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.

“Now, Bill,” he growled, “I’ve got these mavericks covered.  Pass round the hat.  These gents—­and ladies,” he leered—­“will hand over their coin and jewelry, and God help the one who tries to renig.  He won’t never need money no more.”

Taking his old sombrero from his head, the one addressed as Bill started in to collect from the front of the car.

“Only one hand down at a time to get your money,” shouted his companion.  “And mind,” he added ominously, “I’m watchin’ that hand.”

Pocket books and rings and watches dropped into the hat.  Women were sobbing hysterically and men were cursing under their breath.

“Stung,” groaned Tom disgustedly.

“And our pistols in our bags,” growled Dick.

Bert’s mind had been working like lightning.  He was always at his best when danger threatened.  Now his body grew taut and his eyes gleamed.

“Be ready, you fellows,” he said in low tones, scarcely moving his lips.  “Dick, back me up when I make a move.  Tom, got that paperweight handy?”

“Right alongside on the window ledge,” muttered Tom.

Still keeping his eyes in an innocent stare on the outlaw captain, Bert murmured a few words.  They caught his meaning on the instant and were ready.

The man with the hat was getting nearer.  There had been no sign of resistance and the leader relaxed his caution ever so slightly.  This was easier than they had dared to hope.

The sombrero was sagging now with the unwilling wealth poured into it, and the collector, relying on the vigilance of his companion, was compelled to use both hands to keep the contents from spilling on the floor.

He held it out in front of Bert and Dick.

“Your turn now,” he snarled.  “Fork over.”

They lowered their hands as though to get out their money.  Then something happened.

Like a flash, Dick grabbed the pistol hand of the collector, while Bert’s fist shot up in a tremendous smashing uppercut.  The man staggered back, and Bert and Dick were on him like a pair of wildcats.

At the same instant, with all the power of his trained baseball arm, Tom had hurled the heavy paperweight straight at the outlaw captain.  It caught him full between the eyes.  His pistol fell from his hand, going off as it did so, and he crumpled up and went down to the floor in a heap.