Читать книгу Buffalo Bill's Still Hunt; Or, The Robber of the Range - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 5

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The coach on a branch of the Overland Stage Trail, with its terminus at Pioneer Post, was upon its way to its destination, with an extra hand known as Ribbons upon the box, Horseshoe Ned, the regular driver, being laid up for a short while.

It had reached a part of the trail where there was a steep and rugged descent to the bed of a swiftly flowing stream known as Deep Dell Brook, and Ribbons had brought the team of six horses to a halt for a short rest and a cooling draft of water.

There was a steep ascent upon the other side of the brook, with rocky cliffs some thirty feet in height upon either side for a few hundred yards.

Ribbons, the driver, was a good hand with the reins, a bold fellow, and one who did not shrink from driving the Overland trails no matter what the danger might be.

He was seated upon his box with the air of one who felt that a few hours more would give him rest, when suddenly a man rode down into the trail ahead of him, and two faces peered over the rocky cliff, their eyes glancing along the barrels of their rifles.

“Hands up, Ribbons, or take the consequences,” said the horseman riding toward the stage, and at the same time the men on the cliff covered the driver with their rifles.

“Pilgrims, we is in fer it!” cried Ribbons, turning to the window of the coach; and a voice quickly answered:

“Road-agents, eh? Well, I fight.”

With this, the speaker leveled his revolver at one of the men on the cliff, and pulled trigger.

The man leaped to his feet, and, tottering, fell into the road below, while his companion on the other cliff fired a shot into the coach. At the same moment the horseman shouted:

“Ha! that is your game, is it, Ribbons?”

With his words, he pulled trigger, and the driver sank back dead on his seat.

“Ho, men, head off this coach, and I’ll see who this gamecock is who dares fire upon Silk Lasso Sam and his band,” and the horseman spurred toward the coach, when several shots rang out of the window, one of which dropped his horse and another wounded him in the shoulder.

The highwayman returned the fire, just as a mounted man came rapidly to his aid, and riddled the coach with bullets, though the plucky defender inside fired again, this time wounding the horse ridden by the outlaw coming to the aid of his chief.

The animal fell heavily, but the rider landed upon his feet and sprang to one side of the coach, while his chief threw the door open upon the other.

“It’s over with him, so we have nothing to fear now,” said the chief, as he saw the form of the defender of the coach lying in a heap, and his life ebbing rapidly away from the wounds he had received at the hands of the outlaws.

“Frank dead, one horse ditto, and another dying, so the old coach should pan out well, to repay us, Pat,” said the chief; and he added:

“Not to speak of my own wound, but which amounts to little.”

He drew the body of the brave passenger from the coach as he spoke, and with deft hands, as though long experienced in such work, went through his search for booty.

A well-filled purse, some jewelry, a watch and chain, and a wallet of papers, were what he found, and quickly the outlaw chief looked them over.

Then he stood for some time lost in a deep reverie, as though with little fear of danger to himself, until suddenly he broke out with the words:

“By Heaven, but I’ll risk it! Yes, if I hang for it, I will!”

“Do what, sir?” asked his companion.

“Pat, I am going to play a bold game for gold, for I shall go to the fort, and you are to help me out.”

“Go to the fort, sir?” asked the amazed man.

“Yes, I shall go as a passenger in Ribbons’ coach, one who fired upon the road-agents and was wounded, and afterward was robbed. Quick! get me the clothes off that man and help me to disguise myself—yes, here is a dressing-case belonging to him, and I will soon have off my beard and mustache.

“Then I will place the body of the passenger in the coach, in another of his suits of clothes, for he traveled well supplied, and Frank can be left where he fell, for they will send back to the scene of the hold-up when I reach the fort.”

“Ah! captain, you have clean lost your senses.”

“Not a bit of it, Pat, for I see a chance to visit the fort without the slightest danger, and there is one there whom I wish particularly to see, for it means big money for me.”

As he spoke the daring man was making his toilet, having quickly shaved off his mustache and imperial.

“Now, Pat, stand there and empty a couple of revolvers into the coach,” he said, “and then you get Frank’s horse, take that dead man’s luggage, and go to the retreat, but say nothing of where I am, or when to expect me back; only do you keep in Spy’s Cañon, to be ready to meet me, or a messenger I may send there. Now I am ready, and do you get off at once, for a body of cavalry might happen along this way.”

Mounting the box, where the dead Ribbons still lay, after a few more words of instructions to his man, the outlaw chief drove on up the hill, holding the reins like one who was a skilled driver.

His outlaw companion followed a moment after, with the luggage of the dead passenger, leaving his dead comrade and the horses lying in the trail.

Half an hour after the coach had rolled away, a horseman came dashing upon the scene and drew rein.

The horseman was Buffalo Bill, the king of scouts, and he cried sternly:

“This is Silk Lasso Sam’s work!”