ibly shrugged their shoulders as
over a game that was lost. The remaining passenger, John Hale, fearless
by nature, inexperienced by habit, awaking suddenly to the truth,
conceived desperate resistance. But without his making a gesture this
was instinctively felt by the others; the muzzle of the gun turned
spontaneously on him, and he was vaguely conscious of a certain contempt
and impatience of him in his companions.

"Git down," repeated the voice imperatively.

The three passengers descended. Hale, furious, alert, but helpless of
any opportunity, followed. He was surprised to find the stage-driver and
express messenger standing beside him; he had not heard them dismount.
He instinctively looked towards the horses. He could see nothing.

"Hold up your hands!"

One of the passengers had already lifted his, in a weary, perfunctory
way. The others did the same reluctantly and awkwardly, but apparently
more from the consciousness of the ludicrousness of their attitude
than from any sense of danger. The rays of a bull's-eye lantern, deftly
managed by invisible hands, while it left the intruders in shadow,
completely illuminated the faces and figures of the passengers. In spite
of the majestic obscurity and silence of surrounding nature, the group
of humanity thus illuminated was more farcical than dramatic. A scrap of
newspaper, part of a sandwich, and an orange peel that had fallen from
the floor of the coach, brought into equal prominence by the searching
light, completed the absurdity.

"There's a man here with a package of greenbacks," said the voice, with
an official coolness that lent a certain suggestion of Custom House
inspection to the transaction; "who is it?" The passengers looked at
each other, and their glance finally settled on Hale.

"It's not HIM," continued the voice, with a slight tinge of contempt on
the emphasis. "You'll save time and searching, gentlemen, if you'll tote
it out. If we've got to go through every one of you we'll try to make it
pay."

The significant threat was not unheeded. The passenger who had first
moved when the stage stopped put his hand to his breast.

"T'other pocket first, if you please," said the voice.

The man laughed, drew a pistol from his hip pocket, and, under the
strong light of the lantern, laid it on a spot in the road indicated
by the voice. A thick envelope, taken from his breast pocket, was laid
beside it. "I told the d--d fools that gave it to me, instead