“I aint going to fire when there’s no chance of hitting him,” growled Tom, still twisting and edging his way out of reach.
“But the lightning will show him to you in a minute.”
“Let it show and be hanged! I’ve got enough; I surrender.”
The words had been spoken hastily, and Tom and Jim did not throw away any seconds in groping for cover, but, brief as was the time, the terrible fellow in the middle of the road became impatient.
“Are all them hands up?” he roared, “or shall I open fire?”
“My two passengers are under the seat, but they won’t hurt you—”
The driver checked himself for a moment and then exclaimed, loud enough for the youths to hear:
“He’s coming into the wagon!”
“Heavens! don’t let him do that,” protested Jim; “he’ll kill us all; tell him we surrender and won’t shoot.”
“Where’s them young men that were going to fire so quick?” demanded the fellow, hurriedly climbing into the front of the stage; “let me have a chance at them!”