gaze was glued to the dim trail he was trying to follow. 'They're a comin'. Kneel on the seat but be ready to grab; it wouldn't do for yu to be shook off.'
'I'm believin' yu,' Gerry said, and meant it. The front wheels of the coach sprang into the air and bumped down, the back wheels following suit. Gerry clutched wildly and just saved himself. 'Hell! what was that?' he gasped.
'I guess we went over a log-- didn't see her in time,' the driver explained.
'Lucky I had my mouth shut or I'd 'a' lost my livers an' lights,' Gerry grinned. 'I shore thought we'd gone over the edge. Damn her, she's as lively as a young flea. Steady a bit, Jim, if yu can.' A group of madly racing riders rounded a bend in the trail and yelped when they saw their quarry. Mason, his elbows resting on the roof of the coach, fired four shots and swore when he saw that he had palpably missed. Working the lever like a madman, he emptied the weapon and at last had the satisfaction of seeing a horse drop, but his whoop of triumph was cut short, for the rider got up and followed his friends on foot.
The pursuers were now within twenty yards and discarding his rifle, Gerry snatched up the shot-gun and let them have both barrels. The result was devastating--for the assailants. One of them fell forward on his horse's neck, leaning sideways, and was flung, a lifeless lump, to the ground. Another's mount stumbled and went down, the rider leaping to save himself from being crushed under the animal's body. The remaining horseman reined in and contented himself with ineffective shots at the vanishing vehicle.
'Reckon they've had a bellyful,' Gerry exulted, as he rammed cartridges into the magazine of his Winchester. 'There's three left, one of 'em crippled, an' they on'y got two ponies.'
'Good work,' Sudden said. 'When we get a piece along we'll take a peek at Joe.' Proceeding with a little more regard for safety, they pressed on, and presently, when a faint light began to spread behind the eastern summits, Sudden dragged his team to a stop wherethe trail crossed a shallow creek. A rumble of picturesque metaphor informed them that Injun Joe was anything but dead. In fact, when they opened the door of the coach, he heaved himself up, pistol levelled, and almost fell into their arms.
'Damn yore rotten hides,' he said thickly. 'I'll ...'
'Steady, ol'-timer,' Sudden said, clutching the wavering weapon. 'Yo're barkin' up the wrong tree.' In a few words he set out the situation and the stage-driver's belligerent expression faded.
'Sorry, boys,' he apologized. 'So they got pore of Fuzzy, Satan singe their souls! When I come to an' saw his remainders bumpin' about beside me I figured we was goin' to our funerals an' wondered why the hearse-driver was in such a hell of a hurry. I bin yellin' at you for near an hour.'
'This jerky ain't none silent,' Sudden told him. 'Where yu hurt?'
'Guess my shoulder's busted,' Joe replied.
And so it proved. With the rough surgery of the range they bathed and bandaged the injury, and left the patient reclining on a bank while they watered and rubbed down the team. When all was ready for a resumption of the journey, Joe vehemently declined to travel inside.
'Which ridin' with a ruddy corpse ain't my idea o' enjoyment,' was how he put it. 'Prop me up atween you on the box; mebbe I c'n help, seein' I know the road.' Since he would hear of nothing else, they had to give in, and having fixed him as comfortably as possible, Sudden cracked his whip and sent the coach splashing through the creek.
Chapter XVII
Watching the stage, with its coveted cargo, disappear in the distance, Hank and Fagan were constrained to call down curses on the men who had frustrated their hopes. Rodd, leaning against a tree to rest his damaged limb, eyed them sourly. 'What's the use cussin'?' he said. 'They've went. Come an' see to this damn leg--I'm bleedin' like a stuck hawg.'
'Which is the on'y way you could bleed,' Hank retorted. Nevertheless, they bound a handkerchief round the calf of his left leg, which a bullet had perforated. Then, having made sure that the fourth man was dead, they searched his pockets, callously flung the body into the brush, and took the back trail, one horse carrying two of them. At the scene of the hold-up, a welcome surprise awaited them--Lem was sitting by the roadside; the slug which they thought had killed him having merely cut a shallow groove along one side of his skull, 'creased' him, in fact.
'Where's the coach?' was his first question.
They all told him, each ornamenting the story to his taste. The scarred face showed that he did not believe them.
'Five o' you let two get away with it?' he sneered. 'I ain't swallerin' that.'
'True, anyways, take it or leave it,' Fagan replied. 'Then yu must 'a' made a Gawd-a'mighty mess of it.'
'We did, huh?' the squat man snarled. 'What the hell did you do?'
'I got the messenger an' Hank drilled the driver,' Lem reminded. 'After that, it should 'a' bin easy. Paul won't be pleased.'
'He warn't goin' to be, anyway,' Rodd said meaningly. 'But if we'd pulled it off that wouldn't 'a' mattered. It's his fault we failed--sendin' them other two.'
'Stark did that,' Fagan explained, and added a lurid hope concerning the saloon-keeper's future. 'Lanky didn't have yore luck, I s'pose?'
'Dead as Adam,' was the reply. 'I drug him into the bushes, case anyone came along.' There being nothing else to do, the other two horses were brought and the party headed for Deadwood, where they separated and entered by devious routes. Fagan went straight to the Lesurge cabin, where he found the owner alone.
'Well?' Paul said sharply.
'It ain't, the ruffian replied, and told his story.
Lesurge listened unmoved, much to the narrator's astonishment. He had come prepared for blame, angry recrimination, but the motionless mask, with its deep, dark eyes, told him nothing.
'So the cowboys got clear with the gold?' he said, when the tale was ended. 'I thought they might.' Fagan gaped at him. 'You thought--then why in hell did you send 'em?' he burst out.
'For that purpose of course,' Paul replied easily. Comprehension began to come to the dazed man. 'They were workin' for you?'
'For us,' Lesurge corrected. Fagan drew a deep breath; this man was too subtle for him. 'Listen,' the smooth voice went on. 'Stark insisted on Green going, so I had a word with him.'
'Did you let on about us?'
'No, that would have been too risky.'
'Hell, Paul, didn't I tell you that those blasted cowboys wiped out two an' crippled another couple of our crowd?'
'Battles usually mean casualties.'
'You didn't stop to think that one o' them corpses might 'a' been me?' Paul's smile was a sneer. 'I trusted to your natural instinct for taking care of yourself,' he said.
Fagan knew that he had been politely called a coward but he dared not resent it--then.
'You could 'a' put us wise, anyway,' he complained. 'S'pose we'd got Green?'
'I should have borne the loss with Christian fortitude, surprising as it would have seemed to me,' was the reply.
'An' yo're expectin them fellas to come back an' tell you where the dust is?' Fagan asked incredulously.
'I am,' Lesurge replied. 'Curiously enough, though I hate him, I believe Green to be honest--to his employer.'
'Did he promise to smouch the gold for you?'
'Not in so many words, but I think I made things clear.'
'Too damned clear, I'd say, from the way he slung lead at us. Well, I hope he don't disappoint you; we're all busted.'
'I'm afraid you'll have to wait, Fagan; I am almost down to bed-rock myself. Put your thinking-cap on; there should be--opportunities--to-night; everyone will be in town on account of the shooting.'
'What shootin'?'
'Hickok was killed last night,' Paul said coolly, and disregarding his hearer's oath of amazement.' He was playing poker in a saloon and by a careless oversight on his part, he was not facing the door. A fellow stepped in,
