The Air Trust Part 14

Thirty miles an hour the speedometer showed, then thirty-five and forty.

Again the drunken chauffeur, still master of his machine despite the poison pulsing in his dazed brain, snicked the little levers further down. Forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, the figures on the dial showed.

Now the exhaust ripped in a crackling staccato, like a machine gun, as the chauffeur threw out the m.u.f.fler. Behind, a long trail of dust rose, whirling in the air. Catherine, a sportswoman born, leaned back and smiled with keen pleasure, while her yellow veil, whipping sharply on the wind, let stray locks of that wonderful red-gold hair stream about her flushed face.

Thus she sped homeward, driven at a mad race by a man whose every sense was numbed and stultified by alcohol--homeward, along a road up which, far, far away, another man, keen, sober and alert, was trudging with a knapsack on his broad back, swinging a stick and whistling cheerily as he went.

Fate, that strange moulder of human destinies, what had it in store for these two, this woman and this man? This daughter of a billionaire, and this young proletarian?

Who could foresee, or, foreseeing, could believe what even now stood written on the Book of Destiny?

CHAPTER XIII.

CATASTROPHE!

For a time no danger seemed to threaten. Kate was not only fearless as a pa.s.senger, but equally intrepid at the wheel. Many a time and oft she had driven her father's highest-powered car at dizzying speeds along worse roads than the one her machine was now following. Velocity was to her a kind of stimulant, wonderfully pleasurable; and now, realizing nothing of the truth that Herrick was badly the worse for liquor, she leaned back in the tonneau, breathed the keen slashing air with delight, and let her eyes wander over the swiftly-changing panorama of forest, valley, lake and hill that, in ever new and more radiant beauty, sped away, away, as the huge car leaped down the smooth and rushing road.

Dust and pebbles flew in the wake of the machine, as it gathered velocity. Beneath it, the highway sped like an endless white ribbon, whirling back and away with smooth rapidity. No common road, this, but one which the State authorities had very obligingly built especially for the use of millionaires' motor cars, all through the region of country-clubs, parks, bungalows and summer-resorts dotting the west sh.o.r.e region of the Hudson. Let the farmer truck his produce through mud and ruts, if he would. Let the country folk drive their ramshackle buggies over rocks and stumps, if they so chose. Nothing of that sort for millionaires! No, _they_ must have macadam and smooth, long curves, easy grades and--where the road swung high above the gleaming river--retaining walls to guard them from plunging into the palisaded abyss below.

At just such a place it was, where the road made a sharper turn than any the drunken chauffeur had reckoned on, that catastrophe leaped out to shatter the rushing car.

Only a minute before, Kate--a little uneasy now, at the truly reckless speeding of the driver, and at the daredevil way in which he was taking curves without either sounding his siren or reducing speed--had touched him on the shoulder, with a command: "Not _quite_ so fast, Herrick! Be careful!"

His only answer had been a drunken laugh.

"Careful nothing!" he s...o...b..red, to himself. "You wanted speed--an'

now--hc!--b'Jesus, you _get_--hc!--speed! _I_ ain't 'fraid--are--hc!--_you_?"

She had not heard the words, but had divined their meaning.

"Herrick!" she commanded sharply, leaning forward. "What's the matter with you? Obey me, do you hear? Not so fast!"

A whiff of alcoholic breath suddenly told her the truth. For a second she sat there, as though petrified, with fear now for the first time clutching at her heart.

"Stop at once!" she cried, gripping the man by the collar of his livery.

"You--you're drunk, Herrick! I--I'll have you discharged, at once, when we get home. Stop, do you hear me? You're not fit to drive. I'll take the wheel myself!"

But Herrick, hopelessly under the influence of the poison, which had now produced its full effect, paid no heed.

"Y'--can't dri' _thish_ car!" he muttered, in maudlin accents. "Too big--too heavy for--hc!--woman! I--_I_ dri' it all right, drunk or sober! Good chauffeur--good car--I know thish car! You won't fire me--hc!--for takin' drink or two, huh? I drive you all ri'--drive you to New York or to--hc!--h.e.l.l! Same thing, no difference, ha! ha!--I--"

A sudden blaze of rage crimsoned the girl's face. In all her life she never had been thus spoken to. For a second she clenched her fist, as though to strike down this sodden brute there in the seat before her--a feat she would have been quite capable of. But second thought convinced her of the peril of such an act. Ahead of them a long down-grade stretched away, away, to a turn half-hidden under the arching greenery.

As the car struck this slope, it leaped into ever greater speed; and now, under the erratic guidance of the lolling wretch at the wheel, it began to sway in long, unsteady curves, first toward one ditch, then the other.

Another woman would have screamed; might even have tried to jump out.

But Kate was not of the hysteric sort. More practical, she.

"I've got to climb over into the front seat," she realized in a flash, "and shut off the current--cut the power off--stop the car!"

On the instant, she acted. But as she arose in the tonneau, Herrick, sensing her purpose, turned toward her in the sudden rage of complete intoxication.

"Naw--naw y' don't!" he shouted, his face perfectly purple with fury and drink. "No woman--he!--runs this old boat while I'm aboard, see? Go on, fire me! _I_ don't give--d.a.m.n! But you don't run--car! Sit down! _I_ run car--New York or h.e.l.l--no matter which! _I_--"

Hurtling down the slope like a runaway comet, now wholly out of control, the powerful gray car leaped madly at the turn.

Catherine, her heart sick at last with terror, caught a second's glimpse of forest, on one hand; of a stone wall with tree-tops on some steep abyss below, just grazing it, on the other. Through these trees she saw a momentary flash of water, far beneath.

Then the leaping front wheels struck a cl.u.s.ter of loose pebbles, at the bend.

Wrenched from the drunkard's grip, the steering wheel jerked sharply round.

A skidding--a crash--a cry!

Over the roadway, vacant now, floated a tenuous cloud of dust and gasoline-vapor, commingled.

In the retaining-wall at the left, a jagged gap appeared. Suddenly, far below, toward the river, a crashing detonation shattered harsh echoes from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e.

Came a quick flash of light; then thick, black, greasy smoke arose, and, wafting through the treetops, drifted away on the warm wind of that late June afternoon.

A man, some quarter of a mile to southward, on the great highway, paused suddenly at sound of this explosion.

For a moment he stood there listening acutely, a knotted stick in hand, his flannel shirt, open at the throat, showing a brown and corded neck.

The heavy knapsack on his shoulders seemed no burden to that rugged strength, as he stood, poised and eager, every sense centered in keen attention.

"Trouble ahead, there, by the Eternal!" he suddenly exclaimed. His eye had just caught sight of the first trailing wreaths of smoke, from up the cliff. "An auto's gone to smash, down there, or I'm a plute!"

He needed no second thought to hurl him forward to the rescue. At a smart pace he ran, halloo'ing loudly, to tell the victims--should they still live--that help was at hand. At his right, extended the wall. At his left, a grove of sugar-maples, spa.r.s.ely set, climbed a long slope, over the ridge of which the descending sun glowed warmly. Somewhat back from the road, a rough shack which served as a sugar-house for the spring sap-boiling, stood with gaping door, open to all the winds that blew. These things he noted subconsciously, as he ran.

Then, all at once, as he rounded a sharp turn, he drew up with a cry.

"Down the cliff!" he exclaimed. "Knocked the wall clean out, and plunged! Holy Mackinaw, what a smash!"

In a moment he had reached the scene of the catastrophe. His quick eye took in, almost at a glance, the skidding mark of the wheels, the ragged rent in the wall, the broken limbs of trees below.

"Some wreck!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, dropping his stick and throwing off his knapsack. "_h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, down there!_" he loudly hailed, scrambling through the gap.

From below, no answer.

A silence, as of death, broken only by the echo of his own voice, was all that greeted his wild cry.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He gathered her up as though she had been a child.]