Banzai! by Parabellum. Ferdinand Heinrich Grautoff
the rails vibrating? Four steps more, then a quiet turn, one look into the air, one far away over the prairie. He knew that the eyes behind the dark-brown rings were following his every movement. Now along the tracks—is there anything coming way back there? No, not yet. He walked past the station, then along the tracks again, and looked to the left across the prairie.
Now his glance rested on the cart. It stood perfectly still. Sure enough, there, between the sacks, was another one of those bristly heads! Where on earth had the fellows come from, and what in the world did they want? Winston had said they were Japs.
Could this be war? Nonsense! How could the fellows have come so far across country? A short time ago some one had said that a troop of Japs had been seen far away, down in Nevada, but that they had all disappeared in the mountains. That was two months ago. Could these be the same?
But it couldn't be a war. War begins at the borders of a country, not right in the middle. It is true that the Japanese immigrants were all said to be drilled soldiers. Had they brought arms along? These certainly had!
Now the turn again. Ah! there was the train at last. Far away along the tracks a black square rose and quite slowly became wider and higher. Good God! if the next ten minutes were only over—if one could only wipe such a span as this out of one's life! Only ten minutes older! If one could only look back on those ten minutes from the other side! But no; one must go through the horror, second by second, taste every moment of it. What would happen to the two inside? This didn't matter much after all—they couldn't, in any case, overpower the others without weapons. A thousand yards more perhaps and then the train would be there! And then a thousand yards more, and he would either be nothing but an unconscious mass of flesh and bones, or——
Now the rails were reverberating—from far away he heard the rumble of the approaching mass of iron and steel. And now, very low but distinct, the ringing of the bell could be distinguished—gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang—He threw a hasty glance at the two blackish-brown rings; four steps further and he could again see the cart. The next time——
"Stand straight in front of the station and let the train pass!" sounded close behind him. He obeyed mechanically.
"Nearer to the house—right against the wall!" He obeyed.
All his muscles tightened. If he could now take a leap forward and manage to get hold of something—a railing or something—as the train rushed by, then they could shoot as much as they liked. A rumbling and roaring noise reached his ears, and he could hear the increasing thunder of the wheels on the rails, the noise of the bell—gang, gang, gang—growing more and more distinct. The engine, with its long row of clattering cars behind, assumed gigantic dimensions before his wide-open eyes.
Not a sound came from the house; now the rails trembled; now he heard the hissing of the steam and the rattle of the rods; he saw the little curls of steam playing above the dome of the boiler. Like a black wall, the express came nearer, rushing, rumbling, hammering along the tracks. Yes, he would jump now—now that the engine was almost in front of him! The rush of air almost took his breath away. Now!
The engineer popped his head out of the little cab-window. Now! Tom bent double, and, with one tremendous leap he was across the narrow platform in front of his shanty, and flew like a ball against the line of rushing cars, of railings and steps and wheels. He felt his hand touching something—nothing but flat, smooth surfaces. At last! He had caught hold of something! With a tremendous swing, Tom's body was torn to the left, and his back banged against something. Something in his body seemed to give way. As in a dream, he heard two shots ring out above the fearful noise of the roaring train.
Too late! Tom was clinging to a railing between two cars and being dragged relentlessly along. He was almost unconscious, but could hear the wheels squeaking under the pressure of the brakes as he was hurled to and fro. But his hand held fast as in a vise. The wheels scraped, squeaked, and groaned. The train began to slow down! He had won! The train stood still.
Tom's body fell on the rail between two cars, almost lifeless; he heard a lot of steps all about him; people spoke to him and asked him questions. But his jaws were shut as if paralyzed; he couldn't speak a word. He felt the neck of a bottle being pushed between his lips, and the liquid running down his throat. It was something strong and invigorating, and he drank greedily. And then he suddenly shouted out loud, so that all the people stepped back horrified: "The station has been attacked by Japs."
Excited questions poured in from all sides. "Where from? What for?" Tom only cried: "Save the two others; they're shut up in the station!" More people collected round him. "Quick, quick!" he cried. "Run the train back and try to save them!"
Tom was lifted into a car and stretched out on a soft end-seat. Some of the passengers stood round him with their revolvers: "Tell us where it is! Tell us where they are!" Slowly the train moved back, slowly the telegraph poles slipped past the windows in the opposite direction.
Now they were there, and Tom heard wild cries on the platform. Then a door was pulled open and some one asked: "Where are the robbers?" Tom was lifted out, for his right shin-bone had been smashed and he couldn't stand. A stretcher was improvised, and he was carried out. Dozens of people were standing round the station. The wagon was gone, and so were the horses. Where to? The wide, deserted prairie gave no answer. A great many footprints in the sand showed at least that Tom had spoken the truth. He pointed out the holes made in the shutters by the bandits, and told the whole story a dozen times, until at last he fainted away again. When he came to half an hour later it all seemed like a horrible dream—like a scene from a robber's tale. He found himself in a comfortable Pullman car on the way to Umatilla, where he had to tell his story all over again, in order that the fairly hopeless pursuit of the highwaymen might be begun from there.
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