"No, with the gun I've got in my pocket. Now you listen to me. I'm
not going to use that gun on any stage filled with women, driven by a
man seventy years old, but--and I mean it--if you try to stop me,
I'll use it on you. I'm going to show you how anyone can bluff a
stage full with a pair of tin shears and a red mask for a kicker. And
I'll shoot the man that tries to stop me."
Ranson sprang to his horse's side, and stuck his toe into the empty
stirrup-strap; there was a scattering of pebbles, a scurry of hoofs,
and the horse and rider became a gray blot in the moonlight.
The two lieutenants stood irresolute. Under his breath Crosby was
swearing fiercely. Curtis stood staring out of the open door.
"Will he do it?" he asked.
"Of course he'll do it."
Curtis crossed the room and dropped into a chair. "And what--what had
we better do?" he asked. For some time the other made no answer. His
brows were knit, and he tramped the room, scowling at the floor. Then
with an exclamation of alarm he stepped lightly to the door of the
exchange and threw back the curtain. In the other room, Cahill stood
at its furthest corner, scooping sugar from a hogshead.
Pages:
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39