CHAPTER XV.
THE ROBBERY—CUMMINGS' NARROW ESCAPE—THE CAPTURE OF MORIARITY—JIM CUMMINGS SLIPS FROM THE TOILS—MR. PINKERTON TAKES A HAND.
The ranche was asleep. Heavy breathing and deep snores from the sleeping-rooms indicated that slumber had fallen on all the inmates. Swanson, who had been repeatedly urged to drink by Cummings and Moriarity and had accepted every invitation, was stretched on his back a drunken mass of stupidity.
The stamping of the horses and distant movements of the thousands of head of cattle alone broke the silence of the night and the darkness had cast its pall over the entire place.
In the large room Scip and the Doctor coolly and calmly awaited the hour of their triumph. Fear was a stranger to both, and as they quietly conversed in whispered accents it would be difficult to believe that they were about to engage in a most desperate enterprise. In another room lay Cummings and Moriarity, completely dressed. The former, with his habitual sang froid, was whispering to Moriarity, who, somewhat excited, was calmed by his companion's nonchalance, and as the hour for the work drew near became like him. A stealthy step, noiseless as an Indian's, interrupted the conversation, and the faint rap on the door gave them the long-looked-for signal.
Creeping on their hands and knees down the hall past Swanson's door, through which his hoarse breathing could be heard, the two men entered the room in which the treasure was stored. The dying embers in the fire-place created a dull glow, showing the Doctor and Scip, booted and spurred, standing in the center of the room. Softly Cummings approached the picture, his finger found the spring through the canvas and, pressing it hard, the frame swung slowly forward as if reluctant to give up its precious charge.
Rapidly taking one bag after another from the cavity Cummings passed them to Moriarity, who placed them in the bags prepared for them.
The Doctor and Scip had gone outside and now brought the four horses nearer the door. This they did that they might have as little to do with the robbery as possible, and they had so managed it that Jim and Dan had done the actual theft.
Moriarity had brought two of the bags which the Doctor had placed on his own and Scip's horse and had gone back for the third, when the door from the inner hall opened, and, his tangled hair hanging in mats over his eyes, his clothing disarranged, his face purple with rage and a revolver in each hand, Swanson appeared before the surprised robbers.
The dim light of the fire showed the picture open, and befogged as his brain was by the whisky, he realized he was being robbed, and with a roar like a mad bull he sprang upon Cummings.