I thought for a moment that he intended to shoot the men, but no such idea was passing through his mind. It had occurred to him that, perhaps, these unfortunate derelicts would be charged with the robbery.
And, as it happened, they were in very grave danger.
The posse that gathered, seeing them on the top of the car, opened a fusillade. It was very lucky that the idea occurred to Mooney, for, as it happened, these men drew all the suspicion of the officials. Three men had held up the train. They were three men. They were afterwards tried before the District Court of the United States and very nearly convicted. No doubt they often recalled those significant words of Mooney’s. But unfortunately he had left them no address to which their communication could be sent.
When we got to the car Mooney again turned his lantern on the clock. He swore softly; then he stood back a moment in reflection.
“We’re late,” he said, “I don’t see how we could have taken up so much time on this job; it was the cursed mail.”
White did not speak and I remained silent, standing by the little man now motionless in reflection.
I suppose it must have been five minutes ticked off by the clock while he stood there. Then suddenly he came to a conclusion.
“Give me the spook faces,” he said.
He meant the masks under the hats. I handed him my hat, pulling the mask up over my face. He seized White’s, drew off his own, and disappeared in the direction of the track from which we had just come.
I did not understand what the man was about, and I think White was equally in the dark. But it was clear that the unexpected lateness of the hour had put some of his calculations out of joint. White got into the car and sat down at the wheel. The loot sack was already in the tonneau and I got in beside it.