stage? He is in the stage!"

Sergeant Clancey stared dubiously from one officer to the other. He
misunderstood their alarm, and with the privilege of long service
attempted to allay it. "The lieutenant knows nothing can happen to
the stage till it reaches the buttes," he said. "There has never been
a hold-up in the open, and the escort can reach the buttes long
before the stage gets here." He coughed consciously. "Colonel's
orders are to gallop, lieutenant."

As the two officers rode knee to knee through the night, the pay
escort pounding the trail behind them, Crosby leaned from his saddle.
"He has only ten minutes' start of us," he whispered. "We are certain
to overtake him. We can't help but do it. We must do it. We MUST! If
we don't, and he tries to stop Colonel Patten and the pay-roll, he'll
die. Two women and a deaf driver, that--that's a joke. But an Indian
fighter like old Patten, and Uncle Sam's money, that means a finish
fight-and his death and disgrace." He turned savagely in his saddle.
"Close up there!" he commanded. "Stop that talking. You keep your
breath till I want it--and ride hard."

After the officers had galloped away from the messroom, and Sergeant
Clancey had hurried after them to the stables, the post-trader
entered it from the exchange and barred the door, which they in their
haste had left open. As he did this, the close observer, had one been
present, might have noted that though his movements were now alert
and eager, they no longer were betrayed by any sound, and that his
spurs had ceased to jangle. Yet that he purposed to ride abroad was
evident from the fact that from a far corner he dragged out a heavy
saddle. He flung this upon the counter, and swiftly stripped it of