All at once, however, the sharp staccato rattle of its exhaust sounded, and the dim lights were whisked off at what seemed considerable speed. Evidently the car had been halted for something—perhaps to examine the stolen box—and the sight of the approaching lights had warned its occupants that these might be signs of a pursuer.
Such was the guess the boys made anyhow, and it was not long before all doubts as to who was in the front car were dissipated.
“Stop that car or I’ll fire at you,” roared back a voice which the boys recognized as Dugan’s.
The only answer they vouchsafed was to keep on going.
Bang!
A bullet screamed past from the car in front and whistled by the boys’ ears. They could see the red flash of the discharged pistol against the blackness ahead of them.
“That’s to show you we mean business. The next will come closer,” came the same voice.
“He’s only bluffing. He can’t see anything in this light,” whispered Tubby.
Suddenly from somewhere to the eastward there came a hoarse, harsh whistle.
“A train!” cried Rob, as he heard; “must be a night freight.”