"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.