Brandon of the Engineers Part 35

I heard the wheels clip and slammed the link-gear over, because it looked as if she wasn't going to stop. When she reversed, the couplings held the car and the block slipped off."

"Are you sure you didn't give her too much steam?"

"No, sir. I've been doing this job quite a while, and know just how smart a push she wants. It was the guard-rail slipping that made the trouble."

"I can't understand why it did slip. The fastening clamps were firm when I looked at them."

"Well," remarked the engineer, "the guard's certainly in the pit, and I felt her give as soon as the car-wheels bit."

d.i.c.k looked hard at him and thought he spoke the truth. He was a steady fellow and a good driver.

"Put your engine in the house and take down the feed-pump you were complaining about. We won't want her to-morrow," he said, and dismissing the men, returned to his shack, where he sat down rather limply on the veranda.

"I don't understand the thing," he said to Jake. "The guard-rail's heavy and I watched the smith make the clamps we fixed it with. One claw went over the rail, the other under the f.l.a.n.g.e of the metal that formed the track, and sudden pressure would jamb the guard down. Then, not long before the accident, I hardened up the clamp."

"You hit it on the back?"

"Of course. I'd have loosened the thing by hitting the front."

"That's so," Jake agreed, somewhat dryly. "We'll look for the clamps in the morning. But you didn't seem very anxious to get out of the way."

"I expect I forgot to thank you for warning me. Anyhow, you know----"

"Yes, I know," said Jake. "You didn't think about it; your mind was on your job. Still, I suppose you see that if you'd been a moment later you'd have been smashed pretty flat?"

d.i.c.k gave him a quick glance. There was something curious about Jake's tone, but d.i.c.k knew he did not mean to emphasize the value of his warning. It was plain that he had had a very narrow escape, but since one must be prepared for accidents in heavy engineering work, he did not see why this should jar his nerves. Yet they were jarred. The danger he had scarcely heeded had now a disturbing effect. He could imagine what would have happened had he delayed his leap. However, he was tired, and perhaps rather highly strung, and he got up.

"It's late, and we had better go to bed," he said.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE CLAMP

When work began next morning, Jake asked d.i.c.k if he should order the peons to search for the clamps that had held the guard-rail.

"I think not," said d.i.c.k. "It would be better if you looked for the things yourself."

"Very well. Perhaps you're right."

d.i.c.k wondered how much Jake suspected, particularly as he did not appear to be searching for anything when he moved up and down among the broken concrete. Half an hour later, when none of the peons were immediately about, he came up with his hand in his pocket and indicated a corner beside a block where there was a little shade and they were not likely to be overlooked.

"I've got one," he remarked.

When they sat down Jake took out a piece of thick iron about six inches long, forged into something like the shape of a U, though the curve was different and one arm was shorter than the other. Much depended on the curve, for the thing was made on the model of an old-fashioned but efficient clamp that carpenters sometimes use for fastening work to a bench. A blow or pressure on one part wedged it fast, but a sharp tap on the other enabled it to be lifted off. This was convenient, because as the work progressed, the track along the dam had to be lengthened and the guard fixed across a fresh pair of rails.

Taking the object from Jake, d.i.c.k examined it carefully. He thought he recognized the dint where he had struck the iron, and then, turning it over, noted another mark. This had been made recently, because the surface of the iron was bright where the hammer had fallen, and a blow there would loosen the clamp. He glanced at Jake, who nodded.

"It looks very suspicious, but that's all. You can't tell how long the mark would take to get dull. Besides, we have moved the guard two or three times in the last few days."

"That's true," said d.i.c.k. "Still, I wedged the thing up shortly before the accident. It has stood a number of shocks; in fact, it can't be loosened by pressure on the back. When do you _think_ the last blow was struck?"

"After yours," Jake answered meaningly.

"Then the probability is that somebody wanted the truck to fall into the hole and smash the block."

"Yes," said Jake, who paused and looked hard at d.i.c.k. "But I'm not sure that was all he wanted. You were standing right under the block, and if I hadn't been a little to one side, where the lights didn't dazzle me, the smashing of a lot of concrete wouldn't have been the worst damage."

d.i.c.k said nothing, but his face set hard as he braced himself against the unnerving feeling that had troubled him on the previous night. The great block had not fallen by accident; it looked as if somebody had meant to take his life. The cunning of the attempt daunted him. The blow had been struck in a manner that left him a very slight chance of escape; and his subtle antagonist might strike again.

"What are you going to do about it?" Jake resumed.

"Nothing," said d.i.c.k.

Jake looked at him in surprise. "Don't you see what you're up against?"

"It's pretty obvious; but if I ask questions, I'll find out nothing and show that I'm suspicious. If we let the thing go as an accident, we may catch the fellow off his guard."

"My notion is that you know more than you mean to tell. Now you began by taking care of me, but it looks as if the matter would end in my taking care of you. Seems to me you need it and I don't like to see you playing a lone hand."

d.i.c.k gave him a grateful smile. "If I see how you can help, I'll let you know. In the meantime, you'll say nothing to imply that I'm on the watch."

"Well," said Jake, grinning, "if you can bluff Stuyvesant, you'll be smarter than I thought. You're a rather obvious person and he's not a fool."

He went away, but d.i.c.k lighted a cigarette and sat still in the shade. He was frankly daunted, but did not mean to stop, for he saw that he was following the right clue. His reason for visiting the Adexe wharf had been guessed. He had been watched when he went to the Vice-Consul, and it was plain that his enemies thought he knew enough to be dangerous. The difficulty was that he did not know who they were. He hated to think that Kenwardine was a party to the plot, but this, while possible, was by no means certain. At Santa Brigida, a man's life was not thought of much account, and it would, no doubt, have been enough if Kenwardine had intimated that d.i.c.k might cause trouble; but then Kenwardine must have known what was likely to follow his hint.

After all, however, this was not very important. He must be careful, but do nothing to suggest that he understood the risk he ran. If his antagonists thought him stupid, so much the better. He saw the difficulty of playing what Jake called a lone hand against men skilled in the intricate game; but he could not ask for help until he was sure of his ground. Besides, he must find a way of stopping Kenwardine without involving Clare. In the meantime he had a duty to Fuller, and throwing away his cigarette, resumed his work.

Two or three days later he met Kenwardine in a cafe where he was waiting for a man who supplied some stores to the camp. When Kenwardine saw d.i.c.k he crossed the floor and sat down at his table. His Spanish dress became him, he looked polished and well-bred, and it was hard to think him a confederate of half-breed ruffians who would not hesitate about murder.

But d.i.c.k wondered whether Clare had told him about his proposal.

"I suppose I may congratulate you on your recent promotion? You certainly deserve it," Kenwardine remarked with an ironical smile. "I imagine your conscientiousness and energy are unusual, but perhaps at times rather inconvenient."

"Thanks!" said d.i.c.k. "How did you hear about the matter?"

"In Santa Brigida, one hears everything that goes on. We have nothing much to do but talk about our neighbors' affairs."

d.i.c.k wondered whether Kenwardine meant to hint that as his time was largely unoccupied he had only a small part in managing the coaling business, but he said: "We are hardly your neighbors at the camp."

"I suppose that's true. We certainly don't see you often."

This seemed to indicate that Kenwardine did not know about d.i.c.k's recent visit. He could have no reason for hiding his knowledge, and it looked as if Clare did not tell her father everything.

"You have succeeded in keeping your young friend out of our way,"

Kenwardine resumed. "Still, as he hasn't your love of work and sober character, there's some risk of a reaction if you hold him in too hard.

Jake's at an age when it's difficult to be satisfied with cement."