Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 113 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XIII

MAD RIDE

THERE was a sharp spiteful report and a bullet whistled over The Shadow's slouch hat. The shot came from Merriweather. He had leaped through the broken window of Todd's office and was pursuing The Shadow with long purposeful strides.

A grim laugh issued from the lips of the robed fugitive. Merriweather's first glance had been toward the door of the washroom through which Dorgan had escaped in the confusion. Yet he had chosen not to chase the killer. He was trying to trap the man who had just saved Simon Todd's life! To The Shadow, that fact was as sinister as it was obvious.

Like a flying spectre, The Shadow raced pell-mell down the track of the railway spur. In his ears was the shrill screaming wail of a huge steam whistle

on the roof of the cavernous mixing plant. Its sound brought men running from all parts of the grounds. It was one man against hundreds!

The Shadow saw at once that his hope of reaching the distant loading platform, where he had arranged to disappear and resume his character of a harmless old workman, was now gone.

But not more than fifty yards in the opposite direction was a motionless switch engine and a single tank car. This, The Shadow realized instantly, was his sole hope of escape.

A man was swinging down from the tiny cab of the locomotive, as The Shadow

raced forward. He was the engineer and he was pale with resolution, swinging a big steel spanner in his greasy hand.

The Shadow ducked the hasty swing and put the man out of action with a merciful blow of his fist. As the fellow sprawled and rolled out of the path of

the cowcatcher, The Shadow was already climbing into the cab of the locomotive,

his black-gloved hand reaching for the throttle.

THE switch engine began to move. It gained speed rapidly.

As it roared past the group of workmen ahead, pistols appeared but no shots were fired. The Shadow's head twisted briefly behind, and he knew why.

The tank car coupled behind the stolen locomotive was painted a vivid, warning crimson. A red flag, fluttered from its peak. Explosive chemical!

The sound of furious puffing drew The Shadow's attention to the track beyond. Another switch engine was racing forward, trying to creep up alongside the fleeing fugitive. There was a wildly excited engineer behind the throttle.

On the cowcatcher in front, a man was hanging grimly to a steel support by

his left hand. In his right was the gleaming barrel of a revolver. The man was Merriweather.

The plant superintendent fired and his bullet whistled over the sleek top of the tank car. The bullet was fired so high that The Shadow didn't even have to duck his head. But a glint came into his burning eyes.

He realized the cargo of liquid death he was carrying behind him on this wild ride. He knew that Merriweather's succeeding shots would drop lower and lower. If a single bullet should pierce the thin steel shell of that tank car behind

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