Jack Wright and His Electric Stage by Noname (books to improve english .TXT) 📖

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and turned in.

After breakfast on the following morning, Jack mounted the steersman's seat, and sent the Terror rolling to the place where the bandits were last seen.

There he saw a large plain trail they had left.

"I'll follow their tracks," said he to Tim, who had taken a seat beside him. "It's an easy trail to follow, and if we have say sort of a chance, we are bound to run them down in a short time."

"I ain't so sure about that my lad."

"Why not?"

"Jesse James are mighty cunnin'."

"That's a fact. He may fool us yet,"

"Still thar ain't no harm in tryin'."

Jack sent the Terror flying off in pursuit of the bandits, and they ran out on the open plain.

It was a rolling, grassy country.

The trail led them on for a distance of about five miles when an old blasted oak tree was met.

Here the cunning of the James Boys was shown.

Evidently fearing pursuit, they had ordered the gang to scatter in every direction, each one going to a different point of the compass.

It was then utterly impossible to follow any particular one of the gang, and know which one it was.

Jack was rendered angry.

"See there how they've baffled us!" he cried with a frown, as he pointed down at the scattered trails.

"Gee whiz!" groaned Tim, "they've throwed us off ther course entirely now, Wot one'll we foller?"

"If you mean so that we can corral the James Boys, I cannot say–one trail is the same as another."

"Blast thar lubberly hides!"

"I've got a plan though."

"An wot's that?"

"To pursue any one at random."

"But mebbe it won't be ther one we wants."

"Any one will do. Whoever the man is, we can perhaps catch him and force him to confess where the rest are to meet. By that means we can find them again."

"Jist ther plan, by thunder!" cried Tim, pounding his good leg with his fist. "Keel haul me if you ain't got as long a figgerhead as Jesse James, cute though he be."

Jack told Fritz and the sheriff what occurred, and what he now intended to do.

They agreed with his plan.

In fact it was the only feasible thing to do.

Accordingly Jack selected the most likely trail.

He then sent the Terror flying off after it, and she sped along until the afternoon set in before they finally sighted the man they were after.

Then they saw that he was Frank James.

CHAPTER X.
FRANK JAMES' ESCAPE.

Frank James was mounted upon his horse Jim Malone, and had paused on the crest of a hill from whence he gazed back at the bottom traversed by the Terror.

He saw the stage, and realized at once that it had followed his particular trail to the exclusion of the rest of the band.

It was clear enough to him that he could not outstrip the Terror in a running race, and would therefore be obliged to retain his liberty by resorting to strategy.

What course he could follow would depend entirely upon circumstances, but he turned over fifty plans in his mind.

Jack was a league from the man when he recognized him, but he had a powerful field glass, which plainly showed him every feature of Frank James' face.

"The rascal sees us," he commented.

"Wot's he standin' thar for like a statoo?" asked Tim.

"Probably sizing up our intentions."

"Dot retskal vos a gone goose," said Fritz, decisively.

"Better wait till you get your paws on him before you feel so certain about it," dryly remarked the sheriff. "If you knew the James Boys as well as I do, you would realize that no slipperier men exist on the face of the earth. Just when you are surest you have them is the time you haven't got the scoundrels. Ha! There he goes!"

Frank had galloped away.

He went down the other side of the hill.

In a few moments he disappeared from view.

Jack increased the speed of the stage.

She ran ahead like a locomotive.

In less than ten minutes she reached the crest of the elevation where they had seen the bandit.

From this point a view was commanded of the country for many miles in various directions.

Jack soon saw the outlaw.

He had gone down the valley, and was furiously galloping toward the rocky, well wooded foothills on the other side of the depression, and Jack exclaimed:

"He is well aware of our weakest point."

"Vot veak point?" growled Fritz unwilling to admit such a thing.

"Our inability to run among rocks and close setting trees and bushes.

"It looks mighty like as if he wuz atryin' ter git inter sich a spot."

"You an right, Tim. But he has lost a mile though."

Down the declivity shot the stage, and she swiftly reduced the distance that separated her from the fugitive.

As the flying horseman went up the hill on the other side of the valley, he glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the Terror had arrived within a mile.

Fast as Jim Malone was on a level stretch, he could not race up the steep grade of a hill with anything like the speed at which the Terror went.

In consequence, long before the bandit reached the plateau he was heading for, the engine was close behind him.

Jack sat outside steering.

He did not have on his armor.

Frank suddenly paused.

Wheeling his horse around he raised his rifle.

Crack–bang!

It was a good shot.

The bullet struck the stage within an inch of Jack's head.

Frank dared not remain to attempt it again as every second was precious now.

He therefore dashed away again.

Bang!

Bang! came three shots.

Tim, Fritz and the sheriff had fired.

Exploding around Frank the awful bullets tore up the ground, chipped the rocks, trees and bushes and stung the horse, but failed to injure the rider.

The bandit reached the shelter of the rocks and trees on the plateau before any of the bullets hit him.

He then disappeared.

Along thundered the electric stage.

She had a hard climb, but her dynamo and motor were very powerful, and carried her up to the level ground.

There she got on Frank's trail again.

The plateau was a picturesque place, as it was covered with flowers, tumbled rocks, vine-clad trees, and dense shrubbery.

A plain track through it was seen.

"We'll reach him in a few moments!" muttered Jack.

He cast his glance ahead, and as the ground gently sloped down from there, he saw the outlaw.

And he also saw a wide chasm.

It stretched straight across the horse's path.

Frank James was caught in a sort of natural trap, for he had gone plunging in between two steep rocky walls.

He could not turn to the left or right, and ahead of his sweating horse there yawned the wide deep chasm.

If he wished to escape he would have to clear the gulf, and as it was fully twenty-five feet wide, such a feat seemed to be entirely out of the question.

He glanced back again.

The Terror was swiftly coming along after him.

It rendered the fugitive desperate.

He headed his gallant steed straight for the chasm and plunged toward it a furious pace.

"By heavens, he is going to attempt to leap that split!" cried Jack, observing what the outlaw intended doing.

"He can't clear it, said Tim.

"Vell, he vos got der nerve ter dry!" Fritz exclaimed.

"He's bound to go down!" cried Timberlake, excitedly.

"If he does, he may perish!" said the inventor. "The man must be fearfully desperate to attempt the jump."

"Gief him a hall vunct."

"Hey, Frank James!" called Jack.

The man looked back, but did not answer.

He did not look in the least unnerved by the terrible ordeal.

Jack could not help admiring his courage.

He hailed him again from sheer pity.

"Halt there, you madman, you are committing suicide.

"You'll not nab me!" came back the defiant reply.

"Pause–quick! We'll spare you."

"Never! Good-bye! Now, Jim, up, boy, up!"

The gallant horse seemed to gather every muscle to a high tension when he reached the verge of the chasm.

He bounded high in the air.

For an instant the horse and rider were poised there.

It was a brave effort.

But it failed.

Three-fourths of the distance was covered.

Then down the animal plunged into the abyss.

As they sunk out of sight Jack whirled the wheel around and applied the air brake.

The Terror barely had time to swing around to avoid the edge of the chasm, and a cloud of dirt and dust flew up from beneath her wheels.

She quickly paused.

Jack alighted.

Going to the edge of the abyss he peered down.

It was not more than twenty feet deep.

Along the bottom flowed a wide, deep mountain stream.

Frank James and his horse had alighted in it without the slightest injury, and Jack saw the beast swim ashore and wade out.

They had been swept some distance down the stream by the fierce current, and had got out near a wide opening in the rocks on the side opposite Jack.

"Stop where you are!" shouted Jack.

The drenched fugitive looked at him and laughed ironically.

Then he dashed ahead, for Jack had drawn a pistol, and was aiming it at him.

Just as the horse leaped into the opening in the rocks, the young inventor fired at the bandit.

The ball cut the spot Frank had just evacuated, and striking against the rocks, exploded there.

Up jumped the young inventor, and he ran along until he arrived opposite the split rocks.

But he failed to see the fugitive as Frank had gone around a bend in the opening, and was then hidden from view.

As he could not do anything there, he hastened back to the Terror, sprang aboard, and started her back the way she came from, at the same time telling his friends what happened.

Jack made a wide detour, and passed the end of the gorge.

The stream there broadened and became so shallow that he easily drove the stage through it.

Reaching the other side, he began a search for Frank, but it finally proved to be in vain.

The shadows of twilight fell when he finally gave up the hunt and headed for a tiny hamlet near where he was.

It was a place which had built up about a general store, at which the stage coach, paused which carried passengers from the northern railroads who wished to make connections with the smaller branch lines dissecting that portion of the state.

At this place–called Jones' Corners–there was a big surprise in store for our friends.

It came about when Jack drove the Terror up to the store and quietly made inquiries of the owner as to whether he had seen a man answering to Frank James' description about that vicinity that day.

The man told him he had seen such an individual.

CHAPTER XI.
A SUSPECTED PLOT.

The store at which the electric stage paused was a small, dingy place, used as a grocery, a post-office, a saloon, and, in fact, half a dozen different kinds of business.

Its owner was a typical Missourian, in raw hide boots, his pants tucked in the legs, a flannel shirt upon his ample body, a felt hat on his long hair, and one of his bewhiskered cheeks distended with a huge quid of tobacco.

When he had eyed the electric machine, and commented upon it at some length, he finally said:

"Yas, neighbur, I reckon thar wuz sich erchap hyar ez you wuz quizzin me erbout. It's ergoin' on two hour ergo as he stuck his nose into this ere place, an' ast me all erbout ther runnin' er that stage-coach from hyer ter Independence."

"Asked you about the stage-coach, eh!" said Jack, his attention particularly attracted by this remark. "What did you tell the gentleman about it?"

"Why, I jist guv him ther time table all erlong its route, an', ses I, thar's ter be one erlong ter-night erbout ten er-clock from ther south'ard, which'll stop hyar ter water ther nags. It ginerally kerries from five ter ten people, yer see, an' I allers hev ter laugh when I hears how skeered they gits while er-crossin' ther ledge down yander on thet ere spur er ther hills."

"Dangerous place?"

"Wall, I reckon it be. Hev a chaw er terbacker?"

"No, I thank you. What time does the stage leave the next town?"

"Nine o'clock–it's jist one hour difference."

"Did the gentleman inquire particularly about this stage?"

"Certain. It's ther only one wot's due fer two days."

"Did he say anything about the