"Are you ready, gentlemen?" said Colonel Clinch.

Hale started. He had forgotten his wife and family at Eagle's Court,
ten miles away. They would be alarmed at his absence, would perhaps hear
some exaggerated version of the stage coach robbery, and fear the worst.

"Is there any way I could send a line to Eagle's Court before daybreak?"
he asked eagerly.

The station was already drained of its spare men and horses. The
undenominated passenger stepped forward and offered to take it himself
when his business, which he would despatch as quickly as possible, was
concluded.

"That ain't a bad idea," said Clinch reflectively, "for ef yer hurry
you'll head 'em off in case they scent us, and try to double back on the
North Ridge. They'll fight shy of the trail if they see anybody on it,
and one man's as good as a dozen."

Hale could not help thinking that he might have been that one man, and
had his opportunity for independent action but for his rash proposal,
but it was too late to withdraw now. He hastily scribbled a few lines to
his wife on a sheet of the station paper, handed it to the man, and took
his place in the little cavalcade as it filed silently down the road.

They had ridden in silence for nearly an hour, and had passed the scene
of the robbery by a higher track. Morning had long ago advanced its
colors on the cold white peaks to their right, and was taking possession
of the spur where they rode.