"Now,Bill,"said a voice,which Jeff instantly recognized as the blacksmith's,"we won't keep ye long.So hand down the treasure."The man's foot was on the wheel;in another instant he would be beside Jeff,and discovery was certain.Jeff leaned over and unhooked the coach lamp,as if to assist him with its light.As if in turning,he STUMBLED,broke the lamp,ignited the kerosene,and scattered the wick and blazing fluid over the haunches of the wheelers!The maddened animals gave one wild plunge forwards,the coach followed twice its length,throwing the blacksmith under its wheels,and driving the other horses towards the bank.But as the lamp broke in Jeff's right hand,his practiced left hand discharged its hidden Derringer at the head of the robber who had held the bit of Blue Grass,and,throwing the useless weapon away,he laid the whip smartly on her back.She leaped forward madly,dragging the other leaders with her,and in the next moment they were free and wildly careering down the grade.
A dozen shots followed them.The men were protected by the coach,but Yuba Bill groaned.
"Are you hit again?"asked Jeff hastily.He had forgotten his saviour.
"No;but the horses are!I felt 'em!Look at 'em,Jeff."Jeff had gathered up the almost useless reins.The horses were running away;but Blue Grass was limping.
"For God's sake,"said Bill,desperately dragging his wounded figure above the dash-board,"keep her up!LIFT HER UP,Jeff,till we pass the curve.Don't let her drop,or we're--""Can you hold the reins?"said Jeff quickly.
"Give 'em here!"
Jeff passed them to the wounded man.Then,with his bowie-knife between his teeth,he leaped over the dash-board on the backs of the wheelers.He extinguished the blazing drops that the wind had not blown out of their smarting haunches,and with the skill and instinct of a Mexican vaquero,made his way over their turbulent tossing backs to Blue Grass,cut her traces and reins,and as the vehicle neared the curve,with a sharp lash,drove her to the bank,where she sank even as the coach darted by.Bill uttered a feeble "Hurrah!"but at the same moment the reins dropped from his fingers,and he sank at the bottom of the boot.
Riding postilion-wise,Jeff could control the horses.The dangerous curve was passed,but not the possibility of pursuit.
The single leader he was bestriding was panting--more than that,he was SWEATING,and from the evidence of Jeff's hands,sweating BLOOD!Back of his shoulder was a jagged hole,from which his life-blood was welling.The off-wheel horse was limping too.That last volley was no foolish outburst of useless rage,but was deliberate and premeditated skill.Jeff drew the reins,and as the coach stopped,the horse he was riding fell dead.Into the silence that followed broke the measured beat of horses'hoofs on the road above.He was pursued!
To select the best horse of the remaining unscathed three,to break open the boot and place the treasure on his back,and to abandon and leave the senseless Bill lying there,was the unhesitating work of a moment.Great heroes and great lovers are invariably one-ideaed men,and Jeff was at that moment both.
Eighty thousand dollars in gold-dust and Jeff's weight was a handicap.Nevertheless he flew forward like the wind.Presently he fell to listening.A certain hoof-beat in the rear was growing more distinct.A bitter thought flashed through his mind.He looked back.Over the hill appeared the foremost of his pursuers.
It was the blacksmith,mounted on the fleetest horse in the county--Jeff's OWN horse--Rabbit!
But there are compensations in all new trials.As Jeff faced round again,he saw he had reached the open table-land,and the bleak walls and ghastly,untenanted windows of the "Half-way House"rose before him in the distance.Jeff was master of the ground here!
He was entering the shadow of the woods--Miss Mayfield's woods!and there was a cut off from the road,and a bridle-path,known only to himself,hard by.To find it,leap the roadside ditch,dash through the thicket,and rein up by the road again,was swiftly done.
Take a gentle woman,betray her trust,outrage her best feelings,drive her into a corner,and you have a fury!Take a gentle,trustful man,abuse him,show him the folly of this gentleness and kindness,prove to him that it is weakness,drive him into a corner,and you have a savage!And it was this savage,with an Indian's memory,and an Indian's eye and ear,that suddenly confronted the blacksmith.
What more!A single shot from a trained hand and one-ideaed intellect settled the blacksmith's business,and temporarily ended this Iliad!I say temporarily,for Mr.Dodd,formerly deputy-sheriff,prudently pulled up at the top of the hill,and observing his principal bend his head forwards and act like a drunken man,until he reeled,limp and sideways,from the saddle,and noticing further that Jeff took his place with a well-filled saddle-bag,concluded to follow cautiously and unobtrusively in the rear.
