During their “rustler days” it had always been Jake’s craft that pulled them out of tight places. Habit held Bull silent till, after he had spoken to the engineer, Jake went on: “He says the track runs two per cent. down into La Mancha. We kin shut off steam an’ pussy-foot it the last few miles. So here’s the dope. We drop you-all”—his glance took in the others—“a mile this side of the station, give you two hours to go around, then shoot ahead. If we get through, you-all strike a light an’ we’ll stop and pick you up. If we don’t—we don’t. But you’ll be less ’n thirty miles from the border an’ have all night to make your getaway.”
“But—”
Gordon’s objection, however, was nipped by Bull. “It goes.”
Lee, however, was not so easily silenced. Climbing down, she crossed the wabbling cab with unsteady steps and caught Jake’s arm. “Oh, don’t take the risk. We’ll abandon the engine. Come with us!”
Looking down into her face, Jake’s bleak eyes were almost soft. He gently patted her hand. “Now don’t be jumping at conclusions, Missy. We need the enjine to go on, but I ain’t a-going to commit suicide. If the tracks are blocked we’ll back right off. Then I’ll take to the bushes an’ follow you round.”
With that she had to be content. But, realizing the danger, she climbed up and sat beside him while the mogul rolled and racked and plunged forward through the night. She was still sitting there when, an hour later, a headlight flashed up far away.
“They’ve wired ahead!” Bull yelled across the cab. “Make him stop, Jake! We’ll take to the bushes here.”
“Oh! now you come with us!” Lee cried.
But Jake’s answer wiped out her happiness. “No, Missy, I’ll pull ’em along for a few miles while you-all make your getaway afore I drop off.”
Already the throttle was closed. Slowing under the brakes, the mogul glided to a stop. Leaping down, Gordon caught the provisions, ammunition, and rifles as Bull threw them down. Meanwhile Lee stood looking up at Jake with wide, distressed eyes.