The suggestion was followed by a sharp exclamation from the head of the train. “The oiler’s gone!” cried a voice. Simultaneously there was the sound of someone springing to the ground, and Alex and the oiler scrambled into the velocipede seats, Alex facing the rear, and threw themselves against the handles. The oilless wheel again screeched, and from the pilot-car rose the cry, “Around at the end! Quick!”
Alex and the oiler wrenched the handles backwards and forwards with all their might, and the little car leaped ahead. Before they had gained full headway, however, one of the machine-wreckers appeared about the end of the train, and with a cry to his companion, dashed after. He ran like a deer, and despite the increasing speed of the velocipede, quickly gained upon them.
“He’ll get us!” Alex exclaimed.
“The creek bridge is just ahead. That’ll stop him,” said the oiler.
The second man appeared, and joined in the chase.
The first runner saw the bridge, and redoubled his efforts. In spite of their best endeavors, he drew rapidly nearer. A hand shot out to clutch the oiler’s shoulder.
It reached him—and with a rumble they were on and over the bridge, and their pursuer had sprawled forward flat on his face.
He was on his feet again like a wildcat, however, and crossing the bridge three ties at a time, leaped to the flat ground beside the track, and was again after the velocipede like a race-horse.
Try as they would, Alex and the oiler could get no more speed out of the low-geared machine, and with alarm Alex saw the runner once more drawing near. The second man they had outdistanced.
Closer the cowman came. “Stop!” he shouted. “Stop! You may as well! I’ve got you!”