Delivered in English, the harangue flew high over the Mexican’s head. But it did Jake lots of good. Having, as it were, palliated his shameful emotions, he followed his own advice and turned to the business in hand.
“How far is that enjine, Alberto?” He poked the question in with his gun.
“Five miles, señor.”
“Jest an enjine?”
“No, señor, it rides too steadily. It draws two cars; no more or it could not take the grade at this speed.”
“How long afore they catch us?”
“Ten more miles, señor. They travel two to our one.”
“All right, slow up a bit.”
With hollow clank of drivers the mogul moved on at slackened speed until less than half a mile intervened. It was running, of course, reversed, and across the intervening space the headlights stared. When, obedient to Jake’s order, the throttle was thrown wide again the two engines ran like giant insects through the night, one in chase of the other, thundering across bridges, whizzing around curves, shooting through cuts, chimneys spitting smoke and flame, headlights flashing defiance like fiery eyes.
All the while Jake timed the distance. “Cut her off a notch,” he ordered when the mogul began to gain. “I wanter draw ’em on as far as I kin.”