Returning to the train, the report of the
men was the same.
"We've ghost road agents to deal with, Miss Cullen," I laughed. "They
come from nowhere, bullets touch them not, their lead hurts nobody,
they take nothing, and they disappear without touching the ground."
"How curious it is!" she exclaimed. "One would almost suppose it a
dream,"
"Hold on," I said. "We do have something tangible, for if they
disappeared they left their shells behind them." And I pointed to
some cartridge-shells that lay on the ground beside the mail-car. "My
theory of aerial bullets won't do."
"The shells are as hollow as I feel," laughed Miss Cullen.
"Your suggestion reminds me that I am desperately hungry," I said.
"Suppose we go back and end the famine."
Most of the passengers had long since returned to their seats or
berths, and Mr. Cullen's party had apparently done the same, for 218
showed no signs of life. One of my darkies was awake, and he broiled a
steak and made us some coffee in no time, and just as they were ready
Albert Cullen appeared, so we made a very jolly little breakfast. He
told me at length the part he and the Britishers had borne, and only
made me marvel the more that any one of them was alive, for apparently
they had jumped off the car without the slightest precaution, and
had stood grouped together, even after they had called attention to
themselves by Lord Ralles's shots. Cullen had to confess that he heard
the whistle of the four bullets unpleasantly close.
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