Then as his glance fell upon the people coming up the hill, the officers in their lead, his eyes bulged with terror, he grasped Bart's arm, let out an unearthly yell of fear, and by sheer force carried Bart pell-mell down the other side of the hill with him.

"See here," panted Bart, as, still running, they were headed in the direction of the railroad, "my business is here. Don't you hurry me off in this fashion unless there's something to it."

"Told you--express shed--robbers!"

"Robbers? You mean some one is stealing something there?"

"Yes!" gulped Bart's companion.

"Who is it?"

"Don't know."

"Why didn't you stop them?"

"I don't dare do anything," the man wailed. "I'm a poor, miserable object, but I'm your friend. I heard two fellows whispering on the tracks near the express shed. Said they were going to steal some fireworks. I ran to the shed to warn your father. He was asleep in his chair. They might see me--didn't dare do anything."

Bart now believed there might be some basis to the man's statements. He plunged forward alone, not conscious that he was outdistancing his late companion.

Reaching the tracks, Bart ran down a line of freights. The express shed was in view at last. It was lighted up as usual, the door stood open, and nothing suggested anything out of the ordinary.

"The fellow's cracked," reflected Bart. "Everything looks straight here--no, it doesn't!" He checked himself abruptly. "Here! what are you at?"

Sharp and clear Bart sang out. Approaching the express shed from the side, his glance shifted to the rear.

The little structure had one window there, lightly barred with metal strips. Two men stood on the platform beneath it. One of them had just pried a strip loose with some long implement he held in his hand. The other had just pushed up the sash by reaching through the convenient aperture thus made.

Bart bounded to the platform with a nimble spring. As his feet clamped down warningly on the boardway, the man who had pushed up the window turned sharply.

"It's young Stirling!" Bart heard him mutter. "Drop it, and run."

The speaker sprang to the ground and disappeared around the corner of the shed with the words.

His companion, who had been stooping on one knee in his prying operations, essayed to join him, slipped, tilted over, and before he could recover himself Bart was upon him.

"What are you about here?" demanded the latter.

The prisoner was of man-like build and proportions. He did not speak, and tried to keep his features hidden from the rays of the near switch light.

"Lemme go!" he mouthed, with purposely subdued intonation.

"Not till I know who you are--not till I find out what you're up to,"

declared Bart. "Turn around here. I'll stick closer than a brother till I see that face of yours!"

He swung his captive towards the light, but a broad-peaked cap and the partial disguise of a crudely blackened face defeated his purpose.

Bart was about to shout to his father in front, or to his roustabout friend, whom he expected must be somewhere near by this time, when his captive gave a jerk, tore one arm free, and whirled the other aloft.

His hand clenched the implement he had used to pry away the bars, and Bart now saw what it was.

The object the mysterious robber was utilizing for burglarious purposes, was the signal flag used at the switch shanty where Lem Wacker had been doing subst.i.tute duty that day.

It consisted of a three foot iron rod, sharpened at the end. At the blunt end the strip of red flag was wound, near the sharp end the conventional track torpedo was held in place by its tin strap.

"Lemme go"; again growled the man.

"Never!" declared Bart.

The man's left arm was free, and he swung the iron rod aloft. Bart saw it descending, aimed straight for his head. If he held on to the man he could scarcely evade it.

He let go his grip, ducked, made a pa.s.s to grasp the burglar's ankle, but missed it.

An explosion, a sharp flare, a keen shock filled the air, and before Bart could grip the man afresh he had sprung from the platform and vanished.

At the same instant the flag rod clattered to the boards, and a second later, rubbing his face free from sudden p.r.i.c.king grains of powder, Bart saw what had happened.

The blow intended for him had landed upon one of the iron bars of the window with a force that exploded the track torpedo.

It had flared out one broad spiteful breath, sending a shower of sparks among the big ma.s.s of fireworks in the storage room, and amid a thousand hissing, snapping explosions the express shed was in flames.

CHAPTER IV

BLIND FOR LIFE

Bart's first thought was of his father. He instantly leaped from the platform.

As he did so there was a violent explosion in the storage room, the sashes were blown from place outright, and Bart dodged to escape a shower of gla.s.s.

He was fairly appalled at the suddenness with which the flames enveloped the interior, for they shot up in every direction, and the part.i.tion dividing the shed appeared blown from place.

Rockets were fizzing, giant crackers exploding by the pack, and colored chemicals sending out a varied glow.

Bart dashed for the front--a m.u.f.fled cry caused him to hurry his speed.

His father had uttered the cry.

Dazed by the light, his eyes filled with smarting particles of burned powder, Bart suddenly came in violent contact with a human form just as he turned the corner of the shed.

Both nearly upset in the collision. At first Bart fancied it might be one of the burglars, but peering closer he recognized the friendly roustabout.

"Told you so!" gasped the latter in a desperate fl.u.s.ter. "Fire--I'll help you."

"Yes, quick! run," breathed Bart, rushing ahead, "My father's in that burning building!"

Bart was thrilled. The main room of the express shed was one bright blur of brilliancy and colored smoke.