Engineer and fireman were leaning from the cab when the conductor arrived. They wondered what orders had come into Hoyler’s ticket office. Something important seemed to be brewing. It was. As the train crew gathered, figures came clambering on to the platform. Mobsters flourished Lugers, covering each man, while Spike Balgo, armed with Harry Vincent’s automatic, held the center of the spot.
“Out of the cab, bums” — engineer and fireman sullenly obeyed Spike’s order — “and keep your mitts up, all of you. Frisk those guys, Dingbat. Maybe they’ve got rods.”
Dingbat obeyed. His face formed a grin as he discovered three revolvers. He handed these to members of the mob, who pocketed their Lugers. Three of Balgo’s six now had loaded guns. Spike grinned.
“Guess you were figuring on trouble along this run,” he snarled. “Well — you got it, but you weren’t ready for it. Thanks for the rods. We can use ‘em.”
“Say, Spike,” put in Dingbat, “maybe dere’s a rod in dis guy’s desk” — he indicated Hoyler — “because I didn’t look to—”
“We got enough,” put in Spike. “Come on, Kirky, cut loose the coupling on this loco. We’re going to take a trip in it. You, Dingbat and Beef — shove that box into the cab.”
The mobsters obeyed. Dingbat and “Beef” came from the cab. The latter hurried to aid Kirky with the coupling, while the rest of the mob kept the train crew covered with their own guns. The Mogul unhooked, Kirky and the other mobster returned. Spike Balgo looked about; then gazed approvingly toward the panting locomotive.
“Back ‘em along the platform toward the station,” he ordered. Mobsters obeyed, keeping the train crew in a cluster. “That’s it” — Balgo had turned — “we’re all set. Come on, you mugs, back up here with me.”
Spike was standing alone, behind the others. He reached out to grasp a handle beside the cab. Something made him look upward. The gangleader stood open-mouthed as he stared into the muzzle of a glimmering revolver.
Spike let his automatic clatter to the platform. Mobsters turned at the sound. They were too late. Another revolver had appeared beside the first. The gang was covered. A growled voice hurled its warning:
“Drop those rods.”
THE three armed mobsters obeyed. One man came down from the cab, gun moving back and forth while the second covered steadily. The other fellow followed. The members of the train crew were on the job. Pouncing upon the weapons, they used them to cover the crooks.
Dingbat, Kirky and the third unarmed mobster put up their hands. They had only useless Lugers. They did not have time to draw them. The members of the train crew looked toward their rescuers. So did Zach Hoyler. It was the station agent who emitted the gasp of surprise as he recognized the rescuers.
One of the two men was Perry Nubin, the railroad dick. His companion was Harry Vincent. The pair had come through from the other side of the track. Ready with revolvers, they had turned the tables on men of crime!
CHAPTER XXII
THE BIG SHOT
“LINE up,” ordered Nubin, with a grim laugh. “Keep them covered, you fellows. We’ve got five guns now — that’s enough to hold seven.”
Sullenly, Spike and his crew lined along the edge of the platform. Perry Nubin chuckled. This was the kind of triumph that he liked. He shot a glance toward Zach Hoyler and laughed at the stupefied look upon the agent’s face. Then, as he again glared toward Spike and the mobsmen, Nubin indulged in another bit of glory.
“Bagged you, did they, Hoyler?” he chuckled, to the agent. “Well, if this boy Vincent hadn’t been groggy, we’d have popped in sooner. I had two guns on me, but I didn’t like chancing it alone. We were over in that empty freight car, Vincent and I. He wasn’t capable of helping until just before the train came in.
“Then I slipped him one of my guns. The two of us came through the cab. Just a little surprise for these hyenas that were going to swipe one of the company’s locomotives. That’s right — keep your dukes up. When I say stick them up, I mean it—”
“All right,” came an interrupting growl. “Stick them up. All of you.”
Nubin turned his head. So did Harry and the train crew. They saw Zach Hoyler, glaring with eyes that meant business. The station agent had pulled two forty-fives from his hips. He was using the weapons to cover the train crew as well as the rescuers.
The placid station agent had become a man of fury. He looked more dangerous than Spike Balgo and all the mobsmen. Train men faltered; their revolvers clattered. Helpless by this sudden treachery, Perry Nubin and Harry Vincent were forced to drop their revolvers also.
“O.K., mugs,” barked Spike Balgo, as his henchmen hesitated. “Grab those gats. He’s the big shot.”
WHEN the gangsters gained the guns, Zach Hoyler smiled. With Nubin’s two revolvers added to the collection, only one mobster — Dingbat — was unequipped. Hoyler handed one of his smoke-wagons to the unarmed mobster.
“Them Lugers was duds, Zach,” growled Spike. “That’s why some of the mob is missing. We’d better take it on the lam, with the swag—”
“Don’t worry about that sap, Tim Forey,” interrupted the big shot. “Maybe he heard the shooting, like I did. He’d be headed for the hill.”
“But it ain’t just him. The Shadow was—”
“The Shadow?”
“Yeah. He was up there. I clipped him, though. Listen, Zach—”
The big shot made an impatient gesture. He climbed into the cab. He glared at the prisoners; then gave a brisk order to Spike Balgo.
“I’m starting this load of iron,” he informed. “We’re pulling out — in a hurry — with the swag. Get ready, Spike. Rub out these fellows; then bring the mob aboard.”
“You mean—”
“Rub them all out!” snarled Hoyler, indicating Harry, the detective and the train crew. “Do you think I want Tim Forey to know I was the brains of our outfit? He’ll think I got mine, too. Go to it. Rub them out.”
Spike Balgo grinned. His mobsters were steady — six men, holding five covered. The gorillas recognized that Zach Hoyler was the boss; but they awaited Spike’s order. The mobleader turned to his crew.
“Ready, mugs—”
Spike got no further. A startling sound had come to his ears. It was an interruption from up ahead, just beyond the platform, yet off from the glare of the locomotive’s headlight. As clearly as they had heard it on the hill, Spike and his gorillas recognized the shudder of The Shadow’s laugh!
INSTINCTIVELY, Spike turned. Others followed his example. They aimed for the source of that strident taunt. It was not the mockery itself that told them where to aim. The Shadow delivered a visible sign of his presence. It came in the form of flashes from an automatic.
Spike Balgo fired, snarling, as a mobster fell. His shot sped wide of that spurting flame in the darkness. A second gorilla sprawled. Spike aimed again. Then a winging bullet clipped the mobleader. Spike Balgo crumpled to the platform and rolled beside the wheels of the locomotive.
With single automatic, The Shadow had dispatched his shots straight into the group of mobsmen. His laugh had swung them from their prisoners; his bullets were riddling the massed thugs without mercy.
While the falling mobsters spattered hasty, hopeless shots toward their unseen foe, Harry Vincent led the flank attack. The Shadow’s withering shots had sent revolvers clattering. Harry grabbed the first gun that he found. One second later, Perry Nubin had dived for a revolver. The Shadow’s volley ended as the train crew piled upon crippled and dying mobsters. A laugh echoed from up ahead.
Just as the volley ended, the wheels of the big locomotive revolved. Snorting, the big Mogul responded to a hand that had opened the throttle. Released from the restraining train, starting from the top of a slight grade, the engine started forward with a jolt.