The Talbot Mundy Megapack. Talbot Mundy

roast me forever he wasn’t exaggerating. But I got off my camel and boarded the engine nevertheless. Ayisha had handed over her mount to Ali Baba and entered the caboose, ignoring the protests of the uniformed conductor who, having not much faith in fortune, did not care whom he offended. But he might as well have insulted a camel as Ayisha, for all he would have gained by it.

      My friend the engine-driver blew the whistle; somebody on the platform tooted a silly little horn; a signal descended in the near distance and we started just as I caught sight of Mujrim coming to take my camel.

      Then it occurred to some bright genius that even if they might not loot the train there was no embargo on rejoicing; and there was only one way to do that. What they saw fit to rejoice about I don’t know, but one shot rang in the air, and a second later fifty bullets pierced the dinning iron roof.

      That made such a lovely noise and so scared the passengers that they could not resist repeating it, and by the time we had hauled abreast of the distance-signal there was not much of the roof left.

      I saw Ali Baba and Mujrim take advantage of the excitement to start back with the camels; and two minutes later about twenty men decided to follow them at a safe distance. The rest had begun to scatter before the train was out of sight, and I never again saw one of the five gentry who had introduced us to the whole proceedings.

      Then my friend the engine-driver found time to be a little curious.

      “What’n hell?” he asked, in the lingua franca that all Indians are supposed to understand.

      So I answered him in the mother argot at a venture, and he bit.

      “There’s a man down the line a piece who’ll blow your train to hell,” said I, “unless you pull up when he flags you.”

      “Son of a gun, eh?”

      “Sure bet!”

      “Where you learn English?”

      “States,” said I. “You been there too?”

      “Sure pop! Goin’ back some time.”

      “Not if you don’t stop her when you get the hint, you won’t. That guy down there ahead means business.”

      I don’t think he would have dared try to run the gauntlet in any case, for the best the engine could do with that load behind it was a wheezy twenty miles an hour, and the track was so out of repair that even that speed wasn’t safe. I was willing to bet Grim hadn’t lifted a rail or placed any obstruction in the way, but the driver had no means of knowing that.

      “Son of a gun, eh?” he repeated. “What in ’ell’s ’e want?”

      “Nothing, if you pay attention to him. All he hankers for is humoring. He wants to talk.”

      “Uh! What in ’ell’s a matter with him?”

      “Nothing, but he’ll put a crimp in your machinery unless you stay and chin with him.”

      “I give him dry steam. He’ll run like the devil.”

      “Don’t you believe it. He’s wise. Better humor him.”

      “Shucks! I shoot him. I shot lots o’ men.”

      “No need to shoot,” said I. “This is love stuff. He’s got a lady in the last car.”

      “Oh, gal on the train, eh? All right. You climb back along the cars an’ kick her off soon as you see him.”

      “Gosh! I’d sooner kick a nest of hornets!”

      “You her brother?”

      “Not so’s you’d notice it.”

      “What then?”

      “She’s got my gun. Barring that we’re not real close related.”

      “Uh! Those damned Bedouin fellers can’t shoot for nuts. Let ’em fire away. I take a chance.”

      “Ever hear of Ali Higg?” I asked him.

      He turned his head from peering down the blistering hot track, wiped the sweat from his face and hands with a filthy rag, and looked at me keenly.

      “Why? You know him?”

      “Yes. I asked if you do.”

      “Son of a gun! Him and me—same father!”

      “You mean he’s your brother?”

      He nodded.

      “He’s the man you’ve got to pull up for.”

      “His gal on the train?”

      “Sure thing.”

      He resumed his vigil, leaning over the side of the engine with one hand on the throttle-lever.

      “All right,” he said. “I stop for him. Son of a gun! If he bust my train I kill the sucker!”

      I never posed as much of a diplomatist, but it seemed wise to me in the circumstances not to offer any further information or ask questions. But I was curious. It was possible that Ali Higg’s brother had been given the task of running that train for the reason that no lesser luminary would have one chance in a thousand of reaching the destination.

      I never found out whether my guess was right or not, and never left off rating that engine-driver in any case as one of the world’s heroes. I’ve a notion there is a book that might be written about him and his train.

      A polished black dot in the distance soon increased into the flattened egg-shaped rock, and then we saw Grim standing on the track with all his men.

      That is the safest place to stop a train from, because you avoid a broadside from the car-windows. True to his word the driver came to a standstill, and Grim came up to speak with him just as I jumped off. I waited, expecting to see a contretemps.

      “Ya Ali Higg! You fool!” said the driver. “You would kill your own brother? You let me go!”

      “Hah! You recognize me, then?” said Grim, coolly enough on the surface.

      But his poker mask was off. In that land of polygamy and deportations it is frequent enough that one brother does not know the other by sight; but it must be disconcerting, all the same, to have a supposititious brother sprung on you. He gave a perceptible start, as he had not done when first addressed as Ali Higg that day.

      “Mashallah!” swore the driver. “I would know thine evil face with the meat stripped off it! Nevertheless, thou and I are brothers and this is my train. So let me go!”

      Grim watched Ayisha jump out of the caboose with my rifle in her hand, and turn to take aim at the open door, through which the conductor’s voice came croaking blasphemy.

      “All right,” he said. “Since thou and I are brothers, go thy way! Allah ysallmak!”

      The driver did not wait for a second hint, but shoved the lever over so hard that the wheels spun and the whole train came within an ace of bucking off the track. And before the caboose had passed us Ayisha was alongside Grim abusing him for not having broken the locks off the steel freight-cars.

      “I am a robber’s wife!” she said, stamping her foot indignantly. “What sort of robber are you that let such loot pass free?”

      “Shall I rob my mother’s son?” Grim asked her. “God forbid!”

      Then he turned to me, wondering.

      “Can you beat it?” he said.

      CHAPTER VII

      “You Got Cold Feet?”

      We did not have to wait long for Ali Baba, Mujrim, and the camels, for they had not been fools enough to dawdle, with a hundred and fifty balked freebooters within rifle-shot, whose resilient pride was likely to breed anger. You can’t lead camels any more than horses as fast as you can ride them; unless stampeded they tow loggily; but the fact