“This ain't no joke and it ain't no time for foolin'. I gotter work fast and you all gotter keep still, or somebody'll git crippled up bad!” With his free hand he pulled off his broken derby, revealing matted red hair, with a dirty bald spot in the front. He held the hat in front of him, crown down. “I'm goin' to pass through this car,” he announced, “and I want everybody to contribute freely. You gents will lower one hand at a time and git yore pokes and kettles--watches and wallets--out of yore clothes. And remember, no monkey business--no goin' back to yore hip pockets--unless you wanter git bored with this!” he warned; and he followed up the warning with a nasty word which borrowed an added nastiness coming through his rag mask. His glance flashed to the right, taking in the quivering figures of the two girls and the young woman. “Loidies will contribute too,” he added. “Oh!” gasped Mrs. McLaurin miserably; and mechanically her right hand went across to protect the slender diamond bracelet on her left wrist; while tall Miss Lyon, crumpled and trembling, pressed herself still farther against the side of the car, and Rita Covington involuntarily clutched the front of her blouse, her fingers closing over the little chamois-skin bag that hung hidden there, suspended by a ribbon about her throat. Rita was an only daughter and a pampered one; her father was the wealthiest man in town and she owned handsomer jewels than an eighteen-year-old girl commonly possesses. The thief caught the meaning of those gestures and his red-rimmed eyes were greedy. “You dog, you!” snorted old Doctor Lake; and he, like the major, sputtered in the impotence of his rage. “You're not going to rob these ladies too?” “I'm a-goin' to rob these loidies too,” mimicked the thief. “And you, old gent, you'd better cut out the rough talk.” Without turning his head, and with his pistol making shifting fast plays to hold the car in subjection, he called back: “Slim, there's richer pickin' here than we expected. If you can leave them rubes come help me clean up.” “Just a second,” was the answer from behind him, “till I git this bunch hypnotized good.” “Now then,” called the red-haired man, swearing vilely to emphasize his meaning, “as I said before, cough up! Loidies first--you!” And he motioned with his pistol toward Mrs. McLaurin and poked his hat out at her. Her trembling fingers fumbled at the clasp of her bracelet a moment and the slim band fell flashing into the hat. “You are no gentleman--so there!” quavered the unhappy lady, as a small, gemmed watch with a clasp, and a silver purse, followed the bracelet. Bessie Lyon shrank farther and farther away from him, with sobbing intakes of her breath. She was stricken mute and helpless with fear. “Now then,” the red-haired man was addressing Rita, “you next. Them purties you've got hid there inside yore shirt--I'll trouble you for them! Quick now!” he snarled, seeing that she hesitated. “Git 'em out!”