Let joy be
unconfined."
A dull explosion answered his question. The bandits were blowing
open the safe in the express-car with dynamite, pending which the
looting of the passengers was at a standstill.
A second masked figure joined his companion at the end of the
passage and held a hurried conversation with him. Fragments of
their low-voiced talk came to Collins.
"Only thirty thousand in the express-car. Not a red cent on the
old man himself."
"Where's the rest?" The irritation in the newcomer's voice was
pronounced.
Collins slewed his head and raked him with keen eyes that missed
not a detail. He was certain that he had never seen the man
before, yet he knew at once that the trim, wiry figure, so clean
of build and so gallant of bearing, could belong only to Wolf
Leroy, the most ruthless outlaw of the Southwest. It was written
in his jaunty insolence, in the flashing eyes. He was a handsome
fellow, white-toothed, black-haired, lithely tigerish, with
masterful mouth and eyes of steel, so far as one might judge
behind the white mask he wore. Alert, cruel, fearless from the
head to the heel of him, he looked the very devil to lead an
enterprise so lawless and so desperate as this.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35