"Who's doing this job?" demanded one of the hold-ups, wheeling
savagely on the impassive officer "Did I say we were going to
bother the lady? Who's doing this job, Mr. Sheriff?"

"You are. I'd hate to be messing the job like you--holding up the
wrong train by mistake." This was a shot in the dark, and it did
not quite hit the bull's-eye. "I wouldn't trust you boys to rob a
hen-roost, the amateur way you go at it. When you get through,
you'll all go to drinking like blue blotters. I know your
kind--hell-bent to spend what you cash in, and every mother's son
of you in the pen or with his toes turned up inside of a month."

"Who'll put us there?" gruffly demanded the bowlegged one.

Collins smiled at him with confidence superb "Mebbe I will--and
if I don't Bucky O'Connor will--those of you that are left alive
when you go through shooting each other in the back. Oh, I see
your finish to a fare-you-well."

"Cheese it, or I'll bump you off." The first out law drove his
gun into the sheriff's ribs.

"That's all right. You don't need to punctuate that remark. I
line up with the sky-pilot and chew the cud of silence. I merely
wanted to frame up to you how this thing's going to turn out.
Don't come back at me and say I didn't warn you, sonnie."

"You make my head ache," snarled the bandy-legged outlaw sourly,
as he passed down with his sack, accumulating tribute as he
passed down the aisle with his sack, accumulating tribute as he