Tingling with excitement, the two oddly mated pursuers descended stealthily by a roundabout way. They climbed over rocks and crept through underbrush until finally they came to a clear spot not twenty feet from where the great machine was lying, at the very edge of the swift, deep current. They heard groans and faint cries, with now and then a piteous oath. From their hiding place they counted the forms of four men lying upon the rocks, as if dead. The two held a whispered consultation of war, a plan of action resulting.
"Surrender!" shouted Jackie Blake, standing forth. He and Anderson had their pistols levelled upon the prostrate robbers. For answer there were louder groans, a fiercer oath or two and then a weak, pain-struck voice came out to them:
"For God's sake, get this machine off my legs. I'm dying. Help! Help! We surrender!"
Ten minutes later, the jubilant captors had released the miserable Andrew Gregory from his position beneath the machine, and had successfully bound the hands and feet of five half-unconscious men. Gregory's legs were crushed and one other's skull was cracked. The sixth man was nowhere to be found. The disaster had been complete, the downfall of the great train robbers inglorious. Looking up into the face of Anderson Crow, Gregory smiled through his pain and said hoarsely:
"Damned rotten luck; but if we had to be taken, I'm glad you did it, Crow. You're a good fool, anyway. But for God's sake, get me to a doctor."
"Dang it! I'm sorry fer you, Mr. Gregory—" began Anderson, ready to cry.
"Don't waste your time, old man. I need the doctor. Are the others dead?" he groaned.
"I don't know," replied Jackie Blake. "Some of them look like it. We can't carry you up that hill, but we'll do the next best thing. Marshal, I'll stay here and guard the prisoners while you run to the village for help—and doctors."
"And run fast, Anderson," added Gregory. "You always were so devilish slow. Don't walk-trot."