“Lie still, damn you, lie still.  If you attempt to create an alarm, I’ll fill you so full of lead that some tenderfoot will locate you for a mineral claim.  D’ye understand?”

After this facetious threat he paid no further attention to the messenger.

Emptying his valise of its contents of underclothing and linen, he stuffed it full of the packages of currency which the safe contained.

One package, containing $30,000, from the Continental Bank of St. Louis, was consigned to the American National Bank of Kansas City.  Another large package held $12,000, from the Merchants National Bank of St. Louis for the Merchants Bank of Forth Smith, Arkansas, and various other packages, amounting altogether to $53,000.

With wonderful sang froid, Cummings stuffed this valuable booty in his valise, and then proceeded to open the bags containing coin.  His keen knife-blade ripped bag after bag, but finding it all silver, he desisted, and turning to Fotheringham, demanded: 

“Any gold aboard?”

Fotheringham shook his head in reply.

“Does that mean there is none, or you don’t know?”

Again the messenger shook his head.

“Well, I reckon your right, all silver, too heavy and don’t amount to much.”

As he was talking, the whistle of the engine suddenly sound two short notes, and the air-brakes were applied.

The train stopped, and the noise of men walking on the gravel was heard.

As Fotheringham lay there, his ears strained to catch every sound, and hoping for the help that never came, his heart gave a joyful throb, as some one pounded noisily on the door.  Almost at the same instant he felt the cold muzzle of a revolver against his head, and the ominous “click, click” was more eloquent than threats or words could be.

The pounding ceased, and in a short time the train moved on again.

Apparently not satisfied that the messenger was bound safe and fast, Cummings took the companion strap to the one which pinioned the feet of his victim, and passing it around his neck, fastened it to the handle of the safe in such a way that any extra exertion on Fotheringham’s part would pull the safe over and choke him.

Opening the car door, he threw away the clothing which he had taken from his valise.

Returning to the messenger, he stooped over him, and took from his pocket the forged letter with which he gained entrance to the car.

Fotheringham tried to speak, but the gag permitted nothing but a rattling sound to escape.

“I know what you want, young fellow.  You want this letter to prove that you had some sort of authority to let me ride.  Sorry I can’t accommodate you, my son, but those devilish Pinkertons will be after me in twenty-four hours, and this letter would be just meat to them.  I’ll fix you all right, though.  My name’s Cummings, Jim Cummings, and I’ll write a letter to the St. Louis Globe-Democrat that will clear you Honest to God, I will.  You’ve been pretty generous to-night; given me lots of swag, and I’ll never go back on you.