It was all over in a second.  The whole thing had been so perfectly timed, brain and hand had worked in such absolute unison that disaster had come on the outlaws like a bolt from the blue.  It was “team work” of the finest kind.

The first surprise over, the other men in the car came crowding to the assistance of the chief actors in the scrimmage.  But the danger was past.  The leader was unconscious, and the other, badly beaten and cursing horribly, was helpless in the grasp of the victors.  Train men, rushing in, took charge of the prisoners and trussed them up securely.

A posse was hastily organized among the passengers and, heavily armed, swarmed from the train in quest of the two remaining members of the band, who had been left to guard the engineer and fireman.  The miscreants saw them coming, however, and realized that the game was up.  They emptied their pistols and then flung themselves upon their horses and galloped off, secure for the time from further pursuit.

The conductor, still pale and shaken from excitement, gave the signal.  There was a scramble to get aboard, the whistle tooted and the train once more got under way.

In the Pullman there was a wild turmoil, as the relieved passengers crowded around the boys and wrung their hands in congratulation.  They couldn’t say enough in praise of the courage and presence of mind that had turned the tables so swiftly and gallantly.  The spoils were retrieved and distributed among the rightful owners, and then, with a bow of mock politeness, the old sombrero, empty now, was clapped on the head of the baffled collector, who received it with a new string of blasphemies.

By this time the victim of Tom’s unerring aim had gradually struggled back to consciousness.  His arms and feet had been securely tied and his remaining revolver had been taken from his belt.  Of a stronger mold than his accomplice, he disdained to vent his rage in useless imprecations and relapsed into silence as stoical as an Indian’s.  But, if looks could kill, the boys would have been blasted by the brooding hate that shot from under his jutting brows.

“I’m glad it didn’t kill him, anyway,” said Tom, as, after the tumult had somewhat subsided, they once more were seated and the train was flying along at full speed.

“It’s a wonder it didn’t,” responded Dick.  “It was a fearful crack.”

“Tom hasn’t forgotten the way he used to shoot them down from third base to first,” laughed Bert.  “That right wing of his is certainly a dandy.”

“It’s lucky it is,” said the conductor, who had just returned from giving directions concerning the prisoners; “and talking about wings,” he added, turning to Bert, “there’s no discount on yours.  That fist hit like a sledgehammer.  The way you fellows piled into him was a crime.  I never saw a prettier bit of rough house.

“But the beauty of it all,” he went on, “was the way you worked together.  If any one of you hadn’t ‘come through’ at the same second, the jig would have been up.  Who figured it out?”