sprang to the left so violently that nothing but the instinctive
bracing of his trace-mate held them from going over the grade. The
same instant the wheel team repeated the maneuver, but not so
quickly, as the slouching figure on the seat sprang into action. A
quick strong pull on the reins, a sharp yell: "You, Buck! Molly!"
and a rattling volley of strong talk swung the four back into the
narrow road before the front wheels were out of the track.

With a crash the heavy brake was set. The team stopped. As the
driver half rose and turned to look back he slipped the reins to his
left hand and his right dropped to his hip. With a motion too quick
for the eye to follow the free arm straightened and the mountain
echoed wildly to the loud report of a forty-five. By the side of the
road in the rear of the wagon a rattlesnake uncoiled its length and
writhed slowly in the dust.

Before the echoes of the shot had died away a mad, inarticulate roar
came from the depths of the wagon box. The roar was followed by a
thick stream of oaths in an unmistakably Irish voice. The driver,
who was slipping a fresh cartridge into the cylinder, looked up to
see a man grasping the back of the rear seat for support while
rising unsteadily to his feet.

The Irishman, as he stood glaring fiercely at the man who had so
rudely awakened him, was without hat or coat, and with bits of hay
clinging to a soiled shirt that was unbuttoned at the hairy throat,
presented a remarkable figure. His heavy body was fitted with legs
like posts; his wide shoulders and deep chest, with arms to match
his legs, were so huge as to appear almost grotesque; his round
head, with its tumbled thatch of sandy hair, was set on a thick