“Now you can step in and see your friend,” said the man in the doorway, addressing Jones, who appeared, white and trembling, and coming behind the counter, dropped into a chair facing Alex. The speaker then once more disappeared, and presently an opening click of the instruments told the nature of his errand. The wires had been cut.
He soon returned, and rummaging about, while the taller man stood guard over them, he found some ropes, and proceeded to bind Alex and the day operator tightly in their chairs.
Just as the task was completed there came a long-drawn whistle from the west. Both robbers promptly turned to the door. “Well, good night, gentlemen,” said the smaller, grimly. “Much obliged for your kind services.”
“And I would just pause to repeat,” said the taller, jocosely, “that there is some class to this getaway scheme, should any one ask you. Good night.”
“Yes, there is class—but it isn’t first!”
Uttering a cry the two bank robbers staggered back from the door, and with a bound the deputy sheriff and a constable were upon them, bore them to the floor, and after a brief but terrific struggle disarmed and handcuffed them.
“Yes,” said the sheriff, rising, and with his knife quickly freeing the two prisoners, “there was class to it, but it was second.
“Our young friend here takes ‘first.’”
