the station apparently awaiting with some
impatience for the moment to come when the train for Atlanta would be
ready to leave. But the train itself seemed to be in no particular
hurry. The locomotive was not panting and snorting with suppressed
energy, as the moguls do in our day, but stood in its place with the
blue smoke curling peacefully from its black chimney. Presently an
access of energy among the employees of the station gave notice to those
who were familiar with their movements that the train from Savannah was
crossing the "Y."

Mr. Tidwell, of Shady Dale, who was also among those who were apparently
anxious to take the train for Atlanta, ceased his restless walking, and
stood leaning against one of the brick pillars supporting the rear end
of the structure. Major Tomlin Perdue, on the other hand, leaned
confidently on the counter of the little restaurant, where a weary
traveller could get a cup of hasty and very nasty coffee for a dime. The
Major was acquainted with the vendor of these luxuries, and he informed
the man confidentially that he was simply waiting a fair opportunity to
put a few lead plugs into the carcass of the person at the far end of
the station, who was no other than Mr. Tidwell.

"Is that so?" asked the clerk breathlessly. "Well, I don't mind telling
you that he has been having some of the same kind of talk about you, and
you'd better keep your eye on him. They say he's 'most as handy with his
pistol as Buck Sanford."

Slowly the Savannah train backed in, and slowly and carelessly Major
Perdue sauntered along the raised floor. They had decided that the
prisoners would most likely be in the second-class coach, and they
purposed to make that coach the scene of their sham duel. It was a very
delicate matter to decide just when to begin operations. A moment too
soon or too late would be decisive. When this point was referred to Mr.
Sanders, he settled it at once. "What's your mouth for, Gus? Shoot wi'
that tell the time comes to use your gun. And the Major has got about as
much mouth as you. Talk over the rough places, an' talk loud. Don't
whisper; rip out a few damns an' then cut your caper. This is about the
only chance you'll have to cuss the Major out wi'out gittin' hurt. I
wisht I was in your shoes; I'd rake him up one side an' down the other.
You can stand to be cussed out in a good cause, I reckon, Major."

"Yes--oh, yes! It'll make my flesh crawl, but I'll stand it like a
baby."