Silent pitched to the ground. Kate set her teeth and forced her eyes to stay open.
Even as the outlaw fell his revolver spoke and one of the men threw up his hands with a yell and pitched out of the open door. His companion still kept his post, pumping shots at the prone figure. Twice more the muzzle of Silent's gun jerked up and the second man crumpled on the floor of the car.
A great hissing and a jetting cloud of steam announced that Haines had succeeded in flooding the fire box. Silent climbed into the first baggage-car, stepping, as he did so, on the limp body of the Wells Fargo agent, who lay on the road bed. A moment later he flung out the body of the second messenger. The man flopped on the ground heavily, face downwards, and then—greatest horror of all!—dragged himself to his hands and knees and began to crawl laboriously. Kate ran and dropped to her knees beside him.
"Are you hurt badly?" she pleaded. "Where? Where?"
He sagged to the ground and lay on his left side, breathing heavily.
"Where is the wound?" she repeated.
He attempted to speak, but only a bloody froth came to his lips. That was sufficient
