The Canyon Tiger glanced for a moment at the driver, and then lifted his head, as if to say, “Go up.”
Sullenly, and with many a muttered curse, old Jack climbed to his box again.
“If you attempt a treacherous move, I’ll take the lines from you, or rather they’ll drop suddenly from your hands.”
Jack heard but did not speak.
“Come up here, Tom Terror!”
The revolvers which were covering the outlaw’s face carried him forward.
Jack, expecting a conversation between the two, bent down.
“Now do your duty,” said the man at the window, in a commanding whisper. “Do not forget for a moment that if you fail—or if you associate anybody with you—I will flood your brains with daylight. You must do it alone—alone, I tell you! The path is before you; at the end of it is a bonanza, a real palpable one; but between you and it is death—death by the trigger I am touching now!”
Old Jack did not hear all; the sentences that fell on his ears were disjointed, but not altogether meaningless.