Black Eagle’s band set out, riding by night.  Arriving in the vicinity of Espina they rested their horses all day in a thicket a few miles distant.

The train was due at Espina at 10.30 P.M.  They could rob the train and be well over the Mexican border with their booty by daylight the next morning.

To do Black Eagle justice, he exhibited no signs of flinching from the responsible honours that had been conferred upon him.

He assigned his men to their respective posts with discretion, and coached them carefully as to their duties.  On each side of the track four of the band were to lie concealed in the chaparral.  Gotch-Ear Rodgers was to stick up the station agent.  Bronco Charlie was to remain with the horses, holding them in readiness.  At a spot where it was calculated the engine would be when the train stopped, Bud King was to lie hidden on one side, and Black Eagle himself on the other.  The two would get the drop on the engineer and fireman, force them to descend and proceed to the rear.  Then the express car would be looted, and the escape made.  No one was to move until Black Eagle gave the signal by firing his revolver.  The plan was perfect.

At ten minutes to train time every man was at his post, effectually concealed by the thick chaparral that grew almost to the rails.  The night was dark and lowering, with a fine drizzle falling from the flying gulf clouds.  Black Eagle crouched behind a bush within five yards of the track.  Two six-shooters were belted around him.  Occasionally he drew a large black bottle from his pocket and raised it to his mouth.

A star appeared far down the track which soon waxed into the headlight of the approaching train.  It came on with an increasing roar; the engine bore down upon the ambushing desperadoes with a glare and a shriek like some avenging monster come to deliver them to justice.  Black Eagle flattened himself upon the ground.  The engine, contrary to their calculations, instead of stopping between him and Bud King’s place of concealment, passed fully forty yards farther before it came to a stand.

The bandit leader rose to his feet and peered through the bush.  His men all lay quiet, awaiting the signal.  Immediately opposite Black Eagle was a thing that drew his attention.  Instead of being a regular passenger train it was a mixed one.  Before him stood a box car, the door of which, by some means, had been left slightly open.  Black Eagle went up to it and pushed the door farther open.  An odour came forth—­a damp, rancid, familiar, musty, intoxicating, beloved odour stirring strongly at old memories of happy days and travels.  Black Eagle sniffed at the witching smell as the returned wanderer smells of the rose that twines his boyhood’s cottage home.  Nostalgia seized him.  He put his hand inside.  Excelsior—­dry, springy, curly, soft, enticing, covered the floor.  Outside the drizzle had turned to a chilling rain.