Adventure Magazine, December 10, 1924 — page 140: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

118 blankety-blank was using that instrument. But still it continued to tap out the one word. The agent bit down on his pipe- stem and swore to himself. Then the sounder awoke anew. ‘““H-e-l-p h-o-l-d-u-p p-r-i-v-a-t-e c-a-r h-e-l-p.” 7 The agent snapped to his feet. He had seen the private car at the rear of that freight, and he knew well who James Worth- ington Steele was. There was a holdup. Some one was robbing the private car! He opened his key and called Mesquite » City. Had the freight reached there? It had not. The agent asked him if he had heard the call for help. “Been out to eat,” replied the Mesquite operator. “Heard J. W. Steele sending be- fore I left. The freight is stuck about two miles from San Rego.” The agent whirled from his desk and ran outside. Around the corner he went and almost fell over Slim, who grunted and got to his feet. The agent was a quick thinker. “Slim, where’s your horse?” “Right there.” Slim pointed at a long- legged sorrel, tied to a ring in the rear plat- form. ‘‘What’s the matter?” “Did you see that private car on that freight that——”’ : “Yeah, I seen it.”” Slim was sarcastic. “Down the track about two miles!” panted the agent. “It’s being held up. just got a wire.” “Oh, yeah.” Slim squinted at the agent. It might be @ joke, but the man seemed in earnest. “Slim, that’s Steele, the biggest railroad man in this country; owns this railroad and more too. Can’t yuh go and help ’em?”’ But Slim was halfway to the sorrel, run- ning as fast as he could go. The agent ran back, opened his key and sent an assurance that help was coming. “What are you kidding about?” de- manded the operator at Mesquite City. Swiftly the San Rego agent told him about the holdup. Mesquite City was the county seat. “Shall I notify the sheriff?” asked Mes- quite City. The San Rego operator started in to tel him what to do, when the door opened be- hind him and Sadie came in. He glanced at her and turned back to his key. “Dad, where is Slim going?” asked Sadie. Adventure Dad broke off sending. “He’s following that freight.” | Then Dad turned and hammered out instructions. ‘Where is that freight?’’ Sadie was out- wardly calm, but her face had gone white. Slim was following out her instructions. “Two miles down the road,” said Dad, and continued to hammer at his key. Sadie fairly ran out of the office and around to where her roan horse was tied. She had seen Slim going away in a cloud of dust, which had not yet settled. In a few moments she was adding to the dust cloud, following Slim. Seam) “SOUP” Lannigan was not a gentle- man—not by at least a generation or two. He was a yegg, pure but not at all simple. Just now he slid back the door of a freight car, wiped a little coal dust off his face and looked around. Soup was not at all handsome. He was about five feet seven inches tall, with broad shoulders, almost no neck, and a pair of long muscular arms. His forehead retreated while his jaw protruded. If a scientist were to discover Soup’s skull—it would date back at least twenty thousand years. , It was hot in that box car, but it was also hot outside. Soup was thirsty. He squinted back past the caboose, looking around like an animal. Then he rubbed his eyes. Even at two cars distant his eyes beheld a white- clad arm appear and toss a couple of bottles into the sage. Soup wrinkled his forehead in deep thought. He knew that there were no din- ing-cars on freight trains. He also knew that this caboose did not carry a white-clad porter. Soup swung warily down, edged away from the car and squinted at the shiny private car. Then he ducked back. There was nothing to cause Soup to duck back, except, like an animal, he was always expecting something to happen. Then he crawled under the train. Ten cars distant he could see the crew working over a hot- box. He scuttled back. Just back of the private car was a sharp curve, and Soup was wise enough in railroad matters to know that the rear brakeman would be beyond that turn, flagging the rear. Soup licked his lips, gripped the stubby automatic in his sagging coat pocket, and went softly back to the platform of the Lake Louise. He felt sure that there would be COMmicbook A) © =