<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</SPAN></span></p>
<h3 class="p6">CHAPTER XXXVIII<br/> HANDS UP!</h3>
<p class="p2">All this time Lieutenant Mallory had been thinking
as hard as an officer in an ambuscade. His
harrowing experiences and incessant defeats of the
past days had unnerved him and shattered his self-confidence.
He was not afraid, but intensely disgusted.
He sat absent-mindedly patting Marjorie on
the back and repeating:</p>
<p>"Don't worry, honey, they're not going to hurt
anybody. They don't want anything but our money.
Don't worry, I won't let 'em hurt you."</p>
<p>But he could not shake off a sense of nausea. He
felt himself a representative of the military prowess
of the country, and here he was as helpless as a
man on parole.</p>
<p>The fact that Mallory was a soldier occurred to
a number of the passengers simultaneously. They
had been trained by early studies in those beautiful
works of fiction, the school histories of the United
States, and by many Fourths of July, to believe that
the American soldier is an invincible being, who has
never been defeated and never known fear.</p>
<p>They surged up to Mallory in a wave of hope.
Dr. Temple, being nearest, spoke first. Having
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</SPAN></span>
learned by experience that his own prayers were not
always answered as he wished, had an impulse to
try some weapon he had never used.</p>
<p>"Young man," he pleaded across the back of a
seat, "will you kindly lend me a gun?"</p>
<p>Mallory answered sullenly: "Mine is in my trunk
on the train ahead, damn it. If I had it I'd have
a lot of fun."</p>
<p>Mrs. Whitcomb had an inspiration. She ran to
her berth, and came back with a tiny silver-plated
revolver.</p>
<p>"I'll lend you this. Sammy gave it to me to protect
myself in Nevada!"</p>
<p>Mallory smiled at the .22-calibre toy, broke it
open, and displayed an empty cylinder.</p>
<p>"Where are the pills that go with it?" he said.</p>
<p>"Oh, Sammy wouldn't let me have any bullets.
He was afraid I'd hurt myself."</p>
<p>Mallory returned it, with a bow. "It would make
an excellent nut-cracker."</p>
<p>"Aren't you going to use it?" Mrs. Whitcomb
gasped.</p>
<p>"It's empty," Mallory explained.</p>
<p>"But the robbers don't know that! Couldn't you
just overawe them with it?"</p>
<p>"Not with that," said Mallory, "unless they died
laughing."</p>
<p>Mrs. Wellington pushed forward: "Then what
the devil are you going to do when they come?"
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Mallory answered meekly: "If they request it, I
shall hold up my hands."</p>
<p>"And you won't resist?" Kathleen gasped.</p>
<p>"Not a resist."</p>
<p>"And he calls himself a soldier!" she sneered.</p>
<p>Mallory writhed, but all he said was: "A soldier
doesn't have to be a jackass. I know just enough
about guns not to monkey with the wrong end of
'em."</p>
<p>"Coward!" she flung at him. He turned white,
but Marjorie red, and made a leap at her, crying:
"He's the bravest man in the world. You say a
word, and I'll scratch your eyes out."</p>
<p>This reheartened Mallory a little, and he laughed
nervously, as he restrained her. Kathleen retreated
out of danger, with a parting shot: "Our engagement
is off."</p>
<p>"Thanks," Mallory said, and put out his hand:
"Will you return the bracelet?"</p>
<p>"I never return such things," said Kathleen.</p>
<p>The scene was so painful and such an anachronism
that Dr. Temple tried to renew a more pressing subject:
"It's your opinion then that we'd best surrender?"</p>
<p>"Of course—since we can't run."</p>
<p>Wedgewood broke in impatiently: "Well, I consider
it a dastardly outrage. I'll not submit to it.
I'm a subject of His Majesty the——"
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"You're a subject of His Majesty the Man Behind
the Gun," said Mallory.</p>
<p>"I shall protest, none the less," Wedgewood insisted.</p>
<p>Mallory grinned a little. "Have you any last
message to send home to your mother?"</p>
<p>Wedgewood was a trifle chilled at this. "D-don't
talk of such things," he said.</p>
<p>And by this time the train-robbers had hastily
worked their way through the other passengers, and
reached the frantic inhabitants of the sleeper, "Snowdrop."</p>
<p>"Hands up! Higher!! Hands up!"</p>
<p>With a true sense of the dramatic, the robbers
sent ahead of them the most hair-raising yells. They
arrived simultaneously at each end of the aisle, and
with a few short sharp commands, straightened the
disorderly rabble into a beautiful line, with all
palms aloft and all eyes wide and wild.</p>
<p>One robber drove ahead of him the conductor and
the other drove in Mr. Manning, whom he had
found trying to crawl between the shelves of the
linen-closet.</p>
<p>The marauders were apparently cattlemen, from
their general get-up. Their hats were pulled low,
and just beneath their eyes they had drawn big black
silk handkerchiefs, tied behind the ears and hanging
to the breast.</p>
<p>Over their shoulders they had slung the feed-bags
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</SPAN></span>
of their horses, to serve as receptacles for
their swag. Their shirts were chalky with alkali
dust. Their legs were encased in heavy chaparejos,
and they carried each a pair of well-used Colt's revolvers
that looked as big as artillery.</p>
<p>When the passengers had shoved and jostled into
line, one of the men jabbed the conductor in the
back with the muzzle of his gun, and snarled:
"Now speak your little piece, like I learned it to
you."</p>
<p>The conductor, like an awkward schoolboy,
grinned sheepishly, and spoke, his hands in the air
the while:</p>
<p>"Ladies and Gents, these here parties in the black
tidies says they want everybody to hold his or her
hands as high as possible till you git permission to
lower 'em; they advise you not to resist, because
they hate the sight of blood, but prefer it to argument."</p>
<p>The impatient robbers, themselves the prey of fearful
anxieties, broke in, barking like a pair of coyotes
in a jumble of commands: "Now, line up with your
backs that way, and no back talk. These guns
shoot awful easy. And remember, as each party
is finished with, they are to turn round and keep their
hands up, on penalty of gittin' 'em shot off. Line
up! Hands up! Give over there!"</p>
<p>Mrs. Jimmie Wellington took her time about moving
into position, and her deliberation brought a
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</SPAN></span>
howl of wrath from the robber: "Get into that line,
you!"</p>
<p>Mrs. Wellington whirled on him: "How dare you,
you brute?" And she turned up her nose at the
gun.</p>
<p>The anxious conductor intervened: "Better obey,
madame; he's an ugly lad."</p>
<p>"I don't mind being robbed," said Mrs. Jimmie,
"but I won't endure rudeness."</p>
<p>The robber shook his head in despair, and he tried
to wither her with sarcasm: "Pardong, mamselly,
would you be so kind and condescendin' as to step
into that there car before I blow your husband's gol-blame
head off."</p>
<p>This brought her to terms. She hastened to her
place, but put out a restraining hand on Jimmie, who
needed no restraint. "Certainly, to save my dear
husband. Don't strike him, Jimmie!"</p>
<p>Then each man stuck one revolver into its convenient
holster, and, covering the passengers with the
other, proceeded to frisk away valuables with a
speed and agility that would have looked prettier if
those impatient-looking muzzles had not pointed
here, there and everywhere with such venomous
threats.</p>
<p>And so they worked from each end of the car toward
the middle. Their hands ran swiftly over
bodies with a loathsome familiarity that could only
be resented, not revenged. Their hands dived into
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</SPAN></span>
pockets, and up sleeves, and into women's hair,
everywhere that a jewel or a bill might be secreted.
And always a rough growl or a swing of the revolver
silenced any protest.</p>
<p>Their heinous fingers had hardly begun to ply,
when the solemn stillness was broken by a chuckle
and low hoot of laughter, a darkey's unctuous laughter.
At such a place it was more shocking than at
a funeral.</p>
<p>"What ails you?" was the nearest robber's
demand.</p>
<p>The porter tried to wipe his streaming eyes without
lowering his hands, as he chuckled on: "I—I—just
thought of sumpum funny."</p>
<p>"Funny!" was the universal groan.</p>
<p>"I was just thinking," the porter snickered, "what
mighty poor pickings you-all are goin' to git out of
me. Whilst if you had 'a' waited till I got to 'Frisco,
I'd jest nachelly been oozin' money."</p>
<p>The robber relieved him of a few dimes and quarters
and ordered him to turn round, but the black
face whirled back as he heard from the other end
of the car Wedgewood's indignant complaint: "I
say, this is an outrage!"</p>
<p>"Ah, close your trap and turn round, or I'll——"</p>
<p>The porter's smile died away. "Good Lawd," he
sighed, "they're goin' to skin that British lion! And
I just wore myself out on him."</p>
<p>The far-reaching effect of the whole procedure
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</SPAN></span>
was just beginning to dawn on the porter. This little
run on the bank meant a period of financial
stringency for him. He watched the hurrying hands
a moment or two, then his wrath rose to terrible
proportions:</p>
<p>"Look here, man," he shouted at the robber,
"ain't you-all goin' to leave these here passengers
nothin' a tall?"</p>
<p>"Not on purpose, nigger."</p>
<p>"No small change, or nothin'?"</p>
<p>"Nary a red."</p>
<p>"Then, passengers," the porter proclaimed, while
the robber watched him in amazement; "then, passengers,
I want to give you-all fair warnin' heah and
now: No tips, no whisk-broom!"</p>
<p>Perhaps because their hearts were already overflowing
with distress, the passengers endured this appalling
threat without comment, and when there was
a commotion at the other end of the line, all eyes
rolled that way.</p>
<p>Mr. Baumann was making an effort to take his
leave, with great politeness.</p>
<p>"Excoose, pleass. I vant to get by, pleass!"</p>
<p>"Get by!" the other robber gasped. "Why,
you——"</p>
<p>"But I'm not a passenger," Mr. Baumann urged,
with a confidential smile, "I've been going through
the train myself."</p>
<p>"Much obliged! Hand over!" And a rude hand
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</SPAN></span>
rummaged his pockets. It was a heart-rending sight.</p>
<p>"Oi oi!" he wailed, "don't you allow no courtesies
to the profession?" And when the inexorable
thief continued to pluck his money, his watch, his
scarf-pin, he grew wroth indeed. "Stop, stop, I
refuse to pay. I'll go into benkruptcy foist." But
still the larceny continued; fingers even lifted three
cigars from his pockets, two for himself and a good
one for a customer. This loss was grievous, but his
wildest protest was: "Oh, here, my frient, you don't
vant my business carts."</p>
<p>"Keep 'em!" growled the thief, and then, glancing
up, he saw on the tender inwards of Mr. Baumann's
upheld palms two huge glisteners, which their owner
had turned that way in a misguided effort to conceal
the stones. The robber reached up for them.</p>
<p>"Take 'em. You're velcome!" said Mr. Baumann,
with rare presence of mind. "Those Nevada nearlies
looks almost like real."</p>
<p>"Keep 'em," said the robber, as he passed on, and
Mr. Baumann almost swooned with joy, for, as he
whispered to Wedgewood a moment later: "They're
really real!"</p>
<p>Now the eye-chain rolled the other way, for Little
Jimmie Wellington was puffing with rage. The
other robber, having massaged him thoroughly, but
without success, for his pocketbook, noticed that Jimmie's
left heel was protruding from his left shoe,
and made Jimmie perform the almost incredible feat
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</SPAN></span>
of standing on one foot, while he unshod him and
took out the hidden wealth.</p>
<p>"There goes our honeymoon, Lucretia," he
moaned. But she whispered proudly: "Never mind,
I have my rings to pawn."</p>
<p>"Oh, you have, have you? Well, I'll be your little
uncle," the kneeling robber laughed, as he overheard,
and he continued his outrageous search till
he found them, knotted in a handkerchief, under her
hat.</p>
<p>She protested: "You wouldn't leave me in Reno
without a diamond, would you?"</p>
<p>"I wouldn't, eh?" he grunted. "Do you think I'm
in this business for my health?"</p>
<p>And he snatched off two earrings she had forgotten
to remove. Fortunately, they were affixed to her
lobes with fasteners.</p>
<p>Mrs. Jimmie was thoroughbred enough not to
wince. She simply commented: "You brutes are almost
as bad as the Customs officers at New York."</p>
<p>And now another touch of light relieved the
gloom. Kathleen was next in line, and she had been
forcing her lips into their most attractive smile, and
keeping her eyes winsomely mellow, for the robber's
benefit. Marjorie could not see the smile; she could
only see that Kathleen was next. She whispered to
Mallory:</p>
<p>"They'll get the bracelet! They'll get the bracelet!"
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</SPAN></span></p>
<p>And Mallory could have danced with glee. But
Kathleen leaned coquettishly toward the masked
stranger, and threw all her art into her tone as she
murmured:</p>
<p>"I'm sure you're too brave to take my things.
I've always admired men with the courage of Claude
Duval."</p>
<p>The robber was taken a trifle aback, but he
growled: "I don't know the party you speak of—but
cough up!"</p>
<p>"Listen to her," Marjorie whispered in horror;
"she's flirting with the train-robber."</p>
<p>"What won't some women flirt with!" Mallory
exclaimed.</p>
<p>The robber studied Kathleen a little more attentively,
as he whipped off her necklace and her rings.
She looked good to him, and so willing, that he muttered:
"Say, lady, if you'll give me a kiss, I'll give
you that diamond ring you got on."</p>
<p>"All right!" laughed Kathleen, with triumphant
compliance.</p>
<p>"My God!" Mallory groaned, "what won't some
women do for a diamond!"</p>
<p>The robber bent close, and was just raising his
mask to collect his ransom, when his confederate
glanced his way, and knowing his susceptible nature,
foresaw his intention, and shouted: "Stop it, Jake.
You 'tend strictly to business, or I'll blow your nose
off."
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Oh, all right," grumbled the reluctant gallant, as
he drew the ring from her finger. "Sorry, miss, but
I can't make the trade," and he added with an unwonted
gentleness: "You can turn round now."</p>
<p>Kathleen was glad to hide the blushes of defeat,
but Marjorie was still more bitterly disappointed.
She whispered to Mallory: "He didn't get the bracelet,
after all."
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