They were ready to shoot and shoot to
kill. Their lives were already forfeit to the law, anyway, and in that
rough country they would get "a short shrift and a long rope" if their
plans went astray. They might as well be hung for murder as robbery, and,
while they did not mean to kill unless driven to it, they were perfectly
ready to do so at the first hint of resistance.
The paralyzing moment of surprise passed, there was a stir among the
passengers. The first instinct was to hide their valuables or drop them
on the floor. But this was checked instantly by the outlaws.
"Hands up," shouted one of them with an oath. "I'll kill the first man
that makes a move."
His pistol ranged over the car, flickering like the tongue of a snake,
seeming to cover every passenger at once. Beneath its deadly insistence,
hands were upraised one after the other. Resistance at that moment meant
instant death. The unwritten law of the West had to be obeyed. He "had
the drop" on them.
The leader grinned malignantly and spoke to his companion, without for an
instant turning his gaze.
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