The Young Engineers in Colorado Part 27

CHAPTER XV

BLACK'S PLOT OPENS WITH A BANG

"Some mistake here, gentlemen," interjected Tom Reade coolly.

"Unless I'm very badly informed I don't belong to either of you.

If anyone owns me, then I belong to the S.B. & L."

"I told you I'd make you settle with me for throwing me out of the camp," remarked Black disagreeably.

"You're not out yet---more's the pity," Tom retorted. "You will be, however, as soon as the paymaster arrives."

"You're wrong," jeered 'Gene. "You're out---from this minute!"

"What do you mean?" Tom inquired, looking Black steadily in the eye.

Yet the young chief engineer had a creepy realization of just what the pair _did_ mean. Black must have confederates somewhere in the mountains near. It was evidently the rascal's intention to seize Tom and carry him away where he would be held a prisoner until he had lost all hope of regaining his position at the head of the railroad's field force.

"You say that I'll be thrown out of camp very soon," sneered Black.

"The fact is, you are not going back to camp."

"What's going to stop me?" Reade inquired, with no sign of fear.

"You're not going back to camp!" Black insisted.

"Someone has been giving you the wrong tip," smiled Tom.

He started forward, brus.h.i.+ng past Black. It was mainly a pretense, for Reade had no notion but that he would be stopped.

With a savage cry Black seized him by the shoulders.

Tom made a quick turn, shaking the fellow off. While he was thus occupied Bad Pete slipped about, and now confronted Reade. The muzzle of a revolver was pressed against the young engineer's belt.

"Hoist your hands!" ordered Pete warningly.

Tom obeyed, though he hoisted his hands only as far as his mouth.

Forming a megaphone, he gave vent to a loud yell of:

"Roo-rup! roo-rup! roo-rup!"

It was one of the old High School yells of the good old Gridley days---one of the yells sometimes used as a signal of distress by famous old d.i.c.k & Co., of which Tom Reade had been a s.h.i.+ning member.

On the still air of the mountain night that yell traveled far and clearly. It was a call of penetrating power, traveling farther than its sound would suggest.

"You do that again, you young coyote, and I'll begin to pump!"

growled Bad Pete savagely.

"I won't need to do it again," Tom returned. "Wait a few minutes, and you'll see."

"Shall I drop him, Black?" inquired Pete.

'Gene Black was about to answer in the affirmative, when a sound up the trail caught his attention.

"There's someone coming," snarled Black, using his keen powers of hearing.

"Wait and I'll introduce you," mocked Tom Reade.

"We won't wait. Neither will you," retorted Black. "You'll come with us. About face and walk fast!"

"I'm not going your way tonight," replied Reade calmly.

"If he doesn't obey every order like a flash, Pete, then you pull the trigger and wind this cub up."

"All right," nodded Pete. "Cub, you heard what Black said?"

"Yes," replied Tom, looking at Pete with smiling eyes.

"Then come along," ordered Black, seizing Tom by one arm.

"I won't!" Tom declared flatly.

"You know what refusal means. Pete is steady on the trigger."

"Is he?" asked Reade coolly.

Watching like a cat through his sleepy-looking eyes, Reade suddenly shot his right hand across his abdomen in such fas.h.i.+on as to knock away the muzzle of the revolver. Bad Pete felt himself seized in a football tackle that had been the terror of more than one opposing High School football player.

Cras.h.!.+ Pete struck the ground, Reade on top of him.

'Gene Black darted to the aid of his companion, but shrank back as he caught the glint of the revolver that Tom had twisted out of the hand of the bad man.

"Duck, Black!" warned Tom, in a quiet tone that nevertheless had a deadly note in it.

"Where are you?" called the voice of Harry Hazelton, not two hundred yards up the trail now.

"Here!" called Tom.

"Wow-ow-ow! Whoop!" yelled a chorus of college boys.

It all took place in a very few seconds. Black, hesitating whether or not to close with Reade, decided on flight. He turned and fled.

Whizz-zz-zz! The sound was made by the captured revolver as Tom, leaping to his feet, threw it as far from him as he could. It sailed through s.p.a.ce, next disappearing over the edge of a steep precipice.

"What's your hurry, Peter?" drawled Reade, as, jerking Bad Pete to his feet, he planted a kick that sent the bad man down the trail a dozen feet.

Tom started after Pete, intent on another kick. Bad Pete sped down the trail blindly. Like most of his gun-play kind, he had little courage when deprived of his implement of murder.

"What's up, Tom?" demanded Harry Hazelton, leaping to the spot.