“I don’t see how.”
“I’ll show you. Do you see this?”
As Casco spoke, he shoved the muzzle of a pistol down in the neighborhood of the young photographer’s head.
“Do you intend to kill me in cold blood?”
“I intend to make you mind me, Alden. When I give the command, you will jump from the train.”
Bob shrank back in horror. The freight train was now moving at the rate of twenty miles an hour, and a jump would be full of peril.
He looked around for some means by which to protect himself. But the narrow platform was bare, and he was without weapon of any kind.
“What if I do some firing on my own account?” Bob asked, more to gain time than anything else.
“Have you a pistol?”
Instead of replying, Bob made a leap upward, and before Casco could draw back the youth had hold of the pistol and had wrenched it from his hand.