"As I killed them, I should pay their expenses when they are unable to do so."

At last the day for the starting of the coach came round, and Doctor Dick, as no one else volunteered, expressed his willingness to take the reins, though he remarked:

"This will be the last run I shall make, so you must get a man here, Landlord Larry, to go, if I do not bring one back with me from W——."

And once more Doctor Dick rolled away with a cheer from his admirers.



CHAPTER XIII.

A VOLUNTEER.

Doctor Dick had an uneventful run to W——, and arrived without accident or delay on time at the end of his journey. He was well received, but the stage-agent told him that not a volunteer had put in an appearance for the place of driver. Double the price had been offered, but there were no takers, and the agent added:

"You must find some daredevil at Last Chance who is willing to risk his life upon the box, while rest assured, Doctor Dick, I have reported your noble service for the company in its need and it will be appreciated."

"I do not care for pay, or thanks, only I wish to be relieved of a duty I do not like, especially as it interferes with my own work," was the answer.

Just before the time came for the starting of the coach a horseman rode up and dismounted at the stage office. He was an odd-looking individual, tall, but with a hump on his back, awkward in gait, and dressed in buckskin leggings and hunting-shirt.

His hair was long, very long, bushy, and would have been white but for its soiled appearance, and he had it cropped, or banged in front like an Indian, or fashionable young miss, to keep it out of his eyes.

His face was clean-shaven, but the hue of leather, and he wore a pair of iron-rimmed spectacles.

His slouch-hat was worn in reality, for the rim fell down upon his shoulders, save in front where the flap was turned up and fastened with an army-button.

He was armed with a pair of old, but serviceable revolvers, an ugly-looking bowie-knife with a deer-horn handle, and a combined rifle and shotgun, double-barreled.

His horse was as queer as his master in appearance, being a large, raw-boned animal, with patches of hair upon him, a long tangled mane and tail, and he was unshod, though his hoofs looked as tough as iron.

The saddle was also a back number, and the stake-rope served for a bridle as well. A lariat hung at the saddle-horn, also a hatchet, and in a large rubber blanket was rolled his bedding, while a bag contained a coffee-pot, frying-pan, tin cup, plate, and some provisions.

He looked the crowd over as he drew rein, and asked quietly:

"Who's boss o' this layout?"

"I am," and the stage-agent stepped forward.

"I hears thet yer wants a man ter drive yer old hearse on ther trail ter Last Chance and back."

"I do."

"I'm yer huckleberry."

"You?"

"Yas, me."

"Are you a driver?"

"Ef I wasn't I'd not be sich a durned fool as ter trust myself on a two-story hearse, pard."

"Who sent you here?"

"Nobody, for I hain't one ter be sent."

"Where did you come from?"

"Ther up-country, whar I has been trappin', huntin', prospectin', and killin' a Injin or two—see!"

"And now you wish to turn stage-driver?"

"If it pays what they told me at Fort Faraway I does."

"The pay is good; but have you no references?"

"Yas."

"Where are they?"

"Here."

The old man put his hands upon his revolvers and drew them with a lightninglike motion that surprised the lookers-on.

"They are pretty good references on a pinch, and you may have cause to use them if you drive this trail."

"I has used them before, and I guess I kin do it ag'in," was the quiet response.

"When could you begin?"

"Now."

"What is your name?"

"Old Huckleberry, but the boys calls me old Huck for short; but durn ther name, call me what yer wants ter, and I'll be thar."

"Well, Pard Huckleberry, I rather like your style, and have a mind to give you a trial."

"Ef yer kin do better, don't do it; but if yer can't, count on me, for as I said afore, I'm yer huckleberry, and ready for the game."

Doctor Dick had been closely looking at the old volunteer and said something in a whisper to the stage-agent, who at once said:

"I'll take you, and the time for starting is almost up."

"I'm ready, only take care of my horse at my expense," and the volunteer dismounted ready for work.

When old Huckleberry mounted the stage-box, Doctor Dick yielded to him the reins, which he seized in a somewhat awkward manner, yet with the air of one who knew just what to do; took the whip, gave it a resounding crack, and started off at a brisk pace.

There were four passengers inside, all miners going to Last Chance, lured there by the rumor of richer mines having been found, for the stories were circulating more and more that there were rich finds being discovered there every day.

"That man knows how to handle the reins as well as the best of them, old though he may be, and a trifle awkward," said the stage-agent, as he saw the volunteer driver sending his team along, at a slapping pace, in spite of the fact that the trail was none of the best along there.

The coach soon disappeared from the sight of those at W——, made the night halt on time, and as soon as he had had his supper the new driver wrapped himself in his blankets and threw himself down outdoors, declining the invitation of the stock-tender to sleep in the cabin.

He was on his box on time the next morning, and with Doctor Dick by his side, went off on his run.

He was a man disposed to silence, for he did not speak often, unless Doctor Dick addressed him. But he would ask now and then about the trails, and showed some interest in the gambler-king's stories of the different road-agents' attacks upon the way to Last Chance.

He greeted the stock-tenders at the relay-stations pleasantly, said he hoped to be with them for some time, and kept the team at the pace set for schedule-time.

Passing the scenes of the several tragedies, he drew rein for a few minutes and attentively regarded the surroundings, but drove on again without a word of comment.

Doctor Dick had become more and more interested in the strange driver, had told him all he could about the trail, the time to make going and coming, and was anxious to have him make no mistakes, he said.

He tried to draw him out time and again, but in vain. All he could learn from him was that he had lived for many years upon the frontier and preferred to do so for reasons best known to himself.

He said he was trapper, Indian-fighter, hunter, and prospector, that was all, and he tried to do his duty in every work he undertook. More he would not say of himself, and the doctor gave up trying to "pump" him.

When the coach came in sight of Last Chance, old Huckleberry showed no satisfaction at having made the run in safety, or excitement at driving in for the first time.

He quickened the pace of his team, handled his reins with a skill that won the admiration, as he had all along, of Doctor Dick, and at last came to a halt before the hotel with a whoop and the words:

"Here we be, boss!"

Doctor Dick introduced old Huckleberry from the box, as soon as the cheer that greeted their arrival had died away.

"Pards, I is glad ter know yer, and I greets yer," and with this old Huckleberry dismounted from the box and asked at once for the "feed-room."

He ate his supper with a relish, smoked his pipe, and, declining a bed in the hotel, saying it would smother him to sleep in between walls, took an ax and hatchet, with a few nails, and, going up on the hillside where there was a thicket, soon built for himself a wickiup that would keep him sheltered even in a storm.

He carried his few traps there, and then stuck up a notice which read: "Old Huckleberry's Claim."

Having completed his quarters, he strolled about among the saloons and gambling-dens, watched the playing, but neither drank nor gambled, and at last, tiring of looking on, went to his roost and turned in for the night, an object of curiosity to all, yet also of admiration, for a man who would volunteer to drive the coach over that trail was one to command respect in Last Chance.



CHAPTER XIV.

THE WAY IT WAS DONE.

The new driver drove the run to W—- for several round trips, and not once was he held up.

He made the regular time, drove without any accident whatever, attended to his business, associated with no one, or, that is, to be on intimate terms with any one, not even Doctor Dick, and still slept in his little shelter on the hill.

He had fitted this up more comfortably, and said that he felt perfectly at home there, while on his return from W—— he had led his horse back behind the coach, wishing to have him at Last Chance, where his stay was always two weeks, for there was only a day's stop at the other end of the run.

He was wont to go on long hunts, mounted upon Rawbones, as he called his horse, and he kept Landlord Larry well supplied with game.

One day as old Huckleberry was returning to Last Chance, and neared the Dead Line, the scene of the other hold-up, he suddenly threw his rifle to his shoulder and sent a shower of buckshot into a thicket ahead.

A rifle-bullet from the other barrel was sent to the other side, and the whip was brought down upon his team in a way that put them into a run.

Seeing them well started he threw the reins over the brake and with a revolver in each hand opened a fusillade on both sides of the trail, while he called out to his passengers:

"Blaze away into the bushes, durn yer, for thar is game thar ter kill!"

All this had not taken over half a dozen seconds, and that there was "game" in the thickets, and dangerous game at that, was proven by hearing several loud cries of pain, and stern orders given, while men were seen hunting shelter from the unexpected fusillade opened upon them.

There were eight passengers in the coach, and, urged by the old driver, several of them obeyed and opened fire from the windows.

The result was that where road-agents had been lying in wait for the coach, and were just about to show themselves and command a halt, they were taken completely by surprise and forced to seek shelter from the leaden messengers flying about them.

The rapid fire caused the road-agents to believe that there was a coach full of soldiers, that a trap was prepared for them, and ere they could rally and their leader could convince them that it was not so, the coach had gone by the Dead Line and was going along the pass at the full speed of its horses, the reins now in the hands of old Huck once more.

The passengers all saw the panic-stricken road-agents, half a dozen in number, and, encouraged by the boldness of old Huck, kept up a hot fire, which they felt confident had not been thrown away.

When pursuit was no longer feared, old Huck drew his team down to a trot, and, leaning over, called out:

"We done 'em up thet time, pards."

The passengers cheered the old driver, and when he drew rein at the hotel in Last Chance they quickly made known his act of heroism, for, throwing the reins upon the backs of his horses, he had gotten down from the box, reported the safe arrival of the coach to Landlord Larry, and gone in to his supper.

When the story was told, of how bravely he had run the gantlet, Landlord Larry went in to have a talk with him, but found that he had finished his supper and gone.

It was a cold evening, and there was snow flying, so, looking over to the hill where the little shanty of old Huck was located, Landlord Larry saw a bright fire burning and at once went there.

There sat old Huck enjoying his pipe and warming his feet before the fire in the clay chimney he had built.

He had a canvas covering the doorway, to keep out the cold and snow, and seemed as contented as could be in his lone quarters.

"Well old man, you seem happy," he said.

"Why not?"

"You brought in a valuable freight to-night, in money and registered letters."

"I know it."

"Do you know how much?"

"Ther agent at W—— told me he thought about forty thousand, and so I made a rush, ter git through."

"And did it grandly."

"That's what I'm paid fer."

"I have heard the story of your running the gantlet and surprising the road-agents."

Old Huck laughed and replied:

"Waal, I calkilate as how they was astonished. You see I seen the tracks on the trail, foot-tracks, and fresh ones, goin' on toward the Dead Line, and so I kinder felt sart'in o' a hold-up. When I come to ther pass I seen ther top o' a small tree wavin' and knowed somebody were up in it looking over t'other trees.

"So I jist up with old drop-'em, and I let drive with a handful o' bullets I had dropped into ther shot-barrel, and I put a piece o' lead on t'other side o' trail, dropped ther ribbons and set my two puppies ter barking, as soon as I hed laid ther silk onter ther team and got 'em inter a run.

"I tell yer, landlord, it were prime fun and no mistake, and as ther insiders helped with ther guns, you bet we waltzed through them scared road-agents in a way that crippled 'em; and we come in on time.

"That's all thar is of ther story, boss," and old Huckleberry puffed away at his pipe again in the most unconcerned manner possible.

Hardly had old Huckleberry finished his simple story of his brave act when a voice at the door said:

"Ho, old gentleman, I have just heard at the hotel of your splendid work this afternoon and have come to congratulate you."

"Come in, Pard Doc, and camp on that blanket thar before ther fire, I is glad to see yer, but I don't need no congratulations, for I hain't done nothing more than I oughter."

"Well, old man, you saved the lives of your passengers, and a rich freight, I learn, and I know as well as any one how to appreciate what you did, for I have driven the trail, you remember."

"I know it, and done it well."

"I also praised old Huck, Doc, but he does not care to be thanked; but what is to be done about this attempted attack on the coach?" said Landlord Larry.

"I'll go out so as ter git thar at daybreak, and see if thar can be any trail found. It is spittin' now, but not much, and I guess we can find if we done any harm in our fire and maybe track the varmints," said old Huck.

"And I'll go with you," said Landlord Larry.

"Count me another," the doctor added.

Then it was decided to take a dozen men along, and the doctor and the landlord bade the old driver good night and departed, when he at once turned in, after throwing a large log upon his fire to burn until morning.

"That is a strange old character, Larry," said Doctor Dick as the two walked back to the hotel.

"He is, indeed, Doc. I do not understand him, for he is a mystery to me."

"And to me; but do you think I should send another courier to Buffalo Bill making known this intended attack?"

"No, write as you did before to him, and he'll get it by way of W——."

"I'll do so; but did you learn anything in particular about this attack?"

"Nothing more than that fully half a dozen road-agents were seen, and but for the bold and prompt act of old Huck there would have been death and robbery beyond all doubt."

"He is a very daring man to do what he did."

"He is indeed, and it will surely mark him for death with the road-agents."

"Beyond all doubt; but we must make a start early enough to bring us to the scene by daybreak, so good night."

The two separated to meet again when old Huck came up ready mounted to take the trail.

The party who were to go were soon in the saddle, and they started off at a canter. There was just a trace of snow upon the ground, and they were glad to see that there was no more.

A brisk gallop brought them to the Dead Line at dawn, and the search was at once begun.

Hardly any snow had fallen there, and in the pinons there was none, so that in several places the ground was stained red, showing that the fire from the coach had not been useless if not fatal.

Then old Huck showed his skill as a trailer, for he at once went to work in a way that revealed the fact that he was an old hand at the business.

He went from blood-stain to blood-stain in silence, examined the position of the thicket, took in the whole situation, and the direction of the stage when the firing had been going on, and at last started off up the canyon following a trail that was so faint that a number of the party said that there was no trail at all.

But he climbed up the steep side of the canyon end, followed by the others, and there on the top were found several red spots in different places.

"Three, maybe dead, maybe only wounded," he said shortly.

"Those three stains tell you that, old man?" asked Doctor Dick.

"Yas, they took off their dead or wounded, as ther case might be, and halted ter rest after climbin' up here, and right here is whar they laid the dead or wounded down, while they was restin'."

"Well, which way now, Huck, for your solution seems the right one," said Doctor Dick.

"That's hard ter tell, for a horse wouldn't leave no track here," was the reply.



CHAPTER XV.

A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.

That even old Huckleberry had lost his grip on the trail, after reaching the top of the ridge, was soon evident, for, search as he might, he could find no trace of a track in the hard, rocky soil about them.

"We'll scatter, pards, and try ter find another place whar they has rested the'r loads, for they won't carry heavy weights far up this slope without restin'," he said.

So the party separated, and half an hour later a halloo from old Huck brought them together again.

There was another place where the road-agents had halted, for there were the three telltale spots of blood lying close together.

Again they separated on a search, but after hours spent in vain, they were forced to give it up, old Huck remarking:

"Thar is snow higher up, so it's no use, now."

Back to Last Chance the party reluctantly retraced their way, after they had eaten their noonday meal, and all hope of finding a clue to the retreat of the road-agents was given up, save by old Huckleberry, who each day went off on a hunt, though many were sure that it was a trail, not game, that he was hunting.

When at last the day came for him to start off on his run, he mounted his box without the slightest apparent reluctance, nodded good-by and drove off on his perilous journey.

There was much anxiety felt at Last Chance for his return, and a number talked of riding out to the Dead Line and meeting him, but this was not done, as a suggestion was made that the old man might not take it kindly, but look upon it as an interference, a belief that he was not able to take care of himself.

When, however, the time for his arrival came, and no stage appeared, men looked anxiously at each other and wondered if the old man was another victim to the road-agents' hunt for gold.

When an hour passed and there was no stage in sight, Doctor Dick said that he would mount his horse and go to see what was the matter. He was not allowed to go alone, for a score of mounted men at once followed him, and the ride was a rapid one to the Dead Line, for the coach was not met on the way.

Arriving at the Dead Line the coach loomed in sight. It was still, and dashing up the horses were found hitched to trees.

But not a soul was visible. The box was empty, and not a soul was found within.

Where was old Huck? That question could not be answered, and a search was at once begun.

Upon the stage-box blood was found. That looked very bad for old Huck.

Some one had hitched those horses to the trees surely, but who?

The coach, had evidently been searched, for the cushions were thrown out and the boot open, and yet, strange to say, the mail-bag had escaped the eyes of the searchers, being found by Landlord Larry where old Huck always hid it, in one of the cushions arranged for the purpose by the old man.

Who had been killed, or what the coach had been robbed of, was not revealed.

The party camped all night upon the scene, and a thorough search was made the next morning again for the missing driver.

Miles back on the trail had the miners ridden, and more, every rock and thicket by the way was thoroughly searched, yet all in vain.

At last the party were reluctantly compelled to give up further search for old Huck, be he dead or alive, for not the slightest clue could be found, and there was no trace of any trail whatever.

Doctor Dick mounted the box and drove the coach back to Last Chance, and the miners had knocked off work and were assembled to hear bad news, which the delay caused them to look for.

Landlord Larry and Doctor Dick at once held a consultation upon their return, and it was decided to send Harding again to Fort Faraway as a courier with a message to Buffalo Bill.

But when called upon to go, to the surprise of both, Harding refused.

"You went before, Pard Harding, so why refuse this time, when you know it is our duty to report, as agreed, to Buffalo Bill the attacks of the road-agents upon the coaches, that he may place the matter before the commandant?" said Doctor Dick, who was anxious to have the mysterious disappearance of old Huckleberry known.

"I went before, Doctor Dick, but I do not care to go again," was Harding's firm rejoinder.

"Do you fear to go?" asked Landlord Larry, with a smile.

"If you think that I am influenced by fear I will prove to the contrary," was the quiet rejoinder.

"By going?"

"No."

"How then?"

"Have you a driver to take the coach out to W—— on its next run, landlord?"

"No, unless Doctor Dick will kindly do so."

"I cannot," was the quick response of the doctor.

"Then I will," said the young miner.

"You?"

"Yes, landlord."

"Do you know how to drive?"

"I have driven six-in-hand often."

"When?"

"I drove wagons and ambulances in the army, and on one occasion drove the general with four-in-hand over four hundred miles of the worst country I ever saw."

"I guess you will do, then, and it is far easier to get a courier to go to the fort, than it is a driver for the coach."

"Yes, as if I go under, Pard Larry, I will be number five."

"Five?" asked the doctor meditatively.

"Yes; Bud Benton was one, Dave Dockery two, Doctor Dick number three, and old Huckleberry number four, so I will come in as five."

"You are right."

"And you are in earnest, Harding?" asked the landlord.

"Certainly."

"You know all that you risk?"

"Thoroughly."

"Then I retract my words in asking you if you feared to go to the fort as courier, for your volunteering as driver proves that you fear nothing."

"All right. Pard Larry, let it go at that."

"Well, Harding, consider yourself engaged for the berth of driver, and be ready to take the coach out on its next run."

"You will find me on hand."

"And let me tell you that I am authorized to pay three times the regular wages."

"It will be acceptable."

"If you live to get it," was the suggestive response of Landlord Larry.

This having been settled upon, greatly to Larry's relief, he further talked with Doctor Dick, and it was decided that as old Huck had only disappeared, and the coach had not been robbed of the mails, they would send no report of the affair to Buffalo Bill, but wait and see how Harding came out with his drive.

The news soon spread about that Hal Harding had volunteered to drive the coach through to W—— and he at once became a hero in the camps, for those bold fellows always loved heroism in a man above all other qualities.

He was, however, regarded as a dead man beforehand, for that he would be killed seemed a foregone conclusion, and many felt pity for the fate that they felt assured would befall the handsome young miner.

But Harding seemed not to dread the drive in the least, but went on about his duties in his usual cheery way.

Sticking to the work in his mine he had found that it panned out richer than he had anticipated, and he already had partnership offers, and a good price if he would sell.

He had kept his eyes open, too, in his secret-service work for Buffalo Bill, and had noted down certain discoveries he had made of a suspicious nature, and also had the names of a few whom he considered worth while watching.

At last the day came for the coach to start out, and as nothing had been heard of old Huck, Hal Harding reported at the hotel ready to mount the box and drive through.

As he passed through the crowd he could not but hear several remarks that were made, one being:

"He is number five, and he is doomed also."



CHAPTER XVI.

TAKING CHANCES.

There was not a shadow of dread, at the fate that might be his, upon the face of Hal Harding as he mounted to the stage-box and gathered up the reins.

The mails were aboard, and he knew that he had a valuable freight hidden away, as best it could be, of gold-dust, being risked by miners who were sending it eastward.

What gold was to be sent out was always kept a secret, known only to the senders, to Landlord Larry, and the driver, and though it was taking chances to let it go, the senders were risking it, as gamblers chance money in large sums upon the turn of a card.

Then, too, there was a very strange feature in the holding up of the coaches, and that was the fact that they had never been halted on the outward run, no matter how much gold they carried out, but always when bringing back to Last Chance the exchange in bank-notes.

The road-agents knew that they could carry large sums in money where they could not be bothered with gold in bulk, was the reason that Landlord Larry assigned for the attacks being made only on the westward runs of the coaches.

Not a passenger was to go, and Harding sang out in a cheerful tone:

"All ready."

"Go," cried Larry, and the vehicle rolled away in a manner that showed that the young miner was a good driver, as he had asserted that he was.

The crowd cheered wildly, the voices echoing down the canyon as he drove along, and now and then he would raise his hat to those who greeted him from their cabins and mines as he went along.

Out of the valley he turned, swinging at a brisk trot along through canyons, over hills, up mountains, by the way of narrow passes and down again to the valleys.

He reached the relay-station nearest Last Chance, and made known to the stock-tender the fate of old Huck.

"You goes next, pard, for it won't be long afore Doctor Dick will come along and tell me that poor Hal Harding has gone under," said the sympathetic stock-tender.

"Think so?"

"Sure of it."

"Why Doctor Dick?"

"Waal, ef you gets kilt no other man in or out o' Last Chance will have ther grit to drive ther old death-trap, for thet hearse you is sittin' on is no more."

"It is an unlucky old vehicle, I admit, pard; but I'll be going," and Harding drove on once more.

He had not seen a soul at the Dead Line. All was as quiet at that dread spot as the forms of those who had lost their lives there.

Only the stockmen at the station greeted him on the way, and at night he came to the halting-cabin a little ahead of time.

He had the same story to tell at each one of the relay-stations, about the fate of old Huck, and an ominous shake of the head from those who listened convinced him that they expected him to be the next victim.

The next morning he rolled into W—— a few minutes ahead of time, and the stage-agent seemed surprised to see a new man upon the box.

He heard what Harding had to say of old Huck, listened to his report of his uneventful run, and received from him the way-bill of what he carried.

"You have done well, Mr. Harding, and I hope we will hear no more of these attacks, so that you may escape, for, if they make a victim of you, I do not know who we can look to unless it be that fearless fellow, Doctor Dick."

"And his practise, mining interests, and gambling occupy him so thoroughly that he will not drive again, sir, I am sure."

"Not unless no other can be found, for he is just the man to step in then in open defiance of danger."

"Yes, he is just what you say of him, sir."

"Now, how is that poor passenger who was crazed by a shot from the road-agents?"

"Aimlessly wandering about Last Chance, sir, harmless and to be pitied."

"Well, I have received letters asking about him, and had to make a report of the circumstances. It will be upon your return trip that you will have to be watchful."

"I will be, sir, never fear," was the cheery response.

The news of the mysterious disappearance of the old driver soon spread about W——, and people gathered about the stage-office to have a look at the brave fellow who had, in the face of the past experience, brought the coach through.

The agent had told Harding that if the mails had gone through nothing had been taken, for no freight had been sent and no passengers were along on that trip.

As they had found nothing to take, the road-agents had doubtless visited their vengeance upon old Huck, especially to repay him for having run the gantlet on a former occasion.

There were passengers booked for Last Chance by stage, but when it became known that old Huck had been killed, as all supposed he must have been, they concluded they were in no great hurry to reach the mining-camps and could wait a while longer.

So Harding discovered that he would have to return with an empty coach, as far as passengers were concerned.

He showed no disappointment, however, at having to return alone, and was told by the agent that he was to carry back considerable money and a valuable mail.

"All right, sir, I'll do my best to go through in safety," he said, and he grasped the outstretched hand of the agent, who said:

"I feel as though I was shaking hands with a man about to die."

"Now, I don't feel that way in the least," was the laughing response, and Harding sprang up to the box, seized the reins, cracked his whip when he got the word, and was off.

The crowd gathered there cheered him, of course, but a generally sad expression rested upon every face as they looked upon the brave young miner who had taken his life in his hand to drive what was now called the death-trap.

Having halted for the night at the way cabin, Harding pushed on the next morning with the first glimmer of dawn, and reached the third relay at noon.

There was then one more relay and the run into Last Chance, which in good weather could readily be made before sunset. He passed the last relay, and the stock-tender said, as he was about to start:

"Good-by, pard, and do you know I kinder feels as if yer was a dead man already?"

"Don't you believe it, for I am worth a dozen dead men, old man," was the laughing response, and Harding drove on, with the Dead Line rising in his mind before him.

He drove more rapidly than was the schedule-time, and when he came into the pass, with the Dead Line just ahead, he had half an hour to spare.

The horses pricked up their ears, as though they knew the doomed place well, and the leaders gave a snort as they beheld a form ahead. It was a man leaning against the cross erected in memory of Bud Benton.

That Harding also saw the form was certain, for his eyes were riveted upon the spot. As he drew nearer, the man moved away from the cross and advanced down into the trail.

Still Harding made no move to halt, to rush by, or appeared to take notice of him. The man placed himself by the side of the trail, and stood as still as a statue, after making a slight sign, as it appeared.

The answer of Harding to this sign was to shake his head.

On rolled the coach, and when it neared the silent form, without any command to do so, Harding drew hard upon the reins, pressed his foot heavily upon the brake, and brought the coach to a standstill, the horses, which had before drawn it through the deadly dangers it had passed at that spot, showing a restless dread and expectancy of the cracking of revolvers.

But there was no weapon drawn either by the man on the side of the trail, or by Harding, and neither seemed to dread the other.

The reason for this was that the one who had awaited the coming of the coach at the Dead Line was none other than old Huckleberry.



CHAPTER XVII.

A SECRET KEPT.

Just fifteen minutes before the time of arrival set for the coach by schedule, Hal Harding drove up to the hotel at Last Chance.

From his entering the valley, and passing the first mine, he had been followed by cheer after cheer, until when he reached Landlord Larry's tavern there were many there to swell the chorus of welcome.

Larry greeted him most warmly, and when he saw what a valuable freight he had brought through with him, he told him that he was deserving of the highest praise.

Harding received the honors heaped upon him in a modest manner, and when asked by Landlord Larry if he had seen any road-agents, answered:

"Not one."

"All quiet along the trail, then?"

"As quiet as the grave."

"I suppose you were anxious upon reaching the Dead Line?"

"I think the horses were more nervous than I was, for they at least showed it."

"You told the agent at W—— about old Huck's fate?"

"Of course, sir, I told him of his mysterious disappearance."

"Do you know I half-way hoped you would hear something of old Huck at W——."

"No, I heard nothing of him there."

"And none of the stock-tenders had seen him?"

"They did not speak to me of having done so."

"Well, he is gone, that is certain; but you have begun well, Harding, and I hope may keep it up."

"Thank you, Landlord Larry, I hope that I will, for I have an abiding faith in the belief that I will live to be an old man."

"I hope so sincerely," said the doctor, who had been an attentive listener to the conversation between the young miner and Larry.

"They say at W——, Doctor Dick, that if I go under, you will be the only man who will dare drive the coach through."

"And I will not do it unless we are doomed to be cut off from all communication, and I see that Last Chance will be ruined, from fear of traveling the trail to it," said Doctor Dick decidedly.

"How is your patient, doctor?"

"Which one, for I have a number of patients just now?"

"The young man whose wound at the hands of the road-agents turned his brain."

"I see him daily, and he is about the same, like a child, mentally."

"They asked about him at W——, for the agent had received several letters regarding him."

"Ah!" said Doctor Dick, with interest. "What was their tenor?"

"That he had come out West upon a special mission, and with considerable money, and, since leaving W—— where he had written of his arrival, not a word had been heard from him."

"I am glad that he has friends, then, for he will be cared for in his misfortune."

"Yes, Doctor Dick, and the agent hinted that some one was coming out to look him up."

"I rejoice at this, for he needs care," the doctor rejoined, and he added:

"I have been convinced that he was no ordinary individual, and had been well reared; but what a blow it will be to his friends to find him as he is, poor fellow."

After some further conversation Harding went to his cabin for the night; but he was not long in discovering that he was regarded as a hero by all.

He had not made the slightest reference to having met old Huckleberry at the Dead Line, and as he thought over the fact that he had done so, and the secret that was known to him alone, he muttered to himself:

"If they only knew, what a sensation it would be for Last Chance, yes, and for W—— as well, not to speak of the masked road-agent chief and his men, who thus far have been playing a winning game; but luck sometimes turns, and I guess it is nearing the turning-point now, and will come our way."

Harding reported for duty promptly when the time came around for him to take the coach again on its perilous run.

"We have got considerable gold-dust aboard, pard, and a big outgoing mail, so I hope you will go through all right," said Landlord Larry, while Doctor Dick, who just then came up, said:

"Yes, Harding, I have several valuable letters in the mail with drafts for large sums which I sincerely hope will not miscarry."

"I'll do the best I can, Doctor Dick," was the answer, and Harding went out and mounted the box.

He could not but feel gratified at the size of the crowd that had gathered to see him depart, and he raised his sombrero politely in response to the cheers.

He had gone through in safety once; but could he do it a second time? That was the thought in the brain of every man there assembled.

At last the word was given, and away went the coach, cheered all the way down the valley until it was out of sight.

As before, the young driver lost no time on the trail, but upon reaching the Dead Line, instead of seeming to dread the spot and wishing to drive rapidly by, he dismounted from the box, and, going to the cross, felt about among the wild flowers growing about it until he picked up a slip of paper, while he hastily read what he found written thereon.

Taking from his pocket a similar slip, on which there was writing, he thrust it out of sight in the spot he had taken the other from. Then he returned to the coach and drove on once more as though he felt no fear of his surroundings.

He reached the night-cabin on time, and surprised the stock-tender there by telling him that he intended to drive on to W—— that night.

"You don't mean it?"

"I certainly do."

"Why, yer'll kill yer team, smash ther old box, and crush yerself to atoms."

"I believe I can drive the road at night," was the firm response.

"It's ther wust piece of road on ther whole Overland Trail."

"It is a bad one, but I will depend upon my team mainly and risk it."

"Why do you do it?"

"I have an idea that it will be safer."

"How so?"

"Well, if there were road-agents on the trail to hold me up to-morrow, I'll miss them, that is all."

"Right you are, pard; but I don't believe they is as dangerous as traveling this trail to-night."

"I'll let you know what I think upon my return," was Harding's answer, and he drove on once more.

Night had come on, and he well knew the dangers before him from a mistake in driving. He had been over the road perhaps half a dozen times, always riding upon the box, but upon his last run as driver he had most carefully noted every foot of the way.

The night was dark, but he knew that he had the instinct of his team to depend upon, and this was more than half the battle.

He was determined to push through and save his load of gold, and if he did make a successful run over that part of the trail by night, he would do what no other driver had done, and on this account his pride was at stake.

So he started boldly yet cautiously upon his way, and when the sun was just rising in W—— the stage-agent there was awakened by wheels dashing up to his door and heard the call:

"The coach from Last Chance has arrived."

He was up in a hurry and congratulating the young driver upon his night drive, while he said:

"Do you know I feared you would be held up to-day, for a party of desperadoes lately left W——, and I felt most anxious about you."

"Yes, they are on the trail waiting for me now, not knowing that I slipped by in the night. I'll get together a band of brave fellows and go back after them," and an hour after Harding was mounted upon a fine horse and leading a dozen men back upon the trail he had safely driven over in the night.



CHAPTER XVIII.

A MYSTERIOUS SOUND.

The stage-agent at W—— was right in declaring that the coach might be held up on the rough trail that was always driven by daylight, for the party he feared were some wild fellows who had ridden into the settlement two days before and stated that they were on their way to the mines.

They were well mounted and armed, had several packhorses with them, and, though not having the excuse of drinking to make them dreaded, had carried on in a way that caused all peaceably disposed persons to dread them.

Who they were no one knew, and when they left the place honest men breathed more freely and congratulated each other that no tragedy had occurred, as a reminder of their visit.

They had gone out upon the trail to Last Chance late in the afternoon, and the agent felt sure that they would camp early and meet the coach the next morning, and the result he greatly feared, after a look at the party in question; so he was rejoiced to find that Harding had taken the great risk of driving through by night.

The crowd that he dreaded were five in number, and they were young men, bronzed-faced, brawny, and with an air of recklessness stamped upon them. That they were a dangerous lot their appearance indicated, and few men would care to face them where no help was at hand.

They had halted some dozen miles from W——, and gone into camp on a brook a few hundred yards from the trail the stage would follow. That they knew their way well their movements were proof of, for they rode at once to the camping-place, staked out their horses, spread their blankets, and gathered wood to cook their supper with.

The spot chosen was one where they could command a view of the trail for a mile in both directions, yet remain in concealment themselves.

They had supper, then gambled a while by the light of the fire, and afterward turned in, setting no watch.

It was about midnight when one of the party awoke, half-arose and listened. He heard a rumbling sound that seemed to surprise him.

"I say, pards," he called out.

A man awoke, and asked drowsily:

"What is it, Sully?"

"I hear wheels."

"Nonsense."

"But I do."

"It's the roar of the stream."

"I don't think so."

"I does."

Others were awakened and listened, and they distinctly heard a low, rumbling sound. But, after some minutes, the sound died away and the one who had first discovered it asked:

"Do you think it could have been the coach?"

"No, indeed."

"Why not?"

"No man living would dare drive a coach over this trail at night."

"It sounded to me like wheels."

"There it is again."

All listened attentively, and then one said:

"It is the wind in the pines."

The wind was rising and this solution of mysterious sound seemed to settle the matter, so all laid down in their blankets once more.

The man who had discovered the sound was the one to arise first in the morning, and the day was just dawning when he left his blankets, gazed about him, and then walked over to where the stage-trail ran, several hundred yards from their camp, and along through a bit of meadow-land.

He had hardly reached the trail when he gave a loud halloo, which brought his comrades from their blankets in an instant, and his call set them coming toward him at a run.

"Look there, pards!" he cried, and as each man reached his side he stood gazing down at the trail.

"The stage has gone by," said one, with an oath, as his eyes fell upon the tracks of the six horses and the wheel-marks, lately made.

"Then one man was bold enough to dare the drive at night!"

"Sure, and the chief will be furious with us!"

"What is to be done now?"

"The coach is safe in W—— now, for if that fellow drove safely over the back trail he had no trouble beyond here."

"Then we had better get a move on us."

"Sure, for that agent suspects us, and there'll be a gang on our heels mighty quick," and hastening back to camp, the party mounted and rode rapidly on toward the mountains.



CHAPTER XIX.

A FAIR PASSENGER.

Harding had ridden rapidly upon the trail back toward the night relay, for he felt sure that the agent was right in his conjecture that the party of wild fellows who had left W—— had intended to hold him up on the trail the next day when he came along.

In fact, the slip of paper he had picked up at the Dead Line had been a warning to that effect, and hence he had dared take the drive at night, hoping thus to elude his foes, and had been successful.

When he reached the trail where the party had turned off to camp, they soon came upon their halting-place, and as the ashes of their fire was cold, it proved that they had departed before having breakfast there.

"Something frightened them off," said Harding. "But I wonder they did not hear my wheels, camping as they did this near to the stage-trail."

"They kept no watch, doubtless; but will you follow them?"

"Yes, to the relay-station at least."

Arriving there, for their trail had been lost in the rocky soil, Harding found that the men had not passed, so they turned back for W——, arriving there by nightfall.

The coaches that came in from the South and East the next morning brought valuable mail for Last Chance, and, to the surprise of all, a lady passenger. She was young and veiled, but enough was seen of her face to reveal its beauty.

She was dressed in perfect keeping for one on a long journey, and carried only a small trunk with her. She told the station-agent that her name was Celeste Seldon, and that she had come West for a double purpose, searching for her father, and one other whom she was most anxious to find.

The last she had heard of her father was in a letter dated from W——, and a secret communication, also mailed from W——, was the last tidings received from the second person she sought.

"I wrote you, Mr. Agent," she said in her sweet way, "asking about a young man, Bernard Brandon by name, who had come West upon a special mission. You replied that he had been to W—— and gone on from here to Last Chance, a mining-camp, and though I have written there, no response came, so I decided to come myself and investigate. Have you heard anything more of Mr. Brandon?"

The agent looked troubled and, seeing it, she said quickly:

"You have heard of him, so I beg you to tell me all."

"I regret to say, miss, that he was wounded on his way to Last Chance, shot by road-agents; but here is Harding, the driver of the Last Chance coach, and he can tell you all."

Harding did not appear to like having to give pain to the young girl, but he frankly told her of the wound of the young man, who could be no other than Bernard Brandon, and the pitiful result.

"I will go to him. When do you start, sir?"

"This afternoon, miss; but the trail is a very dangerous one, and I had better bring him back with me."

"No, I will go with you and I will speak for the box-seat, if it is not engaged."

"Oh, no; no seats are engaged, for all dread the trail between here and Last Chance."

"I do not, so I ride with you, sir, on the box-seat," was the determined reply of the young girl.

She paid her fare, and when the coach started, after having dinner at the agent's, mounted to the box with Harding's aid, and took her seat by the young driver, while the crowd yelled lustily as they drove off to face the dangers of the trail.

Harding drove off with the air of one who felt his full responsibility in having the care of a young and beautiful girl, who dared risk the dangerous road he had to travel.

He found that his fair companion, as soon as she left the settlement, was very beautiful, for she removed her veil when only having to be gazed upon by one person, and that one a very handsome young miner.

It did not take her very long to discover that her companion, though driving an Overland coach, was above the average she had thus far met with among the Western wilds, for he was polite, well-informed, and his courage was proven by what he was then doing; for Miss Seldon had been told by the agent just what trouble they had had on the line.

The night relay was reached, and as there had been no expectation of ever accommodating young ladies, no provision had been made for them, so Harding and the stock-tender yielded the cabin to the fair passenger, while they occupied a shanty near-by.

The stock-tender exerted himself to make her comfortable, and to provide the best supper and breakfast his larder would allow.

"What a surprise they will get in Last Chance when they see her, pard. Why, them miners will make a goddess of her, whatever that may be," said the stock-tender.

"Yes, if we only get through, pard, for do you know I am more anxious now than when I am alone?"

"Why is that?"

"Well, I have my reasons; but let me tell you that I mean fight on this run if we are held up," and the eyes of the young driver flashed fire.

The next morning the coach started upon its way half an hour earlier than usual, and Harding pushed his horses along at a far faster pace than they were accustomed to.

For some reason he seemed anxious to get by the Dead Line far ahead of time, and to push on into Last Chance with all speed that was possible.

He found his fair charge most entertaining, and she asked him all about life in the wild West, and he was surprised to discover how much she knew of the frontier and its characters.

She spoke of army officers known to her well by name, mentioned Buffalo Bill as a hero well known in the East, and seemed anxious to glean all the information she could of the strange country into which she had ventured.

At last she touched upon the cause of her coming, and her face saddened as she said:

"It grieves me deeply to learn of the sad result of Mr. Brandon's wound, though I cannot but feel, as you say that he is bodily strong, that something can be done to restore his mind.

"He came here on a mission for me, to find my father, who, I will confess to you, was driven West by pretended friends and false misrepresentations that kept him here, as though he had been the veriest criminal hiding from justice.

"But it is not so, and I long to find my father and restore him to his home and those who love him. Have you ever heard of him here?—his name was Andrew Seldon."

"No, Miss Seldon, I never have heard the name, that I now recall. Where was he when last you heard of him?"

"Seven letters came into my possession long after they were written, for I have not seen my father for seven long years, and I was a little girl then, and the last of those letters was mailed at W——.

"In it he stated that he had been in the mining country, had been most successful, and would come home within a year or two. But this letter did not come to my hands directly, and it was answered by others, his enemies and mine, and so I, upon learning the truth, and of a cruel plot against him and myself, got Mr. Brandon to come and look him up that he might know all.

"As a dread came, upon receiving the agent's letter, that harm had befallen Mr. Brandon, I decided to come at once to the West myself, for I was reared on a plantation, am a good rider, have been inured to hardships and can handle firearms when there is need for them, so I was fitted for just such a trip as I am now taking; but here I am making a confidant of you, Mr. Harding, when I should be keeping my own counsel."

"Oh, no, I am glad to know more of you, and it may be in my power to aid you, for I will gladly do all I can."

"I feel that, and we will be friends; but why do you look so anxious?"

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do."

"Well, to be candid, I am anxious for your sake, not mine, for I half-dread trouble on this run, and we are nearing the scene of several tragedies which the miners call the Dead Line. Will you not ride in the coach now?"

"No; I take all chances with you and remain where I am," was the plucky reply of Celeste Seldon.



CHAPTER XX.

MASKED FOES.

The brave response of Celeste Seldon pleased the young miner, though he did not wish her to remain upon the box. He knew the merciless nature of the road-agents, and that if they fired without challenging him, she stood, in as much danger as he did of being killed or wounded. So he said:

"I would much rather that you should go inside the coach, especially until we pass the Dead Line."

"No; I remain here."

"You are determined?"

"I am."

"Then I can say no more, and I hope, recognizing that I have a lady with me, they will not fire upon me."

"You seem to confidently expect an attack."

"I am sorry to say that I do."

"May I ask your reasons?"

"Well, I happen to know that one who was secretly on watch here on my last run is not here to-day, having been called away. I also know that five horsemen, whom I have reason to believe to be road-agents, left W—— ahead of me for the purpose of robbing the coach."

"Have you much of value with you?"

"I have considerable money in bank-notes for miners at Last Chance."

"Is it too bulky for me to hide?"

"I think not, miss."

"Then let me try it."

A halt was made and the money taken from its hiding-place. Then the girl asked:

"Do you know the amount that is here?"

"Yes, miss, it is stated here," and he handed out a paper.

"I will take the paper and the money, for I can hide it," and with this she put it in a silk bag that she carried and fastened it securely beneath the skirt of her dress.

Feeling relieved on this point, Harding drove on and soon after came in sight of the Dead Line.

He had just come up level with the cross that marked the spot of former tragedies, and was talking to his team, which showed much nervousness at passing a scene which they realized as one to dread, when loud rang a voice:

"Hold hard, Harding, or you are a dead man!"

Not a soul was visible among the rocks or in the trees, and Harding had it flash through his mind to make a dash, when quickly the hand of the young girl was laid upon his arm and she said firmly:

"Obey!"

"I must do so," was the low reply, for the young man realized that it would bring a volley upon them to attempt to dash through.

So his foot went hard down upon the brake, as he pulled his horses up and the stage came to a halt.

"Make your lines fast around the brake and hands up now!" came the order from the unseen foe.

"You must obey," said Celeste Seldon, as the driver hesitated.

With a muttered imprecation Harding obeyed, and then out from the thicket came a horseman. His horse was enveloped in a black blanket, and the rider wore a black robe like a domino, shielding his form completely. His face was covered by a red, close-fitting mask, while a cowl covered his head.

"The devil on horseback," muttered Harding, as he beheld the man, and right there he made up his mind that if he was the sole one who held up the coach, he would watch his chance, if he could get Celeste Seldon away from his side, and try a duel with him for mastery.

But this hope died away when, as though suspecting the intention of Harding, the horseman called out:

"Come, men, and let us get to work."

Silently there came out of the thicket half a dozen men on foot, but all enveloped in black robes, wearing red masks, and with their feet clad in moccasins, while a quick glance at the hoofs of the horse ridden by the chief showed that he had muffles on, to prevent making a track.

The girl calmly surveyed the scene.

The half-dozen men appearing at the call of their chief seemed to be well trained, for two of them went to the heads of the horses, two more to either door of the coach, and the others awaited orders.

The horseman rode close up to the side of the coach, his hand upon his revolver.

"Harding, I see that you meditate resistance if opportunity offers, but let me warn you that you are a dead man the instant you make any attempt to escape or fire upon us. I would kill you now without the slightest hesitation, only I fear it would break up the line and travel to Last Chance, and that I do not wish. Dismount from that box, and, remember, my revolver covers you!"

Harding obeyed in sullen silence.

"Now, what freight have you on?"

"I have the mails, and this lady passenger, but, low as you are, you will not rob her, I hope."

"There was money sent through by you to Last Chance."

"You pretend to know this, but I have no money for Last Chance."

"I know better."

"There is the coach, search it; but let me tell you, if you touch the United States mails you will have every soldier stationed at W—— and at Faraway on your track."

"I believe you are right about that, and I do not care to fight the Government by robbing the mails; but the money I want."

"I have not got any, I told you."

"I do not believe you."

"Then find it."

"I will."

A thorough search of the coach was made, and then the driver was searched, but without any money being found.

"I know that the sum of thirty thousand dollars was to be sent by you to the miners in Last Chance."

"You know this?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Never mind, but I know it."

"Well, you see that your spy misinformed you."

"As the money cannot be found it is a dead loss to me, and I hold you responsible."

"All right, I am."

"But, as I said, if I kill you no man will be found to take your place——"

"Oh, yes, Doctor Dick will."

"D—— Doctor Dick—I beg pardon, miss, but he refers to one whom I hate, and some day will be avenged upon."

"Well, if you kill me you will have the chance, for he will drive."

"With even that hope to get even with him, I will not kill you, yet I must have that money or a hostage."

"Take me, then."

"No, I could not realize the amount on you."

"Then do without."

"Not I, when there is a hostage at hand."

"Who?"

"This lady."

"Coward! you would not dare."

"Won't I? Then see, for that lady becomes my prisoner until I receive that money."

"What money?"

"The thirty thousand you beat me out of to-day."

"How can you get it by taking me with you?" asked Celeste Seldon quietly.

"Why, very easily, miss."

"How so, may I ask?"

"Harding will go on to Last Chance and report that I have you as my prisoner, to hold until the miners pay me the sum of—well, I'll add interest, so call it thirty-five thousand dollars."

"The miners have nothing to do with me, sir, they do not even know me."

"That does not matter, for they are a gallant lot of men, rough though they may look, and many of them be, so, when it is known what I have done, they will chip in generously and the money will be raised very quickly."

"How will you get it?" asked Harding.

"I will meet you on any day we may agree upon, at this spot, with this lady, and you will come alone, as I will, and the exchange of the hostage for the money will be made. If you come with others, or attempt treachery, I swear to you I will kill the girl before your eyes, so if you wish to have that done, play traitor, while, if you act squarely with me, all will be well. What do you say?"

"I say, as it cannot be otherwise, I will be your hostage until the money is paid you," said Celeste Seldon firmly.



CHAPTER XXI.

THE SACRIFICE.

The plucky stand taken by Celeste Seldon won the admiration of Harding at once. He did not understand why she had been so prompt in her reply, so willing to at once yield herself as a hostage until a ransom was received for her release. But she did offer, and he at once decided what he should do.

"See here, cutthroat," he said, "I have something to say to you."

"Well, out with it, but be more choice in your epithets bestowed on me, if you wish to keep in good health."

"What! don't like the name, eh? Well, I called you by a name that denotes your calling."

"What have you to say?"

"Just this, that if you will allow this young lady to ride on to Last Chance, on one of my stage-horses, for he will carry her safely there, I will remain your hostage until Landlord Larry sends the money out to you which you demand."

"As a hostage you are of no value, but the lady is."

"Well, again?"

"What is it?"

"If I pay you the amount you said was to be sent by me, will you let the lady go?"

"When will you pay it?"

"Now."

"Do so, and I will let the lady go free."

"No, no, sir, you have not the money," cried Celeste to Harding.

"Yes, miss, I can make it good, for I have a little more saved up than he demands, and I can start over again to lay up a fortune, you see, for I am young yet."

"I will not consent to that, except that I return you the money, my kind friend, for I am well able to do so. I will recompense you, by paying you back my ransom."

"We will not quarrel on that score, miss, so give him the money," said Harding.

Celeste turned, and, raising her skirt, took the bag of money from its hiding-place. This she handed to Harding, who threw it at the masked outlaw's feet with the remark:

"Your spy informed you correctly; there is the money; just thirty-two thousand dollars."

"Thank you," said the outlaw, quietly counting the money before he spoke again.

"Yes, it is all here. Now, miss, had Harding ransomed you, it was your intention to have repaid him, you said."

"By all means, for I have no claim upon that brave gentleman."

"You are able to pay back so large a ransom, are you?"

"Had I not been able to pay it back I would not have made the offer to do so."

"You have not got the money with you?"

"Oh, no, I am no traveling bank, nor am I a fool."

"Well said; but as you are able to pay a ransom for yourself, I shall hold you a prisoner until you pay me the money I demand."

An oath burst involuntarily from the lips of Harding at this treachery on the part of the road-agent, while the young girl turned pale with momentary dread. But she said firmly:

"After receiving the money you demanded, and which I feel it my duty to pay back, as it is really my ransom, will you be so vile, so lost to all manhood, as to enforce your words against me?"

"What more can you expect of one who has no character, who is already damned body and soul. Oh, no, I have no conscience, so do not appeal to me, for all I wish in the world is gold, and that I will have, no matter who the victim or what the means I have to take to get it."

"You are indeed lost to every human feeling."

"So I said, and you are my prisoner until this man, Harding, brings me, well, say thirty thousand dollars ransom money for your safe delivery to him once more. Now, miss, I will take your baggage along, for you may need it, and you will go with me."

"Where would you take me?"

"To my retreat, and you will be treated with respect; but money I must have. As for you, Harding, go on to Last Chance and raise the money for this lady's ransom. Give it to Doctor Dick, and let him come with you in your coach on your next run out.

"Halt just here, and he will be met by one of my men with this lady. If others come, her life shall be the forfeit. When my messenger receives the money, this lady shall be given into the charge of Doctor Dick. Do you understand?"

"I do, and you will understand that all of Last Chance, every man capable of carrying a gun, will be upon your trail before night."

"Just let any one pursue me, and instead of finding me, you will discover the dead body of this young girl in the trail awaiting you. Remember, I am not to be followed, or intimidated. Do you understand now?"

Harding made no reply, for he was too much overcome to speak; but the small leather trunk belonging to Celeste Seldon having been taken from the coach, along with a side-saddle and bridle she had brought with her, the driver clasped her hand in farewell.

Harding was unable himself to speak, for his emotion at being unable to protect the girl. Celeste Seldon said to the outlaw:

"I would like to have a word with this gentleman."

"Before me, yes," said the masked chief.

"Very well, I have no secret to make known to him, so you may hear."

Then, turning to Harding, she continued:

"You have been most kind to me, sir, and I appreciate it. You have done all in your power for me, no one could do more; but let me say to you if you can raise the sum demanded by this—this—robber, do so, and every dollar shall be refunded to you within a few days after my return East."

"The men won't ask it, miss."

"But I shall pay it. Now to the reason in part of my coming here."

"Yes, miss."

"Try to find out for me among the miners if a man by the name of Andrew Seldon is known to any of them, and, if so, where he is."

"I will."

"Try also to do all in your power for that poor young man Bernard Brandon, who, you told me, had been crazed by a bullet-wound, doubtless given by this very—murderer."

"Yes, I shot him, and killed Dave Dockery, the driver, and a miner at the same time," was the remark of the masked road-agent, delivered with the utmost effrontery.

"You seem proud of your red work, sir."

"Yes, killing is a trade with me just now."

Celeste Seldon turned from him with disgust and horror, and, addressing Harding, continued:

"Ask the one you spoke of as Doctor Dick to do all in his power for that poor sufferer, and he shall be well rewarded for it. When I am released I will go to Last Chance, as it was my intention, and do all I can to find my father, and minister to the sufferings of poor Mr. Brandon. Now, I thank you once more and bid you good-by."

Harding clasped her hand, dared not to trust himself to speak, but there were volumes in the look of intense hatred he cast upon the masked face of the road-agent chief. Then he mounted to the stage-box, gathered up his lines, and drove away in a silence that was most expressive.

Harding glanced back as he came to the end of the canyon, but saw that the road-agents and their fair prisoner had already disappeared.

Then the lash descended upon the backs of the startled horses and the team was sent along at a pace that was dangerous indeed.

But Harding could only find vent for his pent-up feelings by rapid and reckless driving, and never before had the distance between the Dead Line and Last Chance been covered in the time in which he made it.

Notwithstanding his delay at the Dead Line, he went thundering up the valley half an hour ahead of time, and when he drew rein before the hotel his horses were reeking with foam and panting like hard-run hounds, while his face was white, his eyes ablaze with anger and indignation, and his teeth set firmly.

"Great God! Harding, what has happened?" cried Landlord Larry in alarm.

Throwing the mail at the feet of the surprised landlord, Harding leaped to the ground and said hoarsely:

"Come, I wish to speak to you."

He led the way into the office and then told the whole story.

"We will mount a hundred men and go in pursuit at once," cried Larry.

"What! do you forget his threat?"

"What threat?"

"To kill the girl!"

"He will not do it."

"He will."

"No, he dare not."

"You do not know him—I do."

"Well, what is to be done?"

"Just what he demands."

"What! pay him?"

"By all means, and save the girl!"

"You are right."

"But have all ready then, the moment that she is safe, to throw five hundred mounted men on a hunt for him, have the entire country about Dead Line surrounded, and then hunt him and his men to death," savagely said Harding.

"Yes, it must be done; but now to tell the men what has happened," and Landlord Larry went out, followed by Harding, to find a large crowd of miners gathered about the hotel.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE RANSOM.

Landlord Larry was considerably nonplused by what had been told him by Harding, and he hardly knew how to break the news to the miners. Hundreds had assembled, for the mad race of Harding's team up the valley had told them that something had gone wrong.

So they had hurried in twos and by half-dozens to the hotel to hear what had happened.

They were more eager to learn it all when it was told how Harding had made no report, but had led Landlord Larry into the office and been closeted there with him an hour.

The panting horses had been led away to the stable, the mail had been opened by Landlord Larry's clerk, and many had gotten letters.

But the interest in letters was lost in the desire to learn what had happened on Harding's run in.

When the two men were seen coming out of the hotel, a wild yell greeted them.

Landlord Larry stepped out upon the piazza, and at once a silence fell upon the crowd, while every eye was turned upon the white face of Harding.

"Men, I have bad news for you," said Landlord Larry. "The coach has been held up again, and thirty-two thousand dollars in money, given to Driver Harding to bring to Last Chance, was taken. There are some forty of you who feel this loss, having sent your gold out to be exchanged for this money. But that is not the worst of it.

"The mails were not disturbed, as the road-agent said that he wished no trouble with the Government. Nor is this all, for Harding had a passenger with him on this run, a young girl."

"Where is she?" came in a chorus of voices.

"I will tell you: There were seven road-agents, all masked, and their chief mounted. They held the coach up at the Dead Line, and they covered Harding with their rifles, and demanded the money which, in some way, they knew he had.

"The young lady had hidden it for him, but as she was to be held for ransom, she gave it up, and, learning that she was rich, the road-agent chief then demanded ransom from her."

And speaking slowly and distinctly Landlord Larry went on to tell the whole story of the coach and taking of Celeste Seldon captive.

The crowd was as silent as death, except for the suppressed breathing of the men, and the bronzed faces of the miners paled and flushed by turns. When at last it was told how a ransom of thirty thousand dollars was demanded, before a word had been said that it would be paid back, a yell arose:

"We'll raise it!"

"Good! that is just what I knew you would do, pards, and I will head the list with five hundred," said Landlord Larry.

"Put me down for five hundred," called out Harding, and the two offers were cheered, while a stern voice called out behind the landlord:

"Put me down for a thousand, Larry, for I have heard all that you have told the men."

It was Doctor Dick, who, seeing the crowd in front of the hotel, had come to the piazza by passing into the house through the rear door.

Another cheer greeted the sum named by Doctor Dick, and there arose cries on all sides as men pressed forward:

"I'll give a thousand, landlord!"

"Name me for fifty."

"Put me on the list for a hundred!"

"Twenty-five for me!"

And so on were the sums named by the noble-hearted and generous fellows, even those who had lost their money by the road-agents subscribing, until Doctor Dick called out, for he had been keeping account:

"Hold on, all! The amount is already named. Now, men, form in line, and give your names as you pass along, and the money, those who have it."

It was late when the ransom list was made up, and the men had not heeded the supper-gong until after they had paid their subscriptions.

Then Landlord Larry packed the money away, and the crowd dispersed to their various occupations and pleasures for the night, which may be set down as consisting principally of drinking and gambling.

The question regarding the unfortunate girl who had fallen into the hands of the masked and merciless outlaws being settled, the driver said to Landlord Larry and Doctor Dick, who had returned to the office in the hotel.

"Now I wish to see about the poor fellow whom that young girl was coming out to see, and also to learn about her father."

"Who was her father?" asked Landlord Larry.

"Her name is Celeste Seldon, and she wished me to ascertain if her father had ever been heard of in the mines. His name was Andrew Seldon."

"Andrew Seldon?" quickly said Doctor Dick.

"Yes."

"I know of such a man, or, rather, knew of him, for he is dead now," was the response of the gambler.

A cloud passed over the face of Harding, and he remarked sadly:

"That poor girl seems doomed to have sorrow dog her steps. But you knew her father, doctor?"

"Yes, I knew him long years ago, and I happen to know of his having been out here, working for a fortune in the mines, I believe."

"You are sure that it is the one she seeks?"

"The names are the same. The Andrew Seldon I knew was from Tennessee."

"So was her father, and he must be the man you refer to. But where did he die?"

"I'll tell you what I have not made known to others. Buffalo Bill and I struck a trail to see what the end would bring to us, and the night before we came to the end those we sought were buried by the caving-in of a mine which they were working under a cliff. One of those men was Andrew Seldon, and he had a companion with him."

"And they were killed?"

"Yes, buried under the cliff, that fell upon their cabin, destroying all."

"You must tell the story to the young girl, for I cannot, doctor."

"I will do so, though I hate to give a woman pain."

"Now, doctor, I wish to ask about the one she seeks here in Last Chance."

"Who is he, Harding?"

"The poor fellow you so devotedly cared for, but whose reason was destroyed by the wound he received from the road-agents."

"Ah, yes, poor fellow, his mind is irrevocably wrecked."

"Where is he?"

"Landlord Larry can tell you better than I, for he seems to avoid my cabin since I gave him up as a patient."

"He wanders about among the camps at will; but that reminds me that I have not seen him to-day," the landlord said.

"Is he the one the girl is coming to see?" asked Doctor Dick.

"Yes, and his name is Bernard Brandon. He came out here on a special mission for her, I suppose to find her father, and not hearing from him she feared that he had gotten into trouble, so came West herself in search of him."

"Well, her coming may bring back his reason, though I doubt it."

"Will you not question him, doctor, telling him about her, and see if you cannot get him to talk rationally?"

"Certainly, Harding, but where is he?"

Landlord Larry asked his clerk about the man, but he had not seen him all day, and, the miners being questioned, not one recalled having seen him since the day before.

In some dread that harm had befallen him, Harding then went out in search of the poor fellow. He went from miner to miner and camp to camp in his vain search, for not anywhere could he find any one who had seen the missing man for over twenty-four hours.

Becoming really alarmed, when he realized the shock it would be to Celeste Seldon, whose hazardous and costly trip to the West would be utterly useless, Harding went back to the hotel to consult Doctor Dick and Landlord Larry about giving a general alarm.

Then alarms were only given in times of direct need, for the miners were sworn to obey the call, and come from every camp and mine within the circuit of habitation about Last Chance.

The alarm was given by sending a mounted bugler to every prominent point in the valley, where he was to sound the rally three times.

A half-dozen positions thus visited would send the bugle-notes into every camp of the valley, and it was the duty of all miners to at once strike for the place of assembly at the hotel, and give the warning to all others whom they saw.

Landlord Larry hearing the story of Harding's fruitless search for the stranger, at once decided to order the alarm sounded without consulting Doctor Dick, who was not at his cabin.

So the bugler was called in, and, mounting a speedy horse, he placed the bugle to his lips and loud, clear, and ringing resounded the "rally."

Then he dashed from point to point at the full speed of his horse, and within half an hour, from half a dozen prominent positions, the bugle-call assembling the miners had rung out and men were hastening to obey the summons.

Within an hour every man in Last Chance had reported at the assembling-point, all eager to know the cause of the alarm.

Again Landlord Larry was the speaker, and he began by asking if the unfortunate stranger, whose wound had crazed him, was in the crowd.

Every eye was at once on the search for the man, but soon the reports came that Bernard Brandon was not in the crowd.

Then Landlord Larry made known that the mysterious disappearance, at the time of Miss Seldon's capture by the road-agents, was a coincidence so strange that it needed explanation.

Miss Seldon was coming to Last Chance to find that very young man, who had in turn come there in search of her father, and now, when she was a captive to the road-agents, to be given up only upon the payment of a large ransom, the stranger had most mysteriously disappeared.

The name of the young lady's father was Andrew Seldon, and if any miner present could tell aught regarding him, or had known such a man, the landlord wished him to come and tell him all that he could about him.

But it was the duty, and but justice, for one and all of them to set out on the search for the young stranger who had disappeared from their midst, and he wished to know if they would not take a day off and do so, for it might be that he had been injured, and was then lying suffering and deserving their sympathy and aid somewhere among the mountains.

A perfect yell in answer to the request of Landlord Larry told him that Bernard Brandon would be found if he was in or near Last Chance, and so it was agreed that all would start at dawn the following morning, many mounted, many on foot, and report the result, if good or bad, at the hotel at night.

So the miners' meeting broke up, and with the first gray in the east the following morning, four-fifths of Last Chance were off, searching for the missing man.

As they wore themselves out, or completed the search over the circuit assigned them, the men came in and reported at the hotel. Each had the same story to tell, that the search had been a fruitless one.

Many of the mounted men did not come in until after dark, but theirs was the same story, that no trace of the missing stranger could be found.

At last every man who had been on the search had returned, and not the slightest trace of the missing Brandon had been discovered by a single one who had gone out to look for him.

No one remembered to have seen him very lately, and so his fate was unsolved, and the miners put it down as unknown, with the belief that he had either been kidnaped by road-agents or had fallen into some stream, or from a cliff, and thus met his death.

The belief of Landlord Larry and Harding was that Bernard Brandon had been captured, for some reason, by road-agents, and this convinced them that there were spies of the outlaws then dwelling in their midst; but what the motive for kidnaping the man was, they could only conjecture, believing it to be ransom that they thought the miners would pay, and, if they did not, that Celeste Seldon would.

This belief, of spies in their midst, caused a very unpleasant and uneasy feeling among all, for hardly any man knew whether he could trust his own comrade or not.

Doctor Dick came in late from his search and rounds to visit his patients, and listened in silence to the report that Bernard Brandon could not be found.

He, however, would not believe that road-agents had kidnaped the crazed man, but said that he might have sprung from the cliff and taken his own life, have fallen over a precipice, or been devoured by the fierce mountain-wolves that hung in packs about the camps.



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE OUTLAWS' CAPTIVE.

It was with a sinking heart that Celeste Seldon saw Harding drive away upon the stage, leaving her in the power of the road-agents. But she was a brave girl, and determined to show the outlaws that she did not fear them, no matter how great her dread of them was in reality.

The saddle and bridle she had brought with her were carried along for a couple of miles, and placed upon a led horse, one of half a score hidden there, and the masked chief started to aid her to mount.

But she said with a sneer:

"I need no assistance from you."

With this she placed her hands upon the horn and leaped lightly into the saddle.

Her leather trunk was then strapped securely upon a pack-saddle, and the chief said:

"Now, Miss Seldon, that you and my men are mounted, we will start."

She turned her horse on the trail behind him, and the other outlaws followed, all riding in Indian file and with several packhorses bringing up the rear.

After a ride of a dozen miles a halt was made for a rest, the chief said, and then Celeste Seldon observed that the hoofs of every horse were muffled, to prevent their leaving a trail.

Having been left something over a couple of miles from the scene of the holding up of the stage, it would be next to impossible for the best of trailers to discover which way the road-agents had come to the spot and left it, for the chief's muffled-hoofed horse would leave no track to where the other animals were.

Tired out and anxious, Celeste Seldon, after eating sparingly of the food given her by the chief, sat down with her back to a tree, and, closing her eyes, dropped into a deep sleep. When she was awakened to continue the journey she found that she had slept an hour.

"We are ready to go miss," said the man who had appeared to be the chief's lieutenant, and whom he had called Wolf, whether because it was his real name, or on account of his nature, Celeste did not know.

"I am ready," she said simply, refreshed by her short nap.

"Shall I aid you to mount, miss?"

"No, I can mount without your aid; but where is your chief?"

"He has gone on ahead, miss, to prepare for your coming, leaving me to escort you."

"I am content, for one is as bad as the other," was the reply, and, leaping into her saddle again, she fell in behind the man Wolf, and the march was again begun.

Night came on, but the outlaws rode on for an hour or more, when they halted at a small spring in a thicket.

Celeste was made more comfortable in a shelter of boughs, hastily cut and thrown up, and when supper was ready she ate heartily of antelope-steak, crackers, and coffee.

She was rather glad to have got rid of the masked chief, of whom she stood in the greatest awe, and Wolf never spoke to her unless she addressed some remark to him.

When she lay down upon the blanket-bed, spread upon fine straw, which he had made for her, she sank at once to sleep.

She had no thought of escape, for what could she do there alone in that wild, trackless land? She would bide her time and await the result, be it what it might.

She was awakened early in the morning, and the march was at once begun again, a halt being made a couple of hours later for breakfast.

While it was being prepared she was allowed to wander at will, Wolf calling her only when it was ready, and thus showing that they had not the slightest idea that she would do so foolish a thing as to escape from them, to perish in the wilderness, or meet death by being attacked by wild beasts.

When the start was again made, Wolf said:

"When we halt for our noon camp, miss, I will have to blindfold you, and bind your hands."

"Ah! you consider me very dangerous, then?" she said, with a smile.

"You doubtless are dangerous, miss, in more ways than one; but it is to prevent your seeing where we take you that you are to be blindfolded."

"Do you think I could guide a party after you?"

"You have the nerve to do it, miss."

"But why bind my hands?"

"To prevent your removing the bandage from your eyes, miss."

"I will pledge you my word that I will not do so."

"I believe you would keep your word, miss; but the chief is a man who is merciless, and his orders were to blindfold and bind you, and if I disobey he would shoot me down as though I were in reality a wolf."

"Perhaps not much loss, but I will submit," said Celeste with a sigh, for she had enjoyed the scenery, and her freedom as well this far, and now must be both blindfolded and bound.



CHAPTER XXIV.

THE TWO FUGITIVES.

It will be remembered that when Buffalo Bill and Doctor Dick rode away from the caved-in mine and crushed cabin of the two gold-hunters in the Grand Canyon, there were human eyes following their movements that they little dreamed were upon them.

Gazing at them from a hiding-place half a mile away were two men whose faces showed much anxiety as they saw the scout and the gold king moving about their quarters, when they had believed themselves hidden from all search by friend or foe.

Those two were Andrew Seldon and Lucas Langley.

Their escape had been miraculous, from being buried in the mine beneath the cliff, and they had established for themselves new quarters up the Grand Canyon a few miles away from their former home.

This new camping-place was more secluded than the former one, and approached by a narrow ridge that no one would believe a horse could pass along, for in places it was only eighteen inches wide.

But Andrew Seldon had gone first along it on foot, and found beyond, up in the depths of a large canyon opening into the mightier one, a perfect garden spot and scene of beauty.

A crystal stream trickled down a lofty precipice and flowed through the canyon, and in its bed glittered grains of gold innumerable.

Back under the shadows of the towering cliffs there were found veins of precious metal giving promise of rich mines.

There were trees growing luxuriously in this nature's park, velvety grass covering acres of meadow-land, wild fruits that were delicious, and everything to make this home a most charming one.

They first made the effort to get their horses across the narrow ridge, upon either side of which was an abyss a quarter of a mile in depth, seamed with ravines, and looking like the craters of defunct volcanoes.

The first horse tried, Andrew Seldon's own riding-animal, followed his master without hesitation along the dizzy, awful pathway.