e cars and
stand us up. They'll be in here in a minute. LORD! WHAT WAS THAT?"

From far away up the track, apparently some half-mile ahead of the
train, came the sound of a heavy explosion. The windows of the car
vibrated with it.

"Shooting again."

"That isn't shooting," exclaimed Annixter. "They've pulled the express
and mail car on ahead with the engine and now they are dynamiting her
open."

"That must be it. Yes, sure, that's just what they are doing."

The forward door of the car opened and closed and the school-teachers
shrieked and cowered. The drummer with the revolver faced about, his
eyes bulging. However, it was only the train conductor, hatless, his
lantern in his hand. He was soaked with rain. He appeared in the aisle.

"Is there a doctor in this car?" he asked.

Promptly the passengers surrounded him, voluble with questions. But he
was in a bad temper.

"I don't know anything more than you," he shouted angrily. "It was a
hold-up. I guess you know that, don't you? Well, what more do you want
to know? I ain't got time to fool around. They cut off our express car
and have cracked it open, and they shot one of our train crew, that's
all, and I want a doctor."

"Did they shoot him--kill him, do you mean?"

"Is he hurt bad?"

"Did the men get away?"

"Oh, shut up, will you all?" exclaimed the conductor.

"What do I know? Is there a DOCTOR in this car, that's what I want to
know?"

The well-dressed young man stepped forward.

"I'm a doctor," he said. "Well, come along then," returned the
conductor, in a surly voice, "and the passengers in this car," he added,
turning back at the door and nodding his head menacingly, "will go back
to bed and STAY there. It's all over and there's nothing to see."

He went out, followed by the young doctor.

Then ensued an interminable period of silence. The entire train seemed
deserted. Helpless, bereft of its engine, a huge, decapitated monster it
lay, half-way around a curve, rained upon, abandoned.

There was more fear in this last condition of affairs, more terror
in the idea of this prolonged line of sleepers, with their nickelled
fittings, their plate glass, their upholstery, vestibules, and the like,
loaded down with people, lost and forgotten in the night and the rain,
than there had been when the actual danger threatened.

What was to become of them now? Who was there to help them? Their engine
was gone; they were helpless. What next was to happe