Bart Stirling's Road to Success Part 11

He rapidly covered the two hundred foot s.p.a.ce between the express shed and the freight car.

"Colonel--Colonel Harrington!" he called in some alarm, kneeling by the prostrate body of his enemy.

Bart tried to pull him over on his back. As he partially succeeded, he noticed that the colonel's face was pitted, and in one or two places scratched and bleeding from contact with the cinder particles.

The bulky form was quivering and convulsed. The colonel had been dazed, it seemed, but not rendered entirely unconscious, for now with a groan he struggled to a sitting posture.

Bart drew out his handkerchief and tried to clean the dirt from the military man's face.

The colonel resisted, he swayed and mumbled. Then he groaned again as his eyes lit on the freight car.

"Get me away from here," he moaned--"get me away! What's happened to me?"

"That is what I was going to ask you," said Bart. "Don't you know?"

The colonel pa.s.sed his hand over his face and mumbled, but made no coherent reply.

Bart glanced at the freight car. It afforded no evidence of present occupancy. He reflected for moment.

"Wait for just two minutes," he directed.

Running over to the drug store on the next street, he spoke a few words to the man in charge, and darted out again as the druggist hurried to his telephone to call up the livery stable.

When he got back to the colonel, Bart found the latter sitting propped up against the cinder heap, his eyes open, and breathing heavily, but still in a helpless kind of a daze.

He worked over the colonel, and finally got the man on his feet. His position was so unsteady, however, that he had to support him with one hand while he dusted off his clothes with the other.

As he stood trying to keep his charge on his feet, a cab rushed across the tracks. Its driver, bluff Bill Carey, nodded familiarly to Bart, and looked the colonel over critically. He got the latter into the cab in an experienced way.

"Same old complaint!" he intimated to Bart with a wink. "Drinks pretty heavily."

Bart leaned over into the cab.

"Colonel Harrington," he said, "do you wish to be driven home?"

The colonel gave him a fishy stare, groaned and put out a wavering hand.

"Come," he mumbled.

"Jump in," directed Carey. "You'll be useful explaining the 'fall' up at the house!"

As they went on their way, the young express agent experienced a striking sensation.

A topsy-turvy day of excitement was ending with the peculiar combination of his riding in the same carriage with his most bitter enemy, and acting the good Samaritan.

They proceeded slowly, or rather cautiously, for the popping and banging had recommenced all over town.

Carey had to keep the spirited horses in strong check as they pa.s.sed groups of boys, reckless of the quant.i.ty of firecrackers they deliberately fired off as the team neared them.

Suddenly the horses were pulled to their haunches with a vociferous shout. The cab swerved and creaked, and the horses' hoofs beat an alarming tattoo on the cobblestones.

"Whoa! whoa!" yelled Bill Carey. "You young villains! get that infernal machine out of the way. Can't you see--"

Bart stuck his head out of the cab window to view an animated scene.

A fourteen-inch cannon cracker was hissing and spitting out smoke barely two feet ahead of the terrified horses in the middle of the street.

At that moment it exploded. The horses gave a wild snort, a frightened jerk at the reins.

Bart saw the staunch driver dragged from his seat. He lit on his feet, braced, but was pulled over, as, with a fierce tug, the horses snapped the line in two.

Then, unrestrained, the team shot down the street without guide or hindrance and with the speed of the wind.

CHAPTER XI

"FORGET IT!"

The young express agent acted quickly. A single glance told him that the driver of the cab could do nothing.

The frightened horses were speeding ahead at a furious rate, could not be overtaken, and Bart doubted if anyone could stop them.

No one tried, but all got out of the way promptly as the team went tearing along. The horses came to a crossing, and, terrified anew at a spitting "Vesuvius" ahead, abruptly veered and turned down a side lane.

It was at this moment that Bart threw open the door of the cab, grasped a handle at the side of the vehicle, and drew himself up to the driver's seat.

The swing the horses made just then sent his feet flying out in a wild circle, but he held on, and the rebound landed him on the seat.

Our hero cast a quick look within the vehicle. The colonel had "rousted" up somewhat. Buffeted from side to side by the erratic and violent movements of the horses, he was trying to maintain his balance by frantically clinging with both hands to the cus.h.i.+on under him.

As a wheel struck a stone the jar drove him forward. His head smashed out the front gla.s.s, and he uttered a yell of fear.

"Don't stir--don't jump!" shouted Bart through the opening thus made.

"We'll be killed!" cried the man.

"No, we won't. Do as I say. I'm on deck, and I'll--"

Bart sized up the situation, counted its risks and possibilities, and described a sudden forward leap.

The lines were torn and trailing under the horses' feet. He cut the air in a reckless, but well planned dive.

Bart landed sprawling between the two horses, his knee striking the carriage pole.

Bracing himself there, he caught out at the head of either horse. With a firm grip his fingers closed on the bridle reins.