The jolting had ceased. The grinding of wheels of the moving train was plainly heard. But—the caboose remained stationary.
He leaped to his feet.
“Hell!” he cried. “What the——”
But the brakeman, Jack, was on his feet, too. With a bound he sprang at the door of the caboose. But instantly he fell back with a cry.
Four gun muzzles were leveled at his body, and, behind them, stood the figures of two masked men.
One of the two spoke in the slow easy drawl of the West, which lacked nothing in conviction.
“Jest keep dead still—all o’ you,” he said. “Don’t move—nor nothin’, or we’ll blow holes through your figgers that’ll cause a hell of a draught. We ain’t yearning to make no sort o’ mess in this yer caboose. But we’re going to do it—’cep’ you keep quite still, an’ don’t worry any.”
The conductor was a man of wide experience on the railroad. He had seen many “hold-ups.” So many, he was almost used to them. But without being absolutely sure of the purpose of these men he thanked his genius of good luck that he had not seen the “pay train” for nearly a month. He was quite ready to obey. For all he cared the raiders could take locomotive, train, caboose and all, provided he was left with a whole skin.