Rodgers was to stick up the station agent. Bronco Charlie was to
remain with the horses, holding them in readiness. At a spot where
it was calculated the engine would be when the train stopped, Bud
King was to lie hidden on one side, and Black Eagle himself on the
other. The two would get the drop on the engineer and fireman, force
them to descend and proceed to the rear. Then the express car would
be looted, and the escape made. No one was to move until Black Eagle
gave the signal by firing his revolver. The plan was perfect.

At ten minutes to train time every man was at his post, effectually
concealed by the thick chaparral that grew almost to the rails.
The night was dark and lowering, with a fine drizzle falling from
the flying gulf clouds. Black Eagle crouched behind a bush within
five yards of the track. Two six-shooters were belted around him.
Occasionally he drew a large black bottle from his pocket and raised
it to his mouth.

A star appeared far down the track which soon waxed into the
headlight of the approaching train. It came on with an increasing
roar; the engine bore down upon the ambushing desperadoes with a
glare and a shriek like some avenging monster come to deliver them
to justice. Black Eagle flattened himself upon the ground. The
engine, contrary to their calculations, instead of stopping between
him and Bud King's place of concealment, passed fully forty yards
farther before it came to a stand.

The bandit leader rose to his feet and peered through the bush. His
men all lay quiet, awaiting the signal. Immediately opposite Black
Eagle was a thing that drew his attention. Instead of being a
regular passenger train it was a mixed one. Before him stood a box
car, the door of which, by some means, had been left slightly open.
Black Eagle went up to it and pushed the door farther open. An odour
came forth--a damp, rancid, familiar, musty, intoxicating, beloved
odour stirring strongly at old memories of happy days and travels.
Black Eagle sniffed at the witching smell as the returned wanderer
smells of the rose that twines his boyhood's cottage home. Nostalgia
seized him. He put his hand inside. Excelsior--dry, springy, curly,
soft, enticing, covered the floor. Outside the drizzle had turned to
a chilling rain.

The train bell clanged. The bandit chief unbuckled his belt and cast
it, with its revolvers, upon the ground. His spurs followed quickly,
and his broad sombrero. Black Eagle was moulting. T