TIBERIUS SMITH
"But by a hair-breadth it cleared us, and Tib yelled, 'Shot-gun!'
"As I was now used to the motion and felt safe in lying on my stomach, I managed to work the double-barrel piece clear, and as we hummed along for the next lap I enfiladed the nearest fortress with a goodly pinch of shot.
"You know, sir, you can't do any trap-shooting when skimming in a dizzy circle in excess of express-train speed on a track so steep that to slow up means to roll into a sewer. But the weapon made a goodly noise, sounding like several thousand cannon as the black walls caught the detonation and gleefully played ping-pong with the echo, while the shot scattered and ricocheted. The great danger was I'd ignite the trail of gasolene vapor, now encircling the track, and burn or blow us up.
"‘What next?' I bawled, creeping to the back of his seat.
"‘Down!' He slumped forward and I fell prostrate just as a rope swished over the car.
"And hang me, sir, if one of those track stewards, concealed with a bolo at the opening, hadn't been childish enough to try and net us. By good luck his first cast missed, else there would have been a broken neck in the family. As we pounded around for the next circuit I reclined jauntily on my side and rested the revolver on the edge of the car.
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