She sprang up and at the same time there was a great
boom from within the car. The side bulged out—a
section of the top lifted and fell back with a crash—and
Silent ran back into the smoke. Haines, Purvis,
and Kilduff were instantly at the car, taking the ponderous
little canvas sacks of coin as their chief handed
them out.
Within two minutes after the explosion ten small sacks
were deposited in the saddlebags on the horses which
stood before the station-house. Silent’s
whistle called in Terry Jordan and Shorty Rhinehart—a
sharp order forced Kate to climb into her saddle—and
the train robbers struck up the hillside at a racing
pace. A confused shouting rose behind them.
Rifles commenced to crack where some of the passengers
had taken up the weapons of the dead guards, but the
bullets flew wide, and the little troop was soon safely
out of range.
On the other side of the hill-top they changed their
course to the right. For half an hour the killing
pace continued, and then, as there was not a sign
of immediate chase, the lone riders drew down to a
soberer pace. Silent called: “Keep
bunched behind me. We’re headed for the
old Salton place—an’ a long rest.”
REAL MEN
Some people pointed out that Sheriff Gus Morris had
never made a single important arrest in the ten years
during which he had held office, and there were a
few slanderers who spoke insinuatingly of the manner
in which the lone riders flourished in Morris’s
domain. These “knockers,” however,
were voted down by the vast majority, who swore that
the sheriff was the finest fellow who ever threw leg
over saddle. They liked him for his inexhaustible
good-nature, the mellow baritone in which he sang
the range songs at any one’s request, and perhaps
more than all, for the very laxness with which he conducted
his work. They had had enough of the old school
of sheriffs who lived a few months gun in hand and
died fighting from the saddle. The office had
never seemed desirable until Gus Morris ran for it
and smiled his way to a triumphant election.
Before his career as an office-holder began, he ran
a combined general merchandise store, saloon, and
hotel. That is to say, he ran the hostelry in
name. The real executive head, general manager,
clerk, bookkeeper, and cook, and sometimes even bartender
was his daughter, Jacqueline. She found the place
only a saloon, and a poorly patronized one at that.
Her unaided energy gradually made it into a hotel,
restaurant, and store. Even while her father was
in office he spent most of his time around the hotel;
but no matter how important he might be elsewhere,
in his own house he had no voice. There the only
law was the will of Jacqueline.
