Seven Out of Hell by George G. Gilman Read Free Book Online

away from him with a mere flick of a wrist. The blade flashed in the sunlight and sank into the throat of the man who was not fast enough. He made a gurgling sound and his ornate Parkhouse pepperbox clattered to the floor. He toppled sideways on to the gun, his severed jugular vein spraying an arc of blood.
    “Not wish to, but will,” Mao announced easily, his voice cutting through the gasps of shocked women.
    A bandit reached down and jerked the knife from the throat of the dead man. It came free with an obscene sucking sound. He grinned as he wiped the blade against the dress of a middle-aged woman who was petrified by terror.
    “ White dress not suit you,” he said, “Red color make it pretty.”
    “Mr. Shin will now pass among you,” Mao announced calmly. “You put money and valuables in sack. Very angry if more trouble. Any man attempts make it, he dies. So does woman - any woman I choose.”
    As he spoke, Mao’s almond-shaped eyes moved often to linger upon Beth, finding particular interest in the swelling flesh of her breasts revealed by the low neckline of her gown. Alvin was aware of this and a mixture of anger and fear caused his hand to tremble upon that of the woman. But she remained calm, exuding a kind of feminine arrogance as she was forced to submit to the Chinese’s probing gaze.
    The bandits had been well drilled for the hold-up. Their actions were calm and unhurried as they rose and padded in equal numbers to each end of the car, the aim of the shotguns steady despite the additional burden of the confiscated weapons. Then one of them rested his gun and took out a burlap sack from beneath his robe. He started from the front of the car and moved down the aisle, holding the sack open in front of each passenger. Money, watches, jewellery and a varied selection of gold and silver articles dropped into the sack. While this was in progress, one Chinese at each end of the car opened a window and tossed out the passengers’ guns.
    Edge had seven and a half thousand dollars split into small bundles and tucked inside his shirt. As he unbuttoned the shirt and reached inside, bringing out the bundles one at a time, Shin’s eyes grew wider and wider.
    “You very rich man,” the Chinese said as Edge held out his hands, palms upwards to indicate there was no more.
    “Easy come, easy go,” the half-breed said softly.
    “You no have to work for money?”
    “Killing people ain’t work,” Edge replied.* (*See: Edge: Blood on Silver and Edge: California Killing.)
    “That what Mr. Mao think.” Shin said with a hint of pride.
    “A man of deep thought,” Edge said.
    When Shin had completed his task, one gun-toting Chinese was left at each end of the car while the remainder moved to the cars ahead and behind. The passengers remained silent, many having to struggle within themselves to keep from looking at the slumped form of the dead man.
    Edge looked idly out of the window as the locomotive slowed and strained to haul the cars up a steep gradient which was one of the steps across the Sierras. The sun was still bright, but the mountain air had grown chill and in the far distance, across a vista of verdant pine forests and jagged, barren rock crests, snow could be seen frosting the highest peaks.
    At the front of the car, Alvin and Beth continued to hold hands. The woman’s sensual features were devoid of expression, reflecting a mind prepared to accept and deal with each problem as it arose. Her ill-matched partner was pale faced and tense of posture as he struggled against an involuntary impulse to explode his frustration. And he was able to contain his emotions by forcing his mind to accept the hold-up as poetic justice. He had stolen two thousand dollars from his father to finance the elopement with Beth. Now it had been stolen from him. He could but hope that her love for him was strong enough to stand the test of poverty.
    The train reached the top of the grade and picked up speed again as it thrust