“That’ll do,” he said, with a chuckle. “I reckon he won’t bother us.”
Allan, twisting his head around, saw that there were two men in the office besides the one with the revolver, and he fancied he could detect another walking up and down before the station. He knew, of course, that they were after the miners’ money, and the robbery had evidently been planned with great care—as it had need to be, to stand any chance of success.
“Now, there’s just one fellow in there,” continued the man, who was evidently the leader of the expedition, “and we’ve got to rush him. All ready?”
The others drew revolvers from their pockets and nodded, grouping themselves before the door which led into the freight-shed.
The leader got out a small dark-lantern, tested it, and then leaned over and blew out the lamp.
At the same instant, Allan, kicking out desperately, upset the other chair which stood at the operator’s desk. It fell with a crash, but the noise was drowned by a greater one, as the door was flung back and the robbers plunged through and hurled themselves upon Jed Hopkins.
Just what happened in the next few minutes Allan never definitely knew, for the lantern carried by the leader was shattered in the first moment of the onset and the place was in utter darkness. The little station shook and quivered under repeated shocks, as though some heavy body was being dashed against the floor and walls of the freight-shed. He could hear the gasping breath and muttered oaths that told of a desperate struggle. Evidently, Jed was giving a good account of himself, even against those heavy odds. Then a revolver spoke, followed by a yell of pain. A moment later there was a second shot, and instantly all was still.
“I thought I told you,” began an angry voice—
“He made me do it!” broke in a fierce falsetto. “He put a hole right through my hand.”
Somebody struck a match and evidently took a quick survey of the place.