Jack Wright and His Electric Stage - Noname (most life changing books .txt) 📗

CHAPTER XIII.
THE STRANDED COUNTRYMAN.

"We can't run any further!"

"Gee whiz, lad, then ther bandits'll escape!"

"I can't help that, Tim; there's something the matter."

The Terror had scarcely emerged from the canyon, when the lights suddenly went out, the machinery ceased to work, and the electric stage came to an abrupt pause.

All the bandits had been seen bunched far ahead, going down the slope at a breakneck pace.

When the light went out they vanished.

That was the last our friends saw of them that night, and every one began to bombard Jack with questions.

"What's the matter?"

"Can't you go ahead?"

"Do you want them to escape?"

"What are you stopping for?"

These and similar questions assailed the inventor.

He almost lost patience with them, as he cried:

The machinery for some reason has broken down.

"Vat vos pusted–dot trifin' rod!" asked Fritz.

"I don't know yet, but I'll find out."

"Here," said Timberlake, "take one of the stage coach lanterns."

Jack alighted with Fritz, and they made a critical examination of the machinery situated on the outside of the Terror.

But they failed to find the cause of the mishap there.

Then they went inside to look.

Nor was anything broken here.

Jack was intensely puzzled.

"What does this mean anyway?" he muttered. "I can't find a solitary thing the matter with her."

"Dot peat me!" replied Fritz, scratching his head.

"With electrical machinery, which is one of the simplest things in the world, one ought to see at a glance any derangement," said Jack, "But I can't understand where the trouble is now."

"Let's look ofer it agin," suggested the Dutchman.

It was done.

The second examination was as fruitless as the first, and they were left as much in the dark as they had been before. Half an hour was thus lost.

Some of the stage passengers in the meantime went back into the canyon with a spade and the other lamp.

They found Sandy Ellis' body.

He was dead.

They buried him.

When they returned Jack said:

"I wonder if the dynamo spring can be broken?"

"See," suggested Fritz.

Jack opened the box.

One glance was enough.

"Well, if we haven't been fools!" he exclaimed.

"Vos iss now?" asked the Dutchman.

"The spring has only run down and needs winding."

Every one burst out laughing now that the threatened gravity of the situation resolved itself into a comedy of error.

Jack wound up the spring.

Everyone got aboard and the lights blazed up under Jack's management, the machinery began to work, and the Terror ran ahead again without any trouble.

The delay had given the bandits a chance to escape.

Upon reaching the nearest settlement Jack left the people there whom he had rescued, and the Terror continued on her way.

On the following morning the rain ceased.

Breakfast was partaken of and then Jack said:

"Although we have created some mischief in the James Boys ranks, we have not yet done anything to bring the two ringleaders to justice. Nor have I gained a cent of the money stolen from the Wrightstown Bank."

"I have warned you what a slippery cuss Jesse is." said Timberlake, "Now you have seen some samples of it."

"He certainly is a pretty shrewd fellow."

"But whar is we ter look fer him!" asked Tim.

"He has no regular haunt," replied the sheriff.

"Den ve only by plind luck must go?"

"I'm afraid so, Fritz," assented Timberlake. "However, since he has started upon his raids again, he won't stop now until he makes a big haul. Then he is liable to divide with the gang, disband for a while, and seek safety in flight to some other section of the country until his funds are exhausted."

"Like most criminals, though," said Jack, "I see that he has the same hankering after the place where most of his villainy is practiced."

"All outlaws have a series of habits exactly like, as far as my experience has taught me," said the sheriff.

"When I wuz in ther navy," began Tim, "I once—"

Biff! came Fritz's fingers down on the back of his neck.

What he was going to say was choked off.

Then Fritz rushed him into the next room.

There he jammed the sailor and banged the door shut.

"Dot seddles him!" he chuckled.

As the door was locked they were spared the affliction of hearing another of Tim's awful yarns for the time being.

The Terror scoured the surrounding country for a week after that, but nothing was seen of the bandits.

It was then decided to run to Independence and try to get some information from the authorities there by means of which they could locate the gang.

According to this programme, the sheriff gave Tim the direction, and the old sailor steered the stage on her way.

It was then very late in the afternoon.

They followed a country road, and passing several wayfarers, the appearance of the Terror caused them the most intense astonishment.

A few miles along the road they caught sight of an old fellow in a wagon loaded with grain.

He looked like a farmer.

There was no horse hitched to the vehicle.

But the shafts were broken and to the stumps there yet clung the remains of a broken harness.

The old fellow was the picture of despair.

He sat on top of his load, a whip in his hand and a big, red bandana handkerchief in the other with which he was vigorously mopping his forehead.

Fritz was steering the Terror.

Observing the forlorn countryman he burst out laughing.

"Shiminey Christmas!" said he, "dot fellow vas look like as if he vas got left behint mit his horse!"

"What are you talking about?" Jack asked from inside.

"Dot wagon in der roat."

"Where?"

"Ahet."

Jack emerged.

He saw the wagon.

And he also noticed an old log house.

He stood embowered among some trees, rocks, and bushes some distance ahead on the left hand side of the road.

In a moment more the Terror reached the wagon, and halting beside it, the countryman glaring at it with a look of the most intense astonishment upon his face.

"For the lands sakes alive!" he gasped, "what's that thing?"

"A stage that runs by electric power," Jack replied.

"And what's the trouble with you, sir?"

"I've been having an awful time with Eliza."

"Eliza? Who is she?"

"My mule."

"Oh! It looks as if she had been cutting up tricks."

"You'd ought to have seen her; consarn her old hide–and you'd have pitied me. She's the blamedest stubborn critter I ever seen. Once she gets her back up and quits, there's no use trying to go no farther. Look at the way she left me."

"Pretty sad sight."

"I should say so. She took a sudden notion to stop right here, I coaxed and cajoled her, but she wouldn't budge. Then my dander riz, I spit on my hands and hit her a whang on the tail, and she raised up her heels and kicked out like a battering ram."

"How unfortunate for you."

"It made my blood bile. I then thumped blazes out of her. The more I soaked her the wuss she kicked, until finally she kicked herself out of the harness and ran sway."

"And left you here with your load?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you got far to go?"

"Only to yonder old log hut."

"That isn't far."

"No, not when you say it quick."

"I'll tow you over there with this machine."

"Will you? Oh, thank you! I was just going to ask you to do it!"

"Is that all?"

"Can you help me roll the wagon inside to protect the grain in case it rains before I can find Eliza again?"

"Certainly we will," laughed Jack.

They hitched a rope to the wagon, and the Terror hauled it over to the door of the old building.

As the Terror could not get the wagon through the door, Jack and his companions alighted; each one manned a wheel, and the farmer seized the shafts.

Ahead they rolled it toward the open door.

But scarcely had they got it started when a dozen men, with masks on their faces and pistols in their hands, rushed out of the building and surrounded the four friends.

"The James Boys!" gasped Jack, in startled tones.