie. He knew that the eyesbehind the dark-brown rings were following his every movement. Now alongthe tracks--is there anything coming way back there? No, not yet. Hewalked past the station, then along the tracks again, and looked to theleft across the prairie.
Now his glance rested on the cart. It stood perfectly still. Sureenough, there, between the sacks, was another one of those bristlyheads! Where on earth had the fellows come from, and what in the worlddid they want? Winston had said they were Japs.
Could this be war? Nonsense! How could the fellows have come so faracross country? A short time ago some one had said that a troop of Japshad been seen far away, down in Nevada, but that they had alldisappeared in the mountains. That was two months ago. Could these bethe same?
But it couldn't be a war. War begins at the borders of a country, notright in the middle. It is true that the Japanese immigrants were allsaid to be drilled soldiers. Had they brought arms along? Thesecertainly had!
Now the turn again. Ah! there was the train at last. Far away along thetracks a black square rose and quite slowly became wider and higher.Good God! if the next ten minutes were only over--if one could only wipesuch a span as this out of one's life! Only ten minutes older! If onecould only look back on those ten minutes from the other side! But no;one must go through the horror, second by second, taste every moment ofit. What would happen to the two inside? This didn't matter much afterall--they couldn't, in any case, overpower the others without weapons. Athousand yards more perhaps and then the train would be there! And thena thousand yards more, and he would either be nothing but an unconsciousmass of flesh and bones, or----
Now the rails were reverberating--from far away he heard the rumble ofthe approaching mass of iron and steel. And now, very low but distinct,the ringing of the bell could be distinguished--gang, gang, gang, gang,gang, gang-- He threw a hasty glance at the two blackish-brown rings;four steps further and he could again see the cart. The next time----
"Stand straight in front of the station and let the train pass!" soundedclose behind him. He obeyed mechanically.
"Nearer to the house--right against the wall!" He obeyed.
All his muscles tightened. If he could now take a leap forward andmanage to get hold of something--a railing or something--as the trainrushed by, then they could shoot as much as they liked. A rumbling androaring noise reached his ears, and he could hear the increasing thunderof the wheels on the rails, the noise of the bell--gang, gang,gang--growing more and more distinct. The engine, with its long row ofclattering cars behind, assumed gigantic dimensions before his wide-openeyes.
Not a sound came from the house; now the rails trembled; now he heardthe hissing of the steam and the rattle of the rods; he saw the littlecurls of steam playing above the dome of the boiler. Like a black wall,the express came nearer, rushing, rumbling, hammering along the tracks.Yes, he would jump now--now that the engine was almost in front of him!The rush of air almost took his breath away. Now!
The engineer popped his head out of the little cab-window. Now! Tom bentdouble, and, with one tremendous leap he was across the narrow platformin front of his shanty, and f
lew like a ball against the line of rushingcars, of railings and steps and wheels. He felt his hand touchingsomething--nothing but flat, smooth surfaces. At last! He had caughthold of something! With a tremendous swing, Tom's body was torn to theleft, and his back banged against something. Something in his bodyseemed to give way. As in a dream, he heard two shots ring out above thefearful noise of the roaring train.
Too late! Tom was clinging to a railing between two cars and beingdragged relentlessly along. He was almost unconscious, but could hearthe wheels squeaking under the pressure of the brakes as he was hurledto and fro. But his hand held fast as in a vise. The wheels scraped,squeaked, and groaned. The train began to slow down! He had won! Thetrain stood still.
Tom's body fell on the rail between two cars, almost lifeless; he hearda lot of steps all about him; people spoke to him and asked himquestions. But his jaws were shut as if paralyzed; he couldn't speak aword. He felt the neck of a bottle being pushed between his lips, andthe liquid running down his throat. It was something strong andinvigorating, and he drank greedily. And then he suddenly shouted outloud, so that all the people stepped back horrified: "The station hasbeen attacked by Japs."
Excited questions poured in from all sides. "Where from? What for?" Tomonly cried: "Save the two others; they're shut up in the station!" Morepeople collected round him. "Quick, quick!" he cried. "Run the trainback and try to save them!"
Tom was lifted into a car and stretched out on a soft end-seat. Some ofthe passengers stood round him with their revolvers: "Tell us where itis! Tell us where they are!" Slowly the train moved back, slowly thetelegraph poles slipped past the windows in the opposite direction.
Now they were there, and Tom heard wild cries on the platform. Then adoor was pulled open and some one asked: "Where are the robbers?" Tomwas lifted out, for his right shin-bone had been smashed and he couldn'tstand. A stretcher was improvised, and he was carried out. Dozens ofpeople were standing round the station. The wagon was gone, and so werethe horses. Where to? The wide, deserted prairie gave no answer. A greatmany footprints in the sand showed at least that Tom had spoken thetruth. He pointed out the holes made in the shutters by the bandits, andtold the whole story a dozen times, until at last he fainted away again.When he came to half an hour later it all seemed like a horribledream--like a scene from a robber's tale. He found himself in acomfortable Pullman car on the way to Umatilla, where he had to tell hisstory all over again, in order that the fairly hopeless pursuit of thehighwaymen might be begun from there.
Banzai! by Parabellum Page 5