It was late the next evening when Jeff drew up at the coach office at
Robinson's Ferry, where he was to await the coming of the Summit coach.
His mind, lifted only temporarily out of its denumbed condition
during his interview with the manager, again fell back into its dull
abstraction. Fully embarked upon his dangerous journey, accepting all
the meaning of the trust imposed upon him, he was yet vaguely conscious
that he did not realize its full importance. He had neither the dread
nor the stimulation of coming danger. He had faced death before in the
boyish confidence of animal spirits; his pulse now was scarcely stirred
with anticipation. Once or twice before, in the extravagance of his
passion, he had imagined himself rescuing Miss Mayfield from danger,
or even dying for her. During his journey his mind had dwelt fully
and minutely on every detail of their brief acquaintance; she was
continually before him, the tones of her voice were in his ears, the
suggestive touch of her fingers, the thrill that his lips had felt when
he kissed them--all were with him now, but only as a memory. In his
coming fate, in his future life, he saw her not. He believed it was a
premonition of coming death.
He made a few preparations. The company's agent had told him that
the treasure, letters, and dispatches, which had accumulated to a
considerable amount, would be handed to him on the box; and that the
arms and ammunition were in the boot. A less courageous and determined
man might have been affected by the cold, practical brutality of certain
advice and instructions offered him by the agent, but Jeff recognized
this compliment to his determination, even before the agent concluded
his speech by saying, “But I reckon they knew what they were about
in the lower office when they sent YOU up. I dare say you kin give me
p'ints, ef ye cared to, for all ye're soft spoken. There are only four
passengers booked through; we hev to be a little partikler, suspectin'
spies! Two of the four ye kin depend upon to get the top o' their d----d
heads blowed off the first fire,” he added grimly.
At ten o'clock the Summit coach flashed, rattled, glittered, and
snapped, like a disorganized firework, up to the door of the company's
office. A familiar figure, but more than usually truculent and
aggressive, slowly descended with violent oaths from the box. Without
seeing Jeff, it strode into the office.
“Now then,” said Yuba Bill, addressing the agent, “whar's that
God-forsaken fool that Wells, Fargo & Co. hev sent up yar to take charge
o' their treasure? Because I'd like to introduce him to the champion
idgit of Calaveras County, that's been selected to go to h-ll with him;
and that's me, Yuba Bill! P'int him out. Don't keep me waitin'!”
The agent grinned and pointed to Jeff.
Both men recoiled in astonishment. Yuba Bill was the first to recover
his speech.
“It's a lie!” he roared; “or somebody has been putting up a job on
ye, Jeff! Because I've been twenty years in the service, and am such a
nat'ral born mule that when the company strokes my back and sez, 'You're
the on'y mule we kin trust, Bill,' I starts up and goes out as a blasted
wooden figgerhead for road agents to lay fur and practice on, it don't
follow that YOU'VE any call to go.”
“It was my own seeking, Bill,” said Jeff, with one of his old, sweet,
boyish smiles. “I didn't know YOU were to drive. But you're not going
back on me now, Bill, are you? you're not going to send me off with
another volunteer?”
“That be d----d!” growled Bill. Nevertheless, for ten minutes he reviled
the Pioneer Coach Company with picturesque imprecation, tendered his
resignation repeatedly to the agent, and at the end of that time, as
everybody expected, mounted the box, and with a final malediction,
involving the whole settlement, was off.
On the road, Jeff, in a few hurried sentences, told his story. Bill
scarcely seemed to listen. “Look yar, Jeff,” he said suddenly.
“Yes, Bill.”
“If the worst happens, and ye go under, you'll tell your father, IF I
DON'T HAPPEN TO SEE HIM FIRST, it wasn't no job of mine, and I did my
best to get ye out of it.”
“Yes,” said Jeff, in a faint voice.
“It mayn't be so bad,” said Bill, softening; “they KNOW, d--n 'em, we've
got a pile aboard, ez well as if they seed that agent gin it ye, but
they also know we've pre-pared!”
“I wasn't thinking of that, Bill; I was thinking of my father.” And he
told Bill of the gambling episode at Sacramento.
“D'ye mean to say ye left them hounds with a thousand dollars of yer
hard-earned--”
“Gambling gains, Bill,” interrupted Jeff quietly.
“Exactly! Well!” Bill subsided into an incoherent growl. After a few
moments' pause, he began again. “Yer ready as ye used to be with
a six-shooter, Jeff, time's when ye was a boy, and I uster chuck
half-dollars in the air fur ye to make warts on?”
“I reckon,” said Jeff, with a faint smile.
“Thar's two p'ints on the road to be looked to: the woods beyond the
blacksmith's shop that uster be; the fringe of alder and buckeye by the
crossing below your house--p'ints where they kin fetch you without a
show. Thar's two ways o' meetin' them thar. One way ez to pull up and
trust to luck and brag. The other way is to whip up and yell, and send
the whole six kiting by like h-ll!”
“Yes,” said Jeff.
“The only drawback to that plan is this: the road lies along the edge
of a precipice, straight down a thousand feet into the river. Ef these
devils get a shot into any one o' the six and it DROPS, the coach turns
sharp off, and down we go, the whole kerboodle of us, plump into the
Stanislaus!”
“AND THEY DON'T GET THE MONEY,” said Jeff quietly.
“Well, no!” replied Yuba Bill, staring at Jeff, whose face was set as a
flint against the darkness. “I should reckon not.” He then drew a long
breath, glanced at Jeff again, and said between his teeth, “Well, I'm
d----d!”
At the next station they changed horses, Bill personally supervising,
especially as regarded the welfare and proper condition of Blue Grass,
who here was brought out as a leader. Formerly there was no change of
horses at this station, and this novelty excited Jeff's remark. “These
yar chaps say thar's no station at the Summit now,” growled Bill, in
explanation; “the hotel is closed, and it's all private property, bought
by some chap from 'Frisco. Thar ought to be a law agin such doin's!”
This suggested obliteration of the last traces of Miss Mayfield seemed
to Jeff as only a corroboration of his premonition. He should never hear
from her again! Yet to have stood under the roof that last sheltered
her; to, perchance, have met some one who had seen her later--this was a
fancy that had haunted him on his journey. It was all over now. Perhaps
it was for the best.
With the sinking behind of the lights of the station, the occupants of
the coach knew that the dangerous part of the journey had begun. The two
guards in the coach had already made obtrusive and warlike preparations,
to the ill-concealed disgust of Yuba Bill. “I'd hev been willin' to get
through this yar job without the burnin' of powder, but ef any of them
devils ez is waitin' for us would be content with a shot at them fancy
policemen inside, I'd pull up and give 'em a show!” Having relieved his
mind, Bill said no more, and the two men relapsed into silence. The moon
shone brightly and peacefully, a fact pointed out by Bill as unfavorably
deepening the shadows of the woods, and bringing the coach and the road
into greater relief.
An hour passed. What were Yuba Bill's thoughts are not a part of this
history; that they were turbulent and aggressive might be inferred from
the occasional growls and interjected oaths that broke from his lips.
But Jeff, strange anomaly, due perhaps to youth and moonlight, was
wrapped in a sensuous dream of Miss Mayfield, of the scent of her dark
hair as he had drawn her to his side, of the outlines of her sweet form,
that had for a moment lightly touched his own--of anything, I fear, but
the death he believed he was hastening to. But--
“Jeff,” said Bill, in an unmistakable tone.
“Yes,” said Jeff.
“THAT AR CLUMP O' BUCKEYE ON THE RIDGE! Ready there!” (Leaning over the
box, to the guards within.) A responsive rustle in the coach, which now
bounded forward as if instinct with life and intelligence.
“Jeff,” said Bill, in an odd, altered voice, “take the lines a minit.”
Jeff took them. Bill stooped towards the boot. A peaceful moment! A
peaceful outlook from the coach; the white moonlit road stretching to
the ridge, no noise but the steady gallop of the horses!
Then a yellow flash, breaking from the darkness of the buckeye; a crack
like the snap of a whip; Yuba Bill steadying himself for a moment, and
then dropping at Jeff's feet!
“They got me, Jeff! But--I DRAWED THEIR FIRE! Don't drop the lines!
Don't speak! For--they--think I'm YOU and you ME!”
The flash had illuminated Jeff as to the danger, as to Bill's sacrifice,
but above all, and overwhelming all, to a thrilling sense of his own
power and ability.
Yet he sat like a statue. Six masked figures had appeared from the very
ground, clinging to the bits of the horses. The coach stopped. Two wild
purposeless shots--the first and last fired by the guards--were answered
by the muzzle of six rifles pointed into the windows, and the passengers
foolishly and impotently filed out into the road.
“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.