on its second trip.

About this time the natives of Bunkerville began to wonder whether the
young sheriff was not more brave than prudent. He had started without
associates (for he had never appointed a deputy); he might have a long
chase, and into counties where he was unknown, and might be dangerously
delayed. The final decision--or the only one of any consequence--was
made by four of the "regulators," who decided to mount and hurry after
the sheriff and volunteer their aid. By taking turns in riding ahead of
their own party, these volunteers learned, at the end of the first day,
that Charley could not be more than ten miles in advance. They
determined, therefore, to push on during the night, so long as they
could be sure they were on the right track.

An hour more of riding brought them to a cabin where they received
startling intelligence. An emigrant wagon, drawn by very good horses,
had driven by at a trot which was a gait previously unheard of in the
case of emigrant horses; then a young man on horseback had passed at a
lively gallop; a few moments later a shot had been heard in the
direction of the road the wagon had taken. Why hadn't the owner of the
house hurried up the road to see what was the matter?--Because he minded
his own business and staid in the house when he heard shooting, he said.

"Come on, boys!" shouted Bill Braymer, giving his panting horse a touch
with his raw-hide whip; "perhaps, the sheriff's needin' help this
minute. An' there's generally rewards when counterfeiters are
captured--mebbe sheriff'll give us a share."

The whole quartet galloped rapidly off. It was growing dark, but there
was no danger of losing a road which was the only one in that part of