"
I had barely spoken when "bang! bang!" went two shots. That they were
both fired from an English "express" my ears told me for no other
people in this world make a mountain howitzer and call it a rifle.
Hardly were the two shots fired when "crack! crack! crack! crack!"
went some Winchesters.
"Oh! what is it?" cried Miss Cullen.
"I think your wish has been granted," I answered hurriedly. "We are
being held up, and Lord Ralles is showing us how to--"
My speech was interrupted. "Bang! bang!" challenged another "express,"
the shots so close together as to be almost simultaneous. "Crack!
crack! crack!" retorted the Winchesters, and from the fact that
silence followed I drew a clear inference. I said to myself, "That is
an end of poor John Bull."
CHAPTER III
A NIGHT'S WORK ON THE ALKALI PLAINS
I hurried Miss Cullen into the car, and, after bolting the rear door,
took down my Winchester from its rack.
"I'm going forward," I told her, "and will tell my darkies to bolt the
front door: so you'll be as safe in here as in Chicago."
In another minute I was on my front platform. Dropping down between
the two cars, I crept along beside--indeed, half under--Mr. Cullen's
special. After my previous conclusion, my surprise can be judged when
at the farther end I found the two Britishers and Albert Cullen,
standing there in the most exposed position possible. I joined them,
muttering to myself something about Providence and fools.
"Aw," drawled Cullen, "here's Mr.
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