by Gordon Bates
CHAPTER XXI
THE FIGHT
Shut in on all sides by the fog, ankle deep in the mud, Corporal JimmyBlaise and Private Bixton were locked in a savage grip, from which oneof them fought desperately to free himself. Bixton had no will tofight--he wanted to run. Once clear of his hated antagonist, he coulddash off into the blackness, and defy pursuit. Only one man stoodbetween him and liberty. He had risked too much already to endure defeatand capture. He _must_ break away.
Jimmy was as fully determined in an opposite direction. Recklessdisregard for himself had caused him to act with his usual impetuosity.He had reached the door just in time to see Bixton about to swing offthe train. In the next instant he had followed his quarry. Luckily forhim, the force of Bixton's descent had sent him sprawling in the mud,for an instant stunned. Had the train been going at full speed, he mustundoubtedly have been killed. Jimmy, on the contrary, had landed on hisfeet like a cat. Turning instantly, he ran back to where Bixton was justpicking himself up.
With a hoarse shout of triumph, Jimmy leaped upon Bixton and slammed himback to earth. Simultaneously with the onslaught, Bixton's brain beganto act. His long, wiry arms flung about Jimmy, he put his full strengthinto use. Over and over in the mud they rolled, neither able to gain theadvantage.
It was a sickening struggle, calculated to wear out both combatants inshort order. The collapse of one meant the supremacy of the other.Evenly matched in sheer brute strength, it soon became a test of whichcould endure longest.
Forced by the growing knowledge that he was beginning to weaken, Jimmycame into a last fierce rush of strength that tore him free of thatdevastating hold. Before Bixton could rise, Jimmy was upon him like awhirlwind, striking ferociously in the dark. His first blow landed fullon the deserter's chest, eliciting from him a deep groan. It wasfollowed by a rain of blows planted with all the strength that Jimmy hadleft in him. Nor did his arm cease to descend until it began to dawnupon him that he was having things all his own way. He had won; knockedout Bixton. Perhaps he had killed the man. He hoped not. If he had----Jimmy slid off his foe's motionless body, and groped in his trousers'pocket for his flashlight. It had no doubt been wrecked, he thought. Hefound it, fumbled it over in the dark. A white light sprang into being.Turning it directly on Bixton, Jimmy proceeded to make investigation.
He finally raised up with a relieved sigh. Bixton was breathing. Nowcame the question of what to do next. Bixton would have to be put pastthe power of doing further fighting that night. Perhaps he was, already.Jimmy intended to take no chances as to that. Bixton must be tied. Butwith what? Hastily rising, Jimmy went through his pockets, producing twohandkerchiefs. Studying for a moment, he bent down and turned Bixtonover. With one handkerchief he bound the man's hands tightly behind hisback, with a secureness that was warranted to hold. This finally done,he again paused to consider.
His money belt next went to decorate Bixton. Of soft, pliable leather,he managed with some difficulty to tie it about Bixton's neck, allowingsufficient laxity for breathing, but that was all. Tearing the otherhandkerchief diagonally across, he knotted it together, twisted it intoa rope, and knotted one end of it around the belt. Now he had a halterby which he purposed to lead Bixton, provided he was able to walk. Itwould not be a pleasant business, but it was the only way. All he couldnow do was to await the awakening of his captive.
That awakening took place about ten minutes after Jimmy had concludedhis preparations. It began with moans, was succeeded by indistinctmutterings, and ended in a volley of curses, as Bixton endeavored to situp, only to find that something peculiar had happened to his arms.Promptly getting behind him, Jimmy helped him to his feet, notforgetting to obtain a good grip on the improvised halter.
"Now listen to me, you deserter," he began sternly, still behind hisman. "I've got you where I want you. You can't get away from me. If youtry to you'll only succeed in shutting off your own wind. So don't startanything. I've put your arms out of business, too. You've still got apair of legs, though, and you're going to use 'em. We're going to startnow for somewhere. You'll be ahead and I'll be about two feet behindyou, treading on your heels. We'll follow the railroad track until weget to some place where I can hand you over as a deserter. But before westart you're going to tell me a few things."
Bixton's only reply was a series of violent jerks that soon ceased.Half-strangled by his efforts, and still groggy from his recentpunishment, he soon ceased struggling, and stood still.
"Thank you." Jimmy's voice quivered with irony. "Now I guess we're readyfor our talk. First, where did you get that list of poisons, and thatbottle of powdered glass that you put in Schnitzel's suitcase? I knowyou stole our letters, and put 'em with the other stuff."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie. You do know. Answer me with the truth." Jimmy jerked thehalter.
"Stop that! Do you want to kill me?"
"You won't die. Don't worry about that. Now tell me quick, or I'llrepeat my little halter stunt." Realizing that he had a coward, as wellas a villain to deal with, Jimmy pretended a cold-bloodedness which hedid not feel. He had no desire to do Bixton personal injury. He wasmerely set on wringing a confession from him.
"I don't know anything about a poison list," quavered Bixton. "I poundedup the glass myself, and put it in that Fritzie's suitcase for a joke. Itook your letters to get even with you. I kept 'em till I got a chanceto stick 'em onto Schnitz when they'd raise a fuss."
"It's a pretty streaked joke that will put a man in prison on a murdercharge. Anyway, you've admitted it. You'll do it again as soon as we getto where you can make a full confession and sign it. After that you cananswer to a charge for deserting from the Service. Now, Forward March,and remember I'm right with you. The track's straight ahead."
It is difficult for one man, wholly unimpeded, to travel sure-footedlyin the darkness. A journey such as Jimmy made that night, in companywith Bixton, he regarded ever afterward as the supreme feat of hismilitary career. The night wore on, and the fog lifted, but still thatstrangely assorted pair tramped the ties, stepping off twice to lettrains go by them, which Jimmy vainly hailed. Toward five o'clock themyriad lights of a large town began to gleam ahead of them. Travelingwith such painful slowness, Jimmy had no idea of how far they hadwalked. Neither did he care. All he wanted was to reach some place wherehe could rid himself of his detested captive.
It was half-past five when they entered the railroad yards of the town.Dawn just beginning to show in the east, their first encounter was witha railroad policeman who stood transfixed in the middle of a yawn atsight of them.
"Hello, there!" hailed Jimmy. "I need you. This fellow is a deserter. Hewas on the way to Camp Abbott and jumped the train. I jumped after himand nailed him."
"It's a lie," shrieked Bixton. "He's the deserter. It's the other wayround. He deserted and I jumped off after him. We had a fight and henailed me. I----"
"I'm Corporal Blaise from Camp Sterling." Jimmy pointed to the insigniaon his sleeve. "I was sent to help conduct a detachment of men to CampAbbott. What I want to do is to turn this man over to you, so that I cantelegraph my K. O. After that he has a confession to make that I wanttaken down before proper authorities and signed."
"You're a pretty smart Sammy." The policeman viewed Jimmy withadmiration. "Now you just let me handle this. I'll run this yellow dogin while you go and get cleaned up and do your telegraphing. You'dbetter take time to eat a bite, too. Afterward you take a hike up toStation House No. 10. It's about three blocks from here. You can findit. That's where this un's going on the jump. Some harness you put onhim! Guess you give him a mud bath and took one yourself. You're a good'un, blessed if you ain't."
"Oh, I'm not so much." Jimmy grinned, his face flushing under itsliberal coating of mud. "Well, I'm going to beat it. So long."
Heading on a run for the nearby railroad station, Jimmy felt in a pocketand fished up the little wad of notes he had extracted from his moneybelt before decorating Bixton with it.
Entering the station telegraphoffice, he sent his message.
"Guess that'll give 'em a surprise at headquarters," he reflected as heleft the telegraph office. "It's been some night and it's going to besome day. A fine, peaceful, quiet Sunday at that. I'll have to stayhere, I guess, until I'm told what to do next. But, oh, boy! Wait till Iget back to Sterling!"