His monologue was endless; he had a comment for every
person in the line, and he seemed to have a seventh
sense for concealed articles. The saddlebag was
bulging before he was through. At the same time
Allister and Clune jumped from the car and ran.
Larry la Roche gave the warning. Every one crouched
or lay down. The soup exploded. The top of
the car lifted. It made Andrew think, foolishly
enough, of someone tipping a hat. It fell slowly,
with a crash that was like a faint echo of the explosion.
Clune ran back, and they could hear his shrill yell
of delight: “It ain’t a safe!”
he exclaimed. “It’s a baby mint!”
And a baby mint it was! It was a gold shipment.
Gold coin runs about ninety pounds to ten thousand
dollars, and there was close to a hundred pounds apiece
for each of the bandits. It was the largest haul
Allister’s gang had ever made. Larry la
Roche left the pilfering of the passengers and went
to help carry the loot. They brought it out in
little loose canvas bags and went on the run with it
to the horses.
Someone was speaking. It was the gray-headed
man with the glasses and the kindly look about the
eyes. “Boys, it’s the worst little
game you’ve ever worked. I promise you
we’ll keep on your trail until we’ve run
you all into the ground. That’s really
something to remember. I speak for Gregg and
Sons.”
“Partner,” said Scottie Macdougal from
the cab, where he still kept the engineer and fireman
covered, “a little hunt is like an after-dinner
drink to me.”
To the utter amazement of Andrew the whole crowd—the
crowd which had just been carefully and systematically
robbed—burst into laughter. But this
was the end. There was Allister’s whistle;
Jeff Rankin ran around from the other side of the
train; the gang faded instantly into the thicket.
Andrew, as the rear guard—his most ticklish
moment—backed slowly toward the trees.
Once there was a waver in the line, such as precedes
a rush. He stopped short, and a single twitch
of his rifle froze the waverers in their tracks.
Once inside the thicket a yell came from the crowd,
but Andrew had whirled and was running at full speed.
He could hear the others crashing away. Sally,
as he had taught her, broke into a trot as he approached,
and the moment he struck the saddle she was in full
gallop. Guns were rattling behind him; random
shots cut the air sometimes close to him, but not
one of the whole crowd dared venture beyond that unknown
screen of trees.
CHAPTER 36
To Andrew the last danger of the holdup had been assigned
as the rear guard, and he was the last man to pass
Allister. The leader had drawn his horse to one
side a couple of miles down the valley, and, as each
of his band passed him, he raised his hand in silent
greeting. It was the last Andrew saw of him,
a ghostly figure sitting his horse with his hand above
his head. After that his mind was busied by his
ride, for, having the finest mount in the crowd, to
him had been assigned the longest and the most roundabout
route to reach the Twin Eagles.
