"Wonder what he'd do if I called him 'Lem'?" he reflected.
Stark's voice, bidding them to be on their way, put an end to his meditations. The two strangers hung back, evidently intending that the other pair should precede them, but the puncher had different views.
"Go ahead," he said sharply. "We don't know the road." Muttering, they obeyed, and the cowboys followed. When out of the town, they quickened pace and soon caught up the coach. It was moving at a fair pace, considering the surface over which it had to pass--a mere trampled trail made by the heavy wheels of innumerable freight-wagons, but the driver knew it, and even in the darkness, could pick out familiar landmarks. They had climbed out of the gulch and the keen night air bit their faces and fingers. The all-embracing silence was broken only by the drum of horses' hoofs, the rattle of harness, and, at intervals, the long weird howl of a wolf, prowling somewhere behind the funereal walls of foliage which fenced them in.
Presently the obscuring clouds slid aside and the pale light of the moon enabled them to get a glimpse of the grandeur through which they were passing.
The cowboys, riding easily, were not concerned with the scenery; their eyes were on the bobbing backs of the pair in front and the jerking, bumping blob which was the coach, less than fifty yards ahead. They had met no one save two teamsters with a load of lumber, a few miles out of Deadwood. Sudden had stopped for a moment.
"Ain't seed a soul 'cept a party o' four fellas, headed for Laramie," one of them told him. "No, I didn't reckernize any of 'em, but one was a short, chunky sort o' chap."
"Which might describe friend Fagan," Sudden commented, when they had resumed their way.
"Lesurge wouldn't send a man knowed to be his," Gerry objected.
"Why not, if there's nobody left to spill the beans? He's figurin' we're on his side."
"Any use warnin' them two on the coach?"
"What can we tell 'em?--we've on'y got suspicions. They're watchin' for trouble a'ready--that's their job." At the foot of a long gradual slant, the sides of which were masked by dense brush, the driver pulled his team to a steady job-trot, and cursed fretfully:
"Blast this moon; makes fair targets of us."
"What you scared of?" the messenger asked, shifting his shot-gun so that it lay handily across his thighs.
"Ain't scared o' nothin'," Injun Joe snapped, "but I don't like the trip, an' I'd be a damn sight more pleased if them hombres behind was ridin' the other way."
"Pull up an' make 'em ride in front," the messenger suggested.
Before the other could reply, two spits of flame jetted from the shadows on either side of the trail and the leading horses went down, checking the coach with a jerk which almost overturned it. With a full-throated curse, the driver slammed his brake on, and the iron-shod wheels squealed like tortured souls; it was his last conscious act. A couple of sharp cracks and Injun Joe slipped limply to the footboard, while the express-man leaned forward to pitch headlong to the ground, his gun dropping beside him. An instant later, Sudden's Colt roared and the fellow with the scarred face gasped and fell from his saddle. His companion, with a blasphemous imprecation, spurred his mount and crashed into the undergrowth. The puncher sent a bullet after him.
"Hell, Jim, them jaspers are s'posed to be helpin' us," Gerry cried.
"Didn't yu see?" Sudden asked savagely. "Those skunks downed Joe an' the messenger, an' they'd 'a' got us if we'd been ahead. C'mon." Stooping in his saddle, he dashed for the coach, and Gerry followed. On the right and left pistols exploded in the brush and bullets whined past their ears.
Just as they approached the conveyance, a tall man on footappeared, running towards it from the front. Sudden fired, and the fellow staggered, spun round, and collapsed in an untidy heap.
"'Then there were four'," the cowboy quoted grimly. Anchored by the braked coach and the carcasses of the leaders, the other horses had overcome their frenzied fear and now stood, trembling, but comparatively quiet. Sudden had his plan ready.
"Shuck the harness off'n them dead broncs an' put our'n in their places," he directed. "I'll stand these devils off if they try to rush us." But the road-agents had apparently no such intention. Satisfied that the vehicle could not be moved, they were content to stay under cover and pot the cowboys at their ease. A friendly cloud had blanketed the moon and with his back to the dark blur of the coach, Sudden made a poor mark; also it was difficult for the hold-ups to see what Gerry was about. One glance told that young man the messenger was dead--a bullet had gone through the back of his head. Injun Joe was still breathing, and, with Sudden's help, he was placed inside the coach, room being found too for the body of the guard.
Spasmodic shots interrupted these operations; lead zipped past or thudded into the woodwork, but neither man was hit. Sudden replied, firing at the flashes, and a string of oaths told him that one of his bullets had found a billet. By the time the moon peeped out again, the new leaders were in position; the big black was restive and disposed to be rebellious but a word from his master brought submission.
A yell apprised them that the enemy had at length guessed their purpose, and the hum of hot lead drove the warning home. Not even waiting to return the fire, Sudden sprang to the driver's seat and grabbed the lines. In a second Gerry was beside him, the long lash hissed like a snake over the horses' heads, and the coach started with a jolt which nearly upset it as the near wheels climbed the corpses of the slain leaders.
A howl of rage came from the road-agents as they broke from cover and saw their prey escaping, and a few futile shots followed. The sharp crack of Sudden's whip was the only answer.
"There was four of 'em, an' one was limpin'," Gerry reported. "Think they'll follow?"
"Shore, they got horses, ain't they?" was the reply. "Yore rifle handy?"
"Yu betcha," Gerry told him. "Got the messenger's shotgun too an' she looks a dandy scatterer."
"Yu'll have to do the shootin'--it'll take me all my time to keep this damned contraption right way up." The thud of rounding hoofs sounded above the bang and rattle of the bouncing vehicle. Sudden did not look round; his gaze was glued to the dim trail he was trying to follow. "They're a comin'. Kneel on the seat but be ready to grab; it wouldn't do for yu to be shook off."
"I'm believin' yu," Gerry said, and meant it. The front wheels of the coach sprang into the air and bumped down, the back wheels following suit. Gerry clutched wildly and just saved himself. "Hell! what was that?" he gasped.
"I guess we went over a log-- didn't see her in time," the driver explained.
"Lucky I had my mouth shut or I'd 'a' lost my livers an' lights," Gerry grinned. "I shore thought we'd gone over the edge. Damn her, she's as lively as a young flea. Steady a bit, Jim, if yu can." A group of madly racing riders rounded a bend in the trail and yelped when they saw their quarry. Mason, his elbows resting on the roof of the coach, fired four shots and swore when he saw that he had palpably missed. Working the lever like a madman, he emptied the weapon and at last had the satisfaction of seeing a horse drop, but his whoop of triumph was cut short, for the rider got up and followed his friends on foot.
The pursuers were now within twenty yards and discarding his rifle, Gerry snatched up the shot-gun and let them have both barrels. The result was devastating--for the assailants. One of them fell forward on his horse's neck, leaning sideways, and was flung, a lifeless lump, to the ground. Another's mount stumbled and went down, the rider leaping to save himself from being crushed under the animal's body. The remaining horseman reined in and contented himself with ineffective shots at the vanishing vehicle.