and said, "Jim, who has the run out on the Frisco when you make the
plant?"

"A fellow named Fotheringham, a big chap, too. I was going to lay for
the other messenger, Hart, who is a small man, and could be easily
handled, but he has the day run now."

"This Fotheringham will have to be a dandy if he can tell whether
Barrett has written this or not, eh, Jim?"

"Aye, that he will. Let me once get in that car, and if the letter don't
work, I'll give him a taste of the barker."

"No shooting, Jim, no shooting, I swear to God I'll back out if you
spill a drop of blood."

Jim's eyes glittered, and he hissed between his teeth:

"You back out, Roe, and you'll see some shooting."

Roe laughed a nervous laugh, and said, as he pushed some blank letter-
heads toward Cummings, "Who's goin' to back out, only I don't like the
idea of shooting a man, even to get the plunder. Here's the Adam's
Express letter-heads I got to-day. Try your hand on the letter."

Cummings, somewhat pacified, with careful and laborious strokes of the
pen, wrote as follows:

"SPRINGFIELD, Mo., October 24th, '86.