Beside a dusty gravel track in what feels like the middle of nowhere, the train screeches to a halt. A herd of antelope disappears into the horizon: first chased by the thick dust cloud of their own doing, and then by three cowboys on horseback with revolvers. “I’m sorry to tell you that those cowboys have made it onto the train,” announces our conductor, as the town marshal rushes through the carriage.
Sure enough, those desperadoes would soon skulk from seat to seat, parting unsuspecting passengers from their cash along the way. “Get your hands where I can see ’em!” shouts the leader of the Cataract Creek Gang; this is an old-fashioned train robbery featuring every darn Wild West cliche imaginable – except the dynamite, obviously. Butch Cassidy would be proud.
