“Well, that's to be thought of,” said the other, allowing himself to be pacified, but still holding his pistol.
“Don't let him open that window,” cried Annixter sharply from his place by Hilma's side, for the drummer had made as if to open the sash in one of the sections that had not been made up.
“Sure, that's right,” said the others. “Don't open any windows. Keep your head in. You'll get us all shot if you aren't careful.”
However, the drummer had got the window up and had leaned out before the others could interfere and draw him away.
“Say, by jove,” he shouted, as he turned back to the car, “our engine's gone. We're standing on a curve and you can see the end of the train. She's gone, I tell you. Well, look for yourself.”
In spite of their precautions, one after another, his friends looked out. Sure enough, the train was without a locomotive.
“They've done it so we can't get away,” vociferated the drummer with the pistol. “Now, by jiminy-Christmas, they'll come through the cars and stand us up. They'll be in here in a minute. LORD! WHAT WAS THAT?”
From far away up the track, apparently some half-mile ahead of the train, came the sound of a heavy explosion. The windows of the car vibrated with it.
“Shooting again.”
“That isn't shooting,” exclaimed Annixter. “They've pulled the express and mail car on ahead with the engine and now they are dynamiting her open.”