"Those Cossacks are taking their time, Akim Akimitch."
"Yes, little father; 'tis to be hoped Ah Lum has not swallowed them."
Lieutenant Potugin smiled.
"Ah Lum has been a bogey to them, truly, ever since Captain Kargopol walked into his trap. But I think we'll run the fox to earth this time. General Bekovitch will soon start the rounding up; and 'tis high time."
A half-company of Siberian infantry, including a few engineers, were seated on the rocks in the hills above the Ma-en-ho, engaged in a meagre luncheon of black bread and vodka. They had arrived early that morning by special troop train, in company with a sotnia of Cossacks, from Harbin. Their errand was to establish a temporary signal-station on a convenient hilltop. The hole for the signal-pole had been dug, not without difficulty, in the hard and frozen soil, and before the completion of the job was taken in hand, Lieutenant Potugin, in command of the working party, was allowing his men a short respite for rest and food. The Cossacks meanwhile were scouting in the hills beyond—a task they were by no means fond of,—and seeking a suitable place for the erection of a corresponding signal some miles distant, whence communication could be established with the height now occupied by the infantry.
Lieutenant Potugin was very popular with his men, largely because he never overworked them and was quite content when on duty to share their humble rations. He was seated now beside the sergeant, in the midst of the circle, munching his bread, and every now and then raising his field-glass to scan the surrounding heights. It was a fine morning; a breath of spring was already in the air, even in these heights; the atmosphere was clear, and the outlines of the country were sharply defined against the unclouded sky.
Over the shoulder of a low hill beneath him he could just see a stretch of the main railway line, some three miles away. The little branch line along which his train had come that morning was out of sight immediately below; but he expected every moment to see the empty train reappear on the main line. It was to return to Harbin; rolling stock was urgently needed on all parts of the system; and when his work was done Lieutenant Potugin was to report himself to General Bekovitch and join that officer's carefully-planned expedition against the Chunchuses. The branch line ended at a disused quarry which had been largely drawn upon when the main railway was under construction; and there was no telegraphic communication between the main line and the terminus of the branch—if, indeed, the latter could be said to have a terminus: it simply left off. The empty troop train would doubtless remain at the junction until it was signalled by trolley-car from Imien-po to proceed.
The sergeant, a famous raconteur, was telling a story, long-winded, not at all humorous, yet received by the men with shouts of laughter. Lieutenant Potugin smiled good-humouredly at the naïve amusement of the honest fellows, and once more idly scanned the panorama beneath him. In the far distance he saw a dense line of smoke lying flat in the still air, betokening a train travelling eastward at a high speed. He watched it with languid curiosity as it appeared in the open and vanished into cuttings in the winding valley of the river. It passed the junction, slackening speed, and then, to his surprise, pulled up. Distant though it was, he could distinctly see through his powerful glass a little knot of men hurrying from the train up the line. They disappeared for a time, apparently beneath a culvert. The circumstance awakened Lieutenant Potugin's curiosity; he watched with a certain eagerness for the men to reappear; one or two small groups could be seen against the snow, but a considerable time elapsed before the most of the men joined them and the whole party ran back to the train. Scarcely had they reached it when a cloud of dust rose high into the air above the bridge, and a few seconds later the sound of two dull explosions reached the lieutenant's ear, followed by miniature echoes from the rocks.
The lieutenant sprang up and gazed intently through his glass. The sounds had been heard by the men also; they turned their heads for a moment, but, seeing nothing, resumed their conversation. But Potugin stood as if stupefied. An attempt had been made to wreck the culvert; that was clear. But who were the wreckers? Were they Russians, cutting the railway to check pursuit by the Japanese? Surely the enemy was not already at Harbin? Accustomed as he was in this terrible war to sudden and startling movements, the lieutenant could not believe that the Japanese had made such strides. No, he thought; it was more likely to be a party of Japanese who had captured the train and were engaged on a wrecking foray. Such things had happened south of Moukden; a flying squadron might have evaded the Cossacks and made a daring attack on some inadequately protected train.
The train was moving forward. But what is that? It has stopped again; it is running back towards the stream. The madmen! Are they going to hurl themselves to destruction on the ruins of the culvert? Potugin's gaze is fascinated. Ah! he sees through it now; three carriages have left the rest of the train, which is again at a standstill; they are rushing down the gradient, faster, faster. Good heavens! they have crashed into the culvert, piling themselves one above another, and the sound comes to him like the breaking of some giant's crockery afar.
Then Potugin found his wits. Nothing in the whole course of the war had given the Russians so much anxiety as their railway. Depending on it for the rapid transit of reinforcements and munitions of war, they were constantly in nervous dread of this their sole communication with St. Petersburg being cut by Japanese or Chunchuses. The dreaded thing had happened. Fully realizing the situation, Lieutenant Potugin was prompt to act.
"Fall in!" he shouted.
The men sprang from their seats and were aligned in a twinkling.
"Sergeant, signal the Cossacks that a train is in the hands of the enemy, and going eastward. Men, follow me."
He led the way at a breakneck pace down the hill towards the spot where they had left the empty troop train. Three minutes brought them within sight of the train; at that moment the engine whistled and began to puff along. The officer shouted, waving his hand; the engine-driver saw his urgent gesture, and shut off steam. In another ten minutes sixty breathless men, heated with their headlong scamper, were on board the train; the lieutenant was beside the driver; and the engine was steaming as rapidly as the crazy irregular track permitted towards the main line.
Arrived at the junction, Lieutenant Potugin himself leapt down and switched the points close. The pointsman had apparently been startled by the crash and run off to inform the guardsmen at the nearest block-house. The troop in was just moving forward to cross the points when a tremendous rumbling was heard from the direction of Imien-po, moment by moment increasing. The engine of the troop train was already on the main line. But the lieutenant, standing with his hand on the switch and looking down the track, was horrified at what he saw rapidly approaching.
"Reverse the engine!" he shouted; "for God's sake reverse the engine!"
The driver with frenzied haste threw over his reversing lever and put on more steam; the engine stopped, moved slowly backward; it had reached safety by only a few inches when a goods train came thundering past at furious speed, and disappeared in the direction of the bridge. As it flashed by, Lieutenant Potugin was almost sure that the engine had neither driver nor fireman. Startled though he was by the hair's-breadth escape from destruction, he immediately recovered his presence of mind. Setting the points, he ran to his retreating train, clambered into the cab, and before the driver had pulled himself together the lieutenant seized the lever, reversed the engine, and drove the train on to the main line, then sprang down, unlocked the points, and in two minutes was running the train backward towards Imien-po.
The engine was a powerful Baldwin; the train though long was nearly empty; it gathered way, and with the regulator fully open had soon attained a high speed. But the engine was at the wrong end; it was difficult to see ahead. The lieutenant was now outside the engine, hanging on to the rail, and bending outwards in order to get a clear view down the line. Half-way to Imien-po he caught sight of a trolley approaching. He called to the driver to shut off steam and apply the brakes. The man working the trolley stopped the moment he caught sight of the train, and seemed in doubt whether to go back or to remain. The train had almost come to rest; the officer bellowed a few words to the trolley-man; he sprang to the ground, promptly tipped the trolley off the track and over the embankment, and, running to the engine, climbed up beside Potugin, the train still moving. Again the brakes were released and the regulator opened, and as the train forged ahead the trolley-man explained in a few words to the lieutenant what had occurred.
At Imien-po a few minutes' stop was made while appliances for repairing the line were hastily brought on board and a number of skilled platelayers taken up. The opportunity was taken to shunt several of the carriages on to a siding. The engine could not be transferred to the front of the train without a serious waste of time, and every second was precious. A fresh start was made; greatly lightened, the train made fine running for some miles. Then the lieutenant, using his glass, saw the smoke of a train about five miles down the line. As he watched it, the smoke ceased; the train must have stopped, for the gradient was rising. A few minutes more and the runaway came in sight. But the fireman, stooping from his side of the engine, observed with his trained eyes that a portion of the track had been torn up, and steam was shut off and the brakes applied only just in time to avert a disaster. Jumping from the train, half a dozen platelayers hurried with their tools behind the engine, and, spurred by the voice of the officer and helped by his men, in an incredibly short space of time they had wrenched up some rails from the track already covered, and bridged the gap at the other end.
Slowly and carefully the train was run over the shaky metals only half-secured to the sleepers. When the danger point was passed, the driver opened the valve and the engine pushed along at full speed. It was to be a trial, not only of speed between the two magnificent engines, but of wits between the two leaders: between the ingenuity of the pursued in obstructing the progress of the pursuer, and of the pursuer in overcoming the obstacles raised by the pursued. It was more; it was a competition in daring and the readiness to take risks. The track was hilly, winding, roughly laid; not intended for, wholly unsuited to, great speed; with steep gradients and sharp curves never rounded by the regular drivers of the line but with caution. Over this track the two trains were leaping at a pace unknown on the Siberian railway—a pace that would have turned the chief engineer's hair white with dismay. On the one train Jack Brown, on the other Lieutenant Potugin, had to think out their decisions, or rather to flash them unthought, clinging to the outer rail of a rattling, swaying, jolting, throbbing engine threatening at any moment to jump the rails, with the noise of escaping steam, the roaring of the furnace heaped to the mouth with fuel, the whistle constantly sounding to warn off any obstruction ahead, small though the chances were that the signal, if needed, could be heard and acted on in time. Accident apart, the race would be to the coolest head and the quickest wit. On the one side the stake was life or death. Into whose hand would fortune give it?