"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 of sending it by express, it would be at their own
risk," he said apologetically.
"As it's going with the express now it's all the same," said the
inevitable humorist of the occasion, pointing to the despoiled
express treasure-box already in the road.
The intention and deliberation of the outrage was plain enough to
Hale's inexperience now. Yet he could not understand the cool
acquiescence of his fellow-passengers, and was furious. His
reflections were interrupted by a voice which seemed to come from a
greater distance. He fancied it was even softer in tone, as if a
certain austerity was relaxed.
"Step in as quick as you like, gentlemen. You've five minutes to
wait, Bill."
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