He dropped his head on his hand, and sat staring out of the great window which formed the front of the office. The rays of light from the lamp on the wall beside him reached as far as the track which ran before the station, but beyond that was utter darkness. The rain had ceased, but the light was reflected in the puddles of muddy water which stood before the station, and the eaves were drip-dripping like the ticking of a clock. Once Allan thought he heard steps; and a moment later he fancied the floor creaked—it was no doubt Hopkins, moving in his sleep. A man must have nerves of iron to be able to sleep like that with a treasure-chest to guard; but then—
Some indescribable influence caused him to turn his head, and he found himself looking straight down the barrel of a revolver.
[CHAPTER XXIII]
“HANDS UP!”
For an instant, Allan fancied that Jed Hopkins was playing a joke upon him, but when he glanced at the figure behind the revolver, he saw at once that it was shorter and heavier than that of the ex-plainsman. A slouch hat was pulled down over the eyes and a dirty red handkerchief tied over the mouth and chin, so that none of the face was visible except a short section of red, pimply, and unshaven cheek. All this the boy saw in the single second which followed his start of surprise on perceiving the revolver at his ear.
“Hands up,” muttered a hoarse voice, before Allan had time to move a muscle, and as he mechanically obeyed, his hands were seized from behind and bound together at the wrists in the twinkling of an eye.
“Now, tie him to his chair, Joe,” said his captor, and in another moment it was done. “Now the gag,” and before the boy could protest, a corn-cob, around which was wrapped a dirty rag, was forced between his teeth and tied tightly to his head. Allan reflected grimly that he could appreciate a horse’s feelings when a bit was thrust into its mouth and secured there.
The man with the revolver lowered that weapon and regarded this handiwork with evident satisfaction.