Doom On The Hill

CHAPTER XXI MEN FROM THE DARK

THE Union Limited had pulled out of the Chanburg station while Spike Balgo and his mobsmen were heading from the hill. The station platform was deserted when the mobleader brought his crew to a stop in the driveway where only Zach Hoyler’s flivver was parked. The box settled in the gravel as Spike growled an order.

“There’s only one guy around,” asserted the mobleader. “That’s the station agent. We want him out here. See? We’re going to use the guy.”

“How do we grab him?” questioned Dingbat.

“Two of you mugs go in and cover him,” responded Spike. “Bring him out around the platform. We’ll hold him here until the milk train comes in.”

“We’ve only got these bum gats—”

“What of it? How’ll he know they’ve got dummy slugs in ‘em? Say — he’ll crawl out here like a little lamb. If you had real bullets it wouldn’t make no difference, anyway. Sock him if he puts up a fight. Shooting is out. Do you think we want to bring yaps up here from the town?”

“O.K., Spike.”

Zach Hoyler was sitting at his telegraph key when he heard a sound from the wicket. He looked up to see two mobsters covering him. One was at the ticket window — the other at the opened door from the waiting room.

“Mitts up, bum,” ordered Dingbat, who was at the door. “Climb up from dat soft seat an’ come along wid us.”

The station agent obeyed. He chewed his lips in nervous fashion as he observed the hard faces of the mobsters. Dingbat poked a Luger muzzle into the middle of Zach’s back. He marched the weary-faced agent out and round the platform. Spike took charge when they arrived.

“Say, listen, you” — the gangleader chuckled contemptuously as he studied Hoyler’s pale face — “we’re going to the lower end of the platform. We’ll all be out of sight — except you — when that Dairy Express comes in.

“But remember — I’ll be there with this rod; and these other boys ain’t no slouches. If you try any phony stuff, we’ll cut loose — and the first guy to get lead poisoning will be you. After that the train crew. Savvy?”

Hoyler nodded.

“The first thing you do,” proceeded Spike, “is to call for the conductor. Bring him up to the engine cab — like there was something important you have to tell him and the engineer. Special orders — any kind of hooey — only pull the stunt right. If you don’t—”

Spike paused. He leered. His henchmen muttered imprecations. Hoyler blinked as he heard the threats. Spike added this assertion:

“Well, if you act funny, you won’t be selling no more tickets through that window of yours. What’s more, there won’t be none of that train crew working for this road no longer. But if you do like I say, nobody’s going to get hurt. You’ll be a hero. You’ll get a medal, maybe, for saving lives, after you spill your story.”

Spike started Hoyler toward the end of the platform. The others kept in the offing. None of the figures appeared in the light. It was not until they reached the lower end that Spike headed the station agent toward his post. Even then he stopped the man before they came into the end light of the platform.

THE Dairy Express was whistling for the grade crossing. Spike growled a final injunction to Hoyler. Crouched mobsmen heard the words.

“Climb on the platform just as she pulls in,” ordered Spike. “And remember, I can shoot the petals off a daisy at thirty feet. I’ll be closer than that to you.”

Headlight gleamed on rails. Zach Hoyler stepped warily on to the platform as the big locomotive of the milk train came grinding toward the end of the station. As the Mogul panted to a halt, the station agent moved toward the engine cab. Looking along the platform, he beckoned to the conductor. The man came hurrying up.

Engineer and fireman were leaning from the cab when the conductor arrived. They wondered what orders had come into Hoyler’s ticket office. Something important seemed to be brewing. It was. As the train crew gathered, figures came clambering on to the platform. Mobsters flourished Lugers, covering each man, while Spike Balgo, armed with Harry Vincent’s automatic, held the center of the spot.

“Out of the cab, bums” — engineer and fireman sullenly obeyed Spike’s order — “and keep your mitts up, all of you. Frisk those guys, Dingbat. Maybe they’ve got rods.”

Dingbat obeyed. His face formed a grin as he discovered three revolvers. He handed these to members of the mob, who pocketed their Lugers. Three of Balgo’s six now had loaded guns. Spike grinned.

“Guess you were figuring on trouble along this run,” he snarled. “Well — you got it, but you weren’t ready for it. Thanks for the rods. We can use ‘em.”

“Say, Spike,” put in Dingbat, “maybe dere’s a rod in dis guy’s desk” — he indicated Hoyler — “because I didn’t look to—”

“We got enough,” put in Spike. “Come on, Kirky, cut loose the coupling on this loco. We’re going to take a trip in it. You, Dingbat and Beef — shove that box into the cab.”

The mobsters obeyed. Dingbat and “Beef” came from the cab. The latter hurried to aid Kirky with the coupling, while the rest of the mob kept the train crew covered with their own guns. The Mogul unhooked, Kirky and the other mobster returned. Spike Balgo looked about; then gazed approvingly toward the panting locomotive.

“Back ‘em along the platform toward the station,” he ordered. Mobsters obeyed, keeping the train crew in a cluster. “That’s it” — Balgo had turned — “we’re all set. Come on, you mugs, back up here with me.”

Spike was standing alone, behind the others. He reached out to grasp a handle beside the cab. Something made him look upward. The gangleader stood open-mouthed as he stared into the muzzle of a glimmering revolver.

Spike let his automatic clatter to the platform. Mobsters turned at the sound. They were too late. Another revolver had appeared beside the first. The gang was covered. A growled voice hurled its warning:

“Drop those rods.”

THE three armed mobsters obeyed. One man came down from the cab, gun moving back and forth while the second covered steadily. The other fellow followed. The members of the train crew were on the job. Pouncing upon the weapons, they used them to cover the crooks.

Dingbat, Kirky and the third unarmed mobster put up their hands. They had only useless Lugers. They did not have time to draw them. The members of the train crew looked toward their rescuers. So did Zach Hoyler. It was the station agent who emitted the gasp of surprise as he recognized the rescuers.

One of the two men was Perry Nubin, the railroad dick. His companion was Harry Vincent. The pair had come through from the other side of the track. Ready with revolvers, they had turned the tables on men of crime!