“That must be it. Yes, sure, that's just what they are doing.”
The forward door of the car opened and closed and the school-teachers shrieked and cowered. The drummer with the revolver faced about, his eyes bulging. However, it was only the train conductor, hatless, his lantern in his hand. He was soaked with rain. He appeared in the aisle.
“Is there a doctor in this car?” he asked.
Promptly the passengers surrounded him, voluble with questions. But he was in a bad temper.
“I don't know anything more than you,” he shouted angrily. “It was a hold-up. I guess you know that, don't you? Well, what more do you want to know? I ain't got time to fool around. They cut off our express car and have cracked it open, and they shot one of our train crew, that's all, and I want a doctor.”
“Did they shoot him—kill him, do you mean?”
“Is he hurt bad?”
“Did the men get away?”
“Oh, shut up, will you all?” exclaimed the conductor.
“What do I know? Is there a DOCTOR in this car, that's what I want to know?”