"Well,no!"replied Yuba Bill,staring at Jeff,whose face was set as a flint against the darkness."I should reckon not."He then drew a long breath,glanced at Jeff again,and said between his teeth,"Well,I'm d----d!"At the next station they changed horses,Bill personally supervising,especially as regarded the welfare and proper condition of Blue Grass,who here was brought out as a leader.Formerly there was no change of horses at this station,and this novelty excited Jeff's remark."These yar chaps say thar's no station at the Summit now,"growled Bill,in explanation;"the hotel is closed,and it's all private property,bought by some chap from 'Frisco.Thar ought to be a law agin such doin's!"This suggested obliteration of the last traces of Miss Mayfield seemed to Jeff as only a corroboration of his premonition.He should never hear from her again!Yet to have stood under the roof that last sheltered her;to,perchance,have met some one who had seen her later--this was a fancy that had haunted him on his journey.It was all over now.Perhaps it was for the best.
With the sinking behind of the lights of the station,the occupants of the coach knew that the dangerous part of the journey had begun.
The two guards in the coach had already made obtrusive and warlike preparations,to the ill-concealed disgust of Yuba Bill."I'd hev been willin'to get through this yar job without the burnin'of powder,but ef any of them devils ez is waitin'for us would be content with a shot at them fancy policemen inside,I'd pull up and give 'em a show!"Having relieved his mind,Bill said no more,and the two men relapsed into silence.The moon shone brightly and peacefully,a fact pointed out by Bill as unfavorably deepening the shadows of the woods,and bringing the coach and the road into greater relief.
An hour passed.What were Yuba Bill's thoughts are not a part of this history;that they were turbulent and aggressive might be inferred from the occasional growls and interjected oaths that broke from his lips.But Jeff,strange anomaly,due perhaps to youth and moonlight,was wrapped in a sensuous dream of Miss Mayfield,of the scent of her dark hair as he had drawn her to his side,of the outlines of her sweet form,that had for a moment lightly touched his own--of anything,I fear,but the death he believed he was hastening to.But--"Jeff,"said Bill,in an unmistakable tone.
"Yes,"said Jeff.
"THAT AR CLUMP O'BUCKEYE ON THE RIDGE!Ready there!"(Leaning over the box,to the guards within.)A responsive rustle in the coach,which now bounded forward as if instinct with life and intelligence.
"Jeff,"said Bill,in an odd,altered voice,"take the lines a minit."Jeff took them.Bill stooped towards the boot.Apeaceful moment!A peaceful outlook from the coach;the white moonlit road stretching to the ridge,no noise but the steady gallop of the horses!
Then a yellow flash,breaking from the darkness of the buckeye;a crack like the snap of a whip;Yuba Bill steadying himself for a moment,and then dropping at Jeff's feet!
"They got me,Jeff!But--I DRAWED THEIR FIRE!Don't drop the lines!Don't speak!For--they--think I'm YOU and you ME!"The flash had illuminated Jeff as to the danger,as to Bill's sacrifice,but above all,and overwhelming all,to a thrilling sense of his own power and ability.
Yet he sat like a statue.Six masked figures had appeared from the very ground,clinging to the bits of the horses.The coach stopped.Two wild purposeless shots--the first and last fired by the guards--were answered by the muzzle of six rifles pointed into the windows,and the passengers foolishly and impotently filed out into the road.
