As he peered within he stiffened to alert attention and a light oath escaped him. Walking swiftly from a rear door was a tall man, the lower part of his face concealed by a black handkerchief. He held a gun in each hand and was covering the score or more patrons of the place who had risen from the tables, or stepped back from the bar, with their hands held high above their heads.
“Keep ’em there an’ you’ll be all right,” the masked man was saying in a loud voice which carried to Rathburn through cracks in the window 33 glass. “Line up down there, now––you hear me? Line up!”
The patrons lined up, keeping their faces toward the bandit.
“If anybody gets to acting uneasylike it’ll be the signal for me to start shootin’––understand?” came the holdup’s menacing voice as he moved around behind the bar.
“Open both cash drawers,” he ordered the servitor in the white apron. He covered the bartender with one gun while he kept the other pointed in the direction of the men standing in line.
Obeying instructions, the bartender took the bills from the cash drawers and laid them before the bandit on the bar. He then made several piles of silver near the bills, walking to and from the drawers of the big cash register. Continuing to do as he was told, he stuffed the bank notes and silver into the masked man’s pockets, one gun’s muzzle against his breast, the other holding the men in line at bay.
Rathburn heard footsteps on the walk close to him. He whirled and saw two men about to enter the resort. “I wouldn’t go in there,” he said sharply in a low voice.
“Eh––what’s that?”
The two men paused, looking at him questioningly.
“I wouldn’t go in there,” Rathburn repeated. “Come here an’ take a look.”