Читать книгу Frank Reade and His Steam Horse - Luis Senarens - Страница 10

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Like a bolt from the skies the wonderful Steam Horse rushed forward.

The little mixed band of pursuers, yelling and swinging their hatchets and rifles, did not discover the near approach of the rescuing steed until it was too late for them to think of escaping the monster by flight.

In the body of the wagon stood Barney Shea, and in his hands the brave Irishman held a loaded rifle.

The pursuers had reached within two hundred yards of the helpless captain before they discovered the Steam Man, so excited were they by the thought of taking their prey a prisoner.

Then they pulled up short, and tried to wheel their horses so as to escape the impending danger.

The man kept level with the horse, even at this terrible speed.

Charley Gorse held the reins of his high-stepping man, and on the seat beside him, perched up like a frog, sat the darkey.

The latter held two long range revolvers of the Colt’s Navy order in his hands, and looked eager to use them.

As the pursuers wheeled their steeds, the sharp tones of the revolving rifle rang out.

Four of the seven men fell from their horses.

Three of them were killed instantly, and never stirred or quivered after falling to the ground.

The fourth one, a big muscular white man, was only wounded, and no sooner was he down than he was up again, pistol held in his hand.

His right hand flew up as the two steam wonders dashed towards him.

The muzzle of his weapon was in a line with Frank Reade’s heart.

But quicker than the villain was Barney Shea.

His rifle was still held to his shoulder, and its chambers still contained many death warrants.

The muzzle of his breech-loader moved very swiftly, his finger pressed the trigger, and ere the villain on the ground could fire, Barney Shea had sent a bullet into his heart.

Both Frank and Charley knew that horses were too heavy for them to ride down without running the risk of injuring their machines, so they steered slightly to the right, and as they passed the remainder of the pursuers, the darkey and Barney let drive at them.

Pomp’s revolver brought down two out of the three, and Barney’s rifle finished the affair.

“Pull up slowly,” cried Frank, “and turn back to that poor chap.”

As they slowly wheeled and retraced their route back to the helpless man on the ground, the riderless steeds of the fallen men rushed madly over the plains.

Together they went to the vicinity of the man and horse, steam was shut off, and while Pomp was removing the wirework from the trucks, Frank, Charley, and the Irishman went to the captain.

The poor fellow was pinned to the ground under the heavy body of the horse, and was in great pain, and unable to move his imprisoned limb.

As soon as the three rescuers looked at the captain they sprang forward with cries of recognition and surprise.

“It’s Harry Hale!” cried Frank.

“The secret service detective,” gasped his Cousin Charley. “Why, he’s fainted.”

“And no wonder,” said Barney, “for it’s the divil’s own throp, so it is.”

“Roll that horse over,” commanded Frank Reade, who, being clear-headed and quick to conceive ideas, was looked upon as a sort of leader. “Take that off hind leg, Barney.”

Barney did so; Frank seized the other leg, and Charley Gorse grabbed the animal’s head.

The poor steed was as dead as could be, and he had no trouble in rolling him over.

Frank instantly bent over the captain to examine the leg.

He expected to find the limb broken by the weight, but was overjoyed to find that it was only bruised, and with a little care would soon be as well as ever.

“Whisky, Barney,” he called; “of course you have some.”

“Arrah now, me gossoon,” said blarneying Barney, as he handed forth a heavy pocket-flask, “and it’s yerself as knows what kind of a mon I am. Sure, I’d not be a thrue Irishman if I didn’t love whisky and fiddlin’. Av coorse I never get drunk, ye know, but thin I loike a wee shmall drink, so I do.”

While the Irishman was gabbing, Frank was pouring whisky down Harry Hale’s throat.

Charley Gorse rubbed the poor fellow’s hands, and opened his shirt to give him full chance to breathe.

In a few moments he came back to life and sensibility.

When he opened his eyes he looked with surprise at the faces around him.

He seemed to think that he was dreaming, and placed his hands to his head in a wondering manner.

“Frank Reade,” he slowly said, looking curiously at our hero.

“Right,” said Frank. “Here I am, just in time to save you from losing your beautiful curly hair. Give us your hand, old boy.”

“And Charley Gorse,” cried Hale. “Oh! now I begin to understand it. You have just arrived in time to rescue me. I remember that those devils were spurring down upon me when I was caught under the horse, then everything grew dark around me, and I suppose I must have fainted.”

“Exactly,” said Frank. “Don’t you remember this gentleman?”

With a little effort Harry Hale got upon his feet, and looked steadily at the Irishman.

Barney was quite a bit stouter, and therefore Hale did not know him at once.

“Know me!” cried Barney, standing up to the detective with outstretched hands, “av coorse he knows me, for wasn’t we companions in arrums and twin divils for fightin’?”

“I’ll be darned if it isn’t that blundering Irishman, Barney Shea, the cuss that was always spoiling for any kind of a row. Of course I know him. Jerusalem! how my leg hurts.”

“It’s lucky it wasn’t broke,” said the driver of the Steam Horse. “But just see how I travel now.”

And then Harry Hale saw the young genius’ latest invention, and eyed it with wonder.

He walked painfully towards it, for his leg felt stiff and sore, but his curiosity and admiration would not allow him to rest until he had fully examined the wonderful contrivance from end to end.

“That’s really the greatest invention of the age,” he said. “And if he can do as well as the Steam Man, you can have good times on these prairies.”

“He can do better than the man,” said Frank. “We have just had a race, and I should have won it if it had not been for a band on foot that we had to wipe out.”

“I don’t know about that,” put in his Cousin Charley. “I didn’t think that I was going to be beaten. I’m ready for another trial at any time.”

“I’ll accommodate you,” said Frank.

“Have you seen anything of my boys?” asked Harry Hale.

“Your boys?”

“Yes, my men who are under my lead. We are out here on a big job. I have two brother detectives with me, and the rest are wild bordermen, all terrible boys for a fight, and as fine riders as any on the plains.”

“And what’s the big job?” asked Charley.

“I’ll tell you,” said Hale, seating himself on Frank’s wagon. “The country for some time past has been flooded with a large amount of counterfeit money, gold, silver, and the green legal tender. We have looked for the rascals near home, but after a long search we found they were in the West, and I was picked out as the most experienced man to track them down.”

“And have you?”

“I think I have,” said Hale. “I have got one of my men in their stronghold, and he sent me word to-day, by a boy, that the wagons were coming back with a lot of money in them.”

“Wagons?” said Frank.

Harry Hale explained the counterfeiters’ mode of operating through a regular express line.

“But we must not stand here wasting time in talk,” he said. “My brave boys are being killed, perhaps, while I stand jabbering, for they were riding away from three times their own number. Are you willing to help me?”

“Willing?” said Frank, springing up to his seat. “Just give me a show for adventure, that’s all.”

“Or me,” said Gorse, jumping up to his seat.

“Hooroo!” cried Shea, swinging his old hat. “There’s bound to be a row.”

“Where away?” cried Frank.

“Sou’west,” said Hale.

The reins were pulled, the whistles gave forth a merry yell apiece, and then the Steam Horse and the Steam Man darted swiftly away.