“A shovel, quick!” he said.
The G.M., who knew Slade well and had experience with his handling of what appeared a hopeless situation, obeyed the order without question. Trailing the shovel after him, Slade wormed his way into the opening and began scooping out the earth in the shallow hollow under the beam.
The pinned man was moaning softly, but was still conscious.
“Take it easy,” Slade told him. “Don’t try to breathe too hard. Relax your muscles and don’t try to fight that thing. We’ll get you out.”
The calm, steady voice had the desired effect. The fellow calmed, the wild look left his eyes and was replaced by one of confidence.
“Guess if you say it’s so, it is,” he panted. Slade scooped frantically at the earth under the beam.
“That ought to do it,” he muttered, pushing the shovel aside. He crawled into the deepened hollow, braced himself on hands and knees and raised his back until it came in contact with the sinking beam.
At first the weight was nothing, but slowly and steadily it increased, until the strain on his arms and legs was terrific. He could feel the wood grinding into his flesh and he began to breathe heavily. An iron band seemed to be tightening and tightening around his chest. His eyes bulged, his temples throbbed. The terrible pressure was almost more than he could bear, but—
The beam had stopped sinking!
A face appeared in the opening, the face of General Manager Dunn.
“How you doing?” he asked hoarsely.
“Okay so far,” Slade panted. “Don’t know how long I can hold out.”
“The hook’s almost in position,” Dunn said. “A little more and we’ll be ripping that stuff off. Once we get the trucks that are on top of the wood off the weight will ease. Just a few minutes more.”
Outside a voice suddenly bawled, “Mr. Dunn! Mr. Dunn! that blankety-blanked stuff’s on fire!”
Bellowing profanity, Jaggers Dunn went shuffling back out of the hole. Another moment and his voice was roaring orders.
Now smoke was filtering through the chinks in the wreckage. Slade gasped and coughed. Bands of light were flickering past his eyes, then coils of blackness. Already the heat was intense, and above he could hear the crackling of the flames eating into the oil soaked wood. The pinned man began gibbering with fright.
“Easy!” Slade panted. “Save your strength. They’ll make it.”
The poor devil quieted. Slade wondered if they would make it. His muscles, bulging on arms and shoulders, were turning to water. A little more and he would collapse, which would very likely mean the finish for both of them. The ringing spike mauls were like the measured tolling of a passing bell.
Suddenly they ceased. He heard the boom of the locomotive’s exhaust, the grinding of steel on steel. The exhaust ceased. There was a creaking and jangling. Voices hummed and murmured overhead. The creaking grew louder, culminated in a ripping crash. Again, and yet again. Slade braced himself and summoned his last reserve of strength for a final effort.
Abruptly the crushing weight on his back lessened. He heard the crash of tossed-aside iron and timber, as the crane’s beam swung around and dropped its load, and swung back for more. The jangling of chains, a scratching and scraping as of a horde of giant rats. The chatter of the engine and the intolerable pressure on his back almost ceased. One more rending crash. One more back swing of the crane arm. Another creak and crash and the relief was so great he almost fainted.
“We’ve got the beam!” Jaggers Dunn roared. “Easy, now, easy. Hold it! Crawl out, Slade, we’ve got it!”
Slowly, carefully, fearful that there still might be some mistake, El Halcón eased down. Above him the beam hung motionless. He wormed his way to the near unconscious worker, gripped his shoulders and hauled him free. Another moment and he was shuffling backward through choking smoke and blistering heat, dragging the rescued man after him.
Light blazing against his eyes! A gulping draught of sweet, fresh air. Then hands gripping him, hauling him and his burden away from the burning wreckage. Old Jim Dunn peering with anxious eyes.
“You all right?” he choked.
“Fine as frog hair,” Slade replied, smiling wanly. “Was touch and go, though. If you fellows hadn’t rattled your hocks out there I’m afraid we would have both been goners. Give me a hand, will you?”
Dunn’s huge paw lifted him erect and supported him until he was steady on his feet. Others were ministering to the rescued workman who was sore and cut and bruised but apparently had suffered no serious injury. He held up a hand to Slade.
“Much obliged, feller, I won’t forget it,” he croaked. Slade patted him on the shoulder.
A hose line had been hooked up to the locomotive and the fire was being quenched.
“Was afraid to risk it until we got you out, for fear we’d scald you,” Dunn observed to Slade. “Don’t know how the devil it caught. Must have been a spark from the explosion smoldering in there somewhere. Wind fanned it and that grease-smeared mess flared up like a grass fire. Began to look like you’d be cooked as well as squashed. Okay, come on over to the car. I’ve a notion some hot coffee and a bite to eat ought to set well with you about now.”
“First my horse,” Slade said. “Then it’ll go fine.”
Dunn let out a bellow and a man came running, who was properly introduced to Shadow, after which the big black allowed himself to be led to a leanto where other critters were accommodated. First Slade secured his rifle and saddle pouches. Then he and the G.M. made their way to a long, green and gold splendor with WINONA stencilled on the sides, that sat on a nearby siding; General Manager Dunn’s palatial private car.
“You remember Sam, don’t you?” said Dunn as they clambered aboard. “He’s still with me.”
“Quite well,” Slade replied and shook hands with the smiling colored man who met them at the door.
“Fine to have you back with us, Mistuh Walt,” said Sam, and hurried off to prepare a meal.
THREE
THE PRIVATE CAR, along with about every other convenience, boasted a tiny bathroom where Slade cleaned up to his satisfaction. After which he rejoined Dunn in the sittingroom of the coach.
“And now suppose you tell me what it was all about?” he suggested as he sat down and rolled a cigarette.
“An example of the harrassment to which I’ve been subjected ever since I started this blasted feeder which will eventually reach Chihuahua City,” Dunn growled. “Some hellion or hellions slid into the working force, which wasn’t hard to do—I have hundreds of men working on the line.”
“Five in number, I’d say,” Slade interpolated.
“What the devil do you mean by that?” Dunn demanded. Slade recounted his brush with the five night riders.
“I made a mistake in not throwing down on them with my saddle gun, but right then I didn’t know what they’d been up to,” he concluded. “Go on.”
“Yes, I guess those were the devils,” Dunn nodded. “They did a pretty good job with their dynamite blast. Smashed a locomotive, a crane and those boxcars. A plain wonder that they didn’t kill somebody. They would have if it wasn’t for you. I wouldn’t have believed there was a man in Texas who could stop that beam from sinking; but then, you’re always doing something nobody figures could be done.
“Well, as I was saying, I’ve been having trouble a-plenty. This isn’t the first incident. Had a couple of very suspicious fires, telegraph lines cut, a few shootings from the brush that scared the devil out of the workers, even though