accuracy of the colloquialism.

The train-conductor fussed up to the masked outlaw with a
ludicrous attempt at authority. "You can't rob the passengers on
this train. I'm not responsible for the express-car, but the
coaches--"

A bullet almost grazed his ear and shattered a window on its way
to the desert.

"Drift, you red-haired son of a Mexican?" ordered the man behind
the red bandanna. "Git back to that seat real prompt. This here's
taxation without representation."

The conductor drifted as per suggestion.

The minutes ticked themselves away in a tense strain marked by
pounding hearts. The outlaw stood at the end of the aisle,
watching the sheriff alertly.

"Why doesn't the music begin?" volunteered Collins, by way of
conversation, and quoted: "On with the dance. 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