"Every time I holds threes he allus has better," growled Lanky to Simms.
"On th' level, we couldn't do a thing," the brakeman ran on. "There 's
a water tank a little farther on, and they must 'a' climbed aboard there
when we stopped to connect. When we got into the gulch the train slowed
down and stopped and I started to get up to go out and see what was the
matter; but I saw that when I looked down a gun-barrel. The man at the
throttle end of it told me to put up my hands, but they were up as high
then as I could get 'em without climbin' on the top of the seat.
"Can't you listen and play at th' same time?" Lanky asked Billy.
"I wasn't countin' on takin' the gun away from him," the brakeman
continued, "for I was too busy watchin' for the slug to come out of the
hole. Pretty soon somebody on the outside whistled and then another
feller come in the car; he was the one that did the cleanin' up. All
this time there had been a lot of shootin' outside, but now it got
worse. Then I heard another whistle and the engine puffed up the track,
and about five minutes later there was a big explosion, and then our two
robbers backed out of the car among the rocks shootin' back regardless.
They busted a lot of windows."
"An' you did n't git none," grumbled Hopalong, regretfully.
"When we got to the express-car, what had been pulled around the turn,"
continued the brakeman, not heeding the interruption, "we found a wreck.
And we found the engineer and fireman standin' over the
express-messenger, too scared to know he would n't come back no more.
The car had been blowed up with dynamite, and his fighting soul went
with it. He never knowed he was licked."
"An' nobody tried to help him!" Hopalong exclaimed, wrathfully now.
"Nobody wanted to die with him," replied the brakeman.
"Well," cried the fat man, suddenly reaching for his valise, "I 'd like
to see anybody try to hold me up!" Saying which he brought forth a
small revolver.
"You 'd be praying out of your bald spot about that time," muttered the
brakeman.
Hopalong and Red turned, perceived the weapon, and then exchanged winks.
"That's a fine shootin'-iron, stranger," gravely remarked Hopalong.
"You bet it is!" purred the owner, proudly. "I paid six dollars for that
gun."
Lanky smothered a laugh and his friend grinned broadly: "I reckon that'd
kill a man--if you stuck it in his ear."
"Pshaw!" snorted the dyspeptic, scornfully. "You wouldn't have time to
get it out of that grip. Think a train-robber is going to let you
unpack? Why don't you carry it in your hip-pocket, where you can get at
it quickly?"
There were smiles at the stranger's belief in the hip-pocket fallacy but
no one commented upon it.
"Was n't there no passengers aboard when you was stuck up?" Lanky asked
the conductor.
"Yes, but you can't count passengers in on a deal like that."