Charles E. Van Loan

“ To one man, at least, the bare little room was uncomfortably full of the ghosts of the dead. A third voice spoke faintly from the air over Moran's head—a man's voice, high-pitched and defiant, but barely audible.
"Shoot, you dirty thief! You'll have to kill me before you get at this safe!"
Buckshot John cried out in the midst of his torture.
"I never shot you, Cullen!" he gasped. "Honest! It was Charley Elms did that!"
Thus he was made to remember Pat Cullen, an express messenger who met his death in an almost forgotten hold-up, nearly seventeen years before. ”

“ Moran winced and shook his head in evident annoyance.
"It is beginning," whispered Gilmore drowsily. "The influences must be—exactly right. Control is very strong—very strong—yes, I feel it—I feel—"
His body began to twitch gently, his head fell back, and a sigh came from his lips. His eyes closed until they showed nothing but threads of white. From time to time he groaned and struggled slightly, and the convict, between fright and fascination, sat rigid in his chair, staring straight in front of him, hardly daring to breathe. ”

“ Moran moistened his dry lips, and one hand stole up to his throat. He turned his head slightly, and looked intently into Gilmore's calm face. The sightless eyes were turned toward the ceiling; the features were as expressionless as a wax mask. There was no sign of breathing, or of life itself, save in the steady twitching of the hand and forearm. The convict's eyes returned to the paper again.
You remember the night we held up the D. and R. G. West-bound and killed that fireman? We ought to let him live. He was a game man, or he wouldn't have went after Jordan with a shovel. ”