For several moments there was silence as each man tried to figure out some scheme for stopping the train. Suddenly the figure of a man almost brushed Kales’ arm and climbed past him on to the road-bed. Several other men followed him closely—bulky, indistinct figures in the pall of rain, their footsteps drowned out in the roar of the elements. A few feet past, and they were blotted out.
“Who in —— was that?” roared Kales into Bowen’s ear.
Bowen had no more idea than Kales had, and the other two added their questions.
“Sheriff and some men, do yuh think?” asked Kales.
“Mebbe Bates got drunk and talked too much,” volunteered Van Cleve. “—— him, he never showed up!”
“I betcha he’s got a gang to double-cross us!” yelled Orson. “Roper’d do that.”
“—— ’em, they’ve got a light,” swore Kales. “Look!”
Like a tiny pin-point of red, a light glowed down nearer the end of the bridge. It flickered as the storm beat down, and at times it disappeared entirely when the heavy wind howled out of the depths of Moon River.
“Roper must ’a’ told!” declared Van Cleve.
“But the —— fool knowed we’d be here,” argued Red at the top of his voice. “Mebbe he talked too much, but didn’t tell about us goin’ after the stuff.”