But, singularly enough, the passenger who seemed most nervous and terrified was the stalwart Colonel Braddon, who had boasted most noisily of what he would do in case the stage were attacked. He nervously felt in his pockets for his money, his face pale and ashen, and said, imploringly: "Spare my life, gentlemen; I will give you all I have."
"All right, old man," said one of the stage robbers, as he took the proffered pocketbook. "Haven't you any more money?"
"No; on my honor, gentlemen. It will leave me penniless."
"Hand over your watch."
With a groan, Colonel Braddon handed over a gold stem-winder, of Waltham make.
"Couldn't you leave me the watch, gentlemen?" he said, imploringly. "It was a present to me last Christmas."
"Can't spare it. Make your friends give you another."
Next came the turn of Mortimer Sprague, the young dude.
"Hand over your spondulics, young feller," said the second gentleman of the road.
"Weally, I'm afraid I can't, without a good deal of twouble."