“What did I tell you about brigands and robbers!” exclaimed Anguish. “If those fellows are not bandits I'll lose faith in every novel I ever read.”
The train rolled slowly past three mounted men whose steeds stood like statues upon a little knoll to the right of the track, men and beasts engaged in silent contemplation of the cars. The men, picturesquely attired and looking fierce, carrying long rifles, certainly bore an aspect that suggested the brigand. When the guard entered the carriage Anguish asked in German for some information concerning the riders.
“Dey're frontier police-guards,” responded the man in English, smiling at their astonishment. Both Americans arose and shook hands with him.
“By George, it's good to hear a man talk white man's language,” cried Anguish.
“How do you come to be holding a job on this road? An Englishman?” demanded Lorry. He looked anything but English.
“I'm not an Englishman,” said the guard, flushing slightly. “My name's Sitzky, and I'm an American, sir.”
“An American!” exclaimed Lorry. Sitzky grew loquacious.
“Sure! I used to be a sailor on a United States man-o'war. A couple of years ago I got into trouble down at Constantinople and had to get out of de service. After dat I drifted up dis way and went to railroadin'.” He hadn't exactly the manner of a man-of-warsman.
“How long have you been on this road?” asked Grenfall.
“'Bout a year, I should t'ink. Been on dis branch only two months, dough.”