“Hold ’em up!” Westy’s voice commanded, sounding strange even to himself. Rip was holding his breath waiting for the next thing to happen, for he naturally thought that the deep hoarseness emanating from the throat of his comrade was a temporary bluff to make the east-sider believe his opponents were men. However, no one but Westy himself ever knew just what did cause this remarkable change and in view of subsequent happenings it wouldn’t be fair to reveal anything further.
“Get around on the other side of the engine!” Westy commanded, determination ringing in his tones. “Walk ahead and don’t look back once. I got you covered. D’ye get me?”
“Shure, I getcha,” the captured one answered sullenly.
As they reached the head of the engine and stepped to cross and go around it, Westy and Rip got a good view of their prisoner as he passed directly in the path of the powerful searchlight. A typical gunman he was, short of stature, but broad and stockily built, trudging obediently ahead.
These two boy scouts, fearless as they were, would not have meant so much as a feather in his ruffian hands had he but been aware of the extreme youth of his captors. They stepped quickly out of the light lest he should suddenly turn and discover how he was misled. But no, he led the way, groping in the darkness, and Westy felt perfectly confident that he would go on, blindly leading them to the source of the mystery.
Passing under the engine cab the boys could see it was empty, the fireman and engineer both gone. Obviously, there was foul play somewhere and Westy drew a deep breath to heighten his courage.
Nearing the second mail car, they perceived a chink of light shining through the aperture and the distinct hum of voices inside. At this juncture the boys both whispered a warning to their captive, Westy pushing the gun against his back.
“Tell them to open up, and if you let out one squeak——!” He left the sentence unfinished purposely.
The gunman nodded assent and rapped his knuckles against the door. A subdued silence prevailed and then a shuffle of feet.
“Zat you, Bull?” came from behind the door.