"He has you confused with that horse thief who said his name was Crosby, Tom," said she, pinching his arm delightedly. "He was the worst-looking brute I ever saw. I thought Mr. Austin had him so secure with the bulldog as guardian. Did he escape?"
"Yes, an' you went with him," exclaimed Brown, making a final stand. "An' I know all about how you come over here in Scott Higgins's wagon too."
"The man is crazy!" exclaimed Mrs. Delancy.
"He may have escaped from the asylum up north of here," whispered
Crosby, loud enough for the deputy to hear.
"Here comes the train," cried she. "Now we can ask the train men to disarm him and send him back to the asylum. Isn't it awful that such dangerous people can be at large?"
Brown lowered his pistol as the engine thundered past. The pilot was almost in the long bridge at the end of the depot when the train stopped to wait for the eastbound express to pass. The instant that Brown's revolver arm was lowered and his head turned with uncertainty to look at the train, Crosby's hand went to his coat pocket, and when the deputy turned toward him again he found himself looking into the shiny, glittering barrel of a pistol.
"Throw that gun away, my friend," said Crosby in a low tone, "or I'll blow your brains out."
"Great Scott!" gasped Brown.
"Throw it away!"
"Don't kill him," pleaded Mrs. Delancy. Brown's knees were shaking like leaves and his teeth chattered. His revolver sailed through the air and clattered on the brick pavement beyond the end of the platform. "Don't shoot," he pleaded, ready to drop to his knees.