“And every minute means a mile,” Bennett added.
But in less than a mile the brakeman returned, and the conductor came with him.
“Come now, get off!” commanded the chief, crisply.
“We’ll get off if we have to,” said Bennett. “You must slow up for us, though.”
“Slow hell!” returned the conductor. “I’ve lost time enough with you bums. Hit the gravel, now!”
Elliott glanced down. The gravel was sliding past with such rapidity that the roadway looked smooth as a slate.
“Great heavens, man, you wouldn’t throw us off with the train going a mile a minute. It would be sure murder,” pleaded Bennett.
“I’ve no time to talk. Jump, or I’ll throw you off.” The conductor advanced menacingly, with the brakeman at his shoulder.
Bennett lifted his arm with a gesture that the conductor mistook for aggression. He whipped out his revolver and thrust it in Bennett’s face. The adventurer, startled, stepped quickly back, clean off the platform, and vanished.
A wave of rage choked Elliott’s throat, and he barely restrained himself from flying at the throats of his uniformed tormentors.