The Young Train Master

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

Allan heard his footsteps die away along the hall outside, and then, after a moment, came that queer murmur of voices which he had heard from the back door, only louder and clearer. And a sudden conviction leaped into his mind.

The missing train crew was imprisoned here also.

He listened with bated breath as the murmur grew and grew, and finally died away as though it had spent itself. He judged that his captor had visited the other prisoners to make sure they were all safe, and had then departed.

But who was this wild man? What sort of monster was this which had been let loose upon the world? How, single handed, had he been able to capture five men? And what was his object in doing so?

Here were three questions to which no reasonable answer seemed possible. Allan felt almost as though he were living through some terrible nightmare, from which he must presently awaken. Surely such things as this could not happen here in Ohio, in the midst of a thickly populated country! In the Middle Ages, perhaps; but not here in the twentieth century!

The pain of his position had become excessive, and he rolled over on his back, and sought to ease himself a little. He could feel that his hair was clotted with blood, and from the pain in his shoulder he was convinced that a bone had been broken—his collar-bone, probably. His head grew giddy after a while and a deathly sickness came upon him. The close and fetid atmosphere of the room seemed to stifle him. He shrieked aloud, but there was no response, and presently he lapsed into a sort of half-consciousness.

He fancied that he was stretched upon the rack, that black-hooded inquisitors were advancing to the torture. He could feel the bonds about hands and feet slowly tighten and stretch, and a pang of agony shot through him. What was it they wanted him to confess? Something involving Jack—something involving Mamie. No, he would never confess—after all, there was nothing to confess—it was a lie they were trying to wring from him. Again the cords tightened and stretched; he was being torn asunder, but he clenched his teeth and crushed back the groan which would have burst from him. Again—and this time there was no resisting, and he cried aloud—

Cried aloud and opened his eyes, and, after a moment, realized where he was. He was panting for breath, for the air was thick with smoke. Afar off, he could hear a frantic shouting, which beat in upon his brain and turned him faint, so agonized it was. They were torturing some one else—they had left him for the moment to regain some measure of strength. No, they had decided to suffocate him; they had started a fire under him—it was to be the trial of flame! Mamie, Mamie—he would never tell!

Then, suddenly, he understood. The house was on fire—that madman had fired it—that shouting was from the other prisoners, who were perhaps already being roasted alive! Roasted alive!

He wrenched frantically at his bonds, but they held as though of iron. He struggled to a sitting posture, but could rise no further. By an effort almost superhuman, he dragged himself to the door, and turning his back to it, tore at it with his fingers. Then he managed to raise himself so that his fingers clutched the latch; the door swung open and he fell backward into the hall.