. "All we have to do is cut that
coupling loose, ride back to the cave and collect all the dough we need
by sitting tight."

O'Toole chuckled.

"Do you take me for a fool? I can handle things my own way, with Ferrell
out of the way. I don't need you." His face softened a bit, and the gun
dropped inches. "Besides, how do I know you won't turn yellow and give
the whole thing away?"

Blake saw his chance to hit at O'Toole's one weakness.

"Wade is out of the way," he said swiftly. "I can return to South
Station and assume control of the line with Ferrell out of the picture.
You'll get half of everything we make."

O'Toole was weakening. He glanced out of the cab, toward the wooded side
of the valley.

"You're just crooked enough to be on the level," he pocketed the electro
gun. "In ten minutes we'll reach Loon Lake. Better get to that
coupling."

Blake followed him back through the power car.

O'Toole turned once, and grinned wickedly.

"We'll have a devil of a time, you and I," he said. "Now, for a nice
swimming party to Ferrell and his gang."

He hunched down over the coupling that separated the power units from
the line of coaches. The simple coupling adjustment was under his
doubled fist. Blake's eyes narrowed as the coupling started to come
loose under the Irishman's grip. He lifted his heavy boot, and silently
brought it down on O'Toole's head.

The blow was executed coolly and without feeling. No quarter had been
asked, and there was no pity in Blake's eyes as Holly O'Toole fell
forward, face down. He lay still, arms outstretched over the slit
between the cars. Blake pushed him forward, and saw the body drop
quickly out of sight to the rail.

* * * * *

He turned toward the cab and with feverish haste jerked down all three
magnetic brake levers. Mono 6 shuddered through its entire length and
seemed to settle backward against the screaming, protesting track. The
flyer halted slowly, skidding sickeningly. Then outside, with the
shrieking brakes silenced, Jeff could hear the soft lapping of water.

He rushed to the open window and looked down. They were on a long wharf,
extending out over dark water. He looked back along the line of cars,
shining faintly in the moonlight. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.
Mono 6 was still on the rail. A scant three hundred feet beyond the last
car was open water.

A shout of alarm came from somewhere back in the corridor of the car.