TAKING CHANCES.
There was not a shadow of dread, at the fate that might be his, upon the
face of Hal Harding as he mounted to the stage-box and gathered up the
reins.
The mails were aboard, and he knew that he had a valuable freight hidden
away, as best it could be, of gold-dust, being risked by miners who were
sending it eastward.
What gold was to be sent out was always kept a secret, known only to the
senders, to Landlord Larry, and the driver, and though it was taking
chances to let it go, the senders were risking it, as gamblers chance
money in large sums upon the turn of a card.
Then, too, there was a very strange feature in the holding up of the
coaches, and that was the fact that they had never been halted on the
outward run, no matter how much gold they carried out, but always when
bringing back to Last Chance the exchange in bank-notes.
The road-agents knew that they could carry large sums in money where
they could not be bothered with gold in bulk, was the reason that
Landlord Larry assigned for the attacks being made only on the westward
runs of the coaches.
Not a passenger was to go, and Harding sang out in a cheerful tone:
"All ready."
"Go," cried Larry, and the vehicle rolled away in a manner that showed
that the young miner was a good driver, as he had asserted that he was.
The crowd cheered wildly, the voices echoing down the canyon as he drove
along, and now and then he would raise his hat to those who greeted him
from their cabins and mines as he went along.
Out of the valley he turned, swinging at a brisk trot along through
canyons, over hills, up mountains, by the way of narrow passes and down
again to the valleys.
He reached the relay-station nearest Last Chance, and made known to the
stock-tender the fate of old Huck.
"You goes next, pard, for it won't be long afore Doctor Dick will come
along and tell me that poor Hal Harding has gone under," said the
sympathetic stock-tender.
"Think so?"
"Sure of it."
"Why Doctor Dick?"
"Waal, ef you gets kilt no other man in or out o' Last Chance will have
ther grit to drive ther old death-trap, for thet hearse you is sittin'
on is no more."
"It is an unlucky old vehicle, I admit, pard; but I'll be going," and
Harding drove on once more.
He had not seen a soul at the Dead Line. All was as quiet at that dread
spot as the forms of those who had lost their lives there.
Only the stockmen at the station greeted him on the way, and at night he
came to the halting-cabin a little ahead of time.
He had the same story to tell at each one of the relay-stations, about
the fate of old Huck, and an ominous shake of the head from those who
listened convinced him that they expected him to be the next victim.
The next morning he rolled into W---- a few minutes ahead of time, and
the stage-agent seemed surprised to see a new man upon the box.
He heard what Harding had to say of old Huck, listened to his report of
his uneventful run, and received from him the way-bill of what he
carried.
"You have done well, Mr. Harding, and I hope we will hear no more of
these attacks, so that you may escape, for, if they make a victim of
you, I do not know who we can look to unless it be that fearless fellow,
Doctor Dick."
"And his practise, mining interests, and gambling occupy him so
thoroughly that he will not drive again, sir, I am sure."
"Not unless no other can be found, for he is just the man to step in
then in open defiance of danger."
"Yes, he is just what you say of him, sir."
"Now, how is that poor passenger who was crazed by a shot from the
road-agents?"
"Aimlessly wandering about Last Chance, sir, harmless and to be pitied."
"Well, I have received letters asking about him, and had to make a
report of the circumstances. It will be upon your return trip that you
will have to be watchful."
"I will be, sir, never fear," was the cheery response.
The news of the mysterious disappearance of the old driver soon spread
about W----, and people gathered about the stage-office to have a look
at the brave fellow who had, in the face of the past experience, brought
the coach through.
The agent had told Harding that if the mails had gone through nothing
had been taken, for no freight had been sent and no passengers were
along on that trip.
As they had found nothing to take, the road-agents had doubtless visited
their vengeance upon old Huck, especially to repay him for having run
the gantlet on a former occasion.
There were passengers booked for Last Chance by stage, but when it
became known that old Huck had been killed, as all supposed he must have
been, they concluded they were in no great hurry to reach the
mining-camps and could wait a while longer.
So Harding discovered that he would have to return with an empty coach,
as far as passengers were concerned.
He showed no disappointment, however, at having to return alone, and was
told by the agent that he was to carry back considerable money and a
valuable mail.
"All right, sir, I'll do my best to go through in safety," he said, and
he grasped the outstretched hand of the agent, who said:
"I feel as though I was shaking hands with a man about to die."
"Now, I don't feel that way in the least," was the laughing response,
and Harding sprang up to the box, seized the reins, cracked his whip
when he got the word, and was off.
The crowd gathered there cheered him, of course, but a generally sad
expression rested upon every face as they looked upon the brave young
miner who had taken his life in his hand to drive what was now called
the death-trap.
Having halted for the night at the way cabin, Harding pushed on the next
morning with the first glimmer of dawn, and reached the third relay at
noon.
There was then one more relay and the run into Last Chance, which in
good weather could readily be made before sunset. He passed the last
relay, and the stock-tender said, as he was about to start:
"Good-by, pard, and do you know I kinder feels as if yer was a dead man
already?"
"Don't you believe it, for I am worth a dozen dead men, old man," was
the laughing response, and Harding drove on, with the Dead Line rising
in his mind before him.
He drove more rapidly than was the schedule-time, and when he came into
the pass, with the Dead Line just ahead, he had half an hour to spare.
The horses pricked up their ears, as though they knew the doomed place
well, and the leaders gave a snort as they beheld a form ahead. It was a
man leaning against the cross erected in memory of Bud Benton.
That Harding also saw the form was certain, for his eyes were riveted
upon the spot. As he drew nearer, the man moved away from the cross and
advanced down into the trail.
Still Harding made no move to halt, to rush by, or appeared to take
notice of him. The man placed himself by the side of the trail, and
stood as still as a statue, after making a slight sign, as it appeared.
The answer of Harding to this sign was to shake his head.
On rolled the coach, and when it neared the silent form, without any
command to do so, Harding drew hard upon the reins, pressed his foot
heavily upon the brake, and brought the coach to a standstill, the
horses, which had before drawn it through the deadly dangers it had
passed at that spot, showing a restless dread and expectancy of the
cracking of revolvers.
But there was no weapon drawn either by the man on the side of the
trail, or by Harding, and neither seemed to dread the other.
The reason for this was that the one who had awaited the coming of the
coach at the Dead Line was none other than old Huckleberry.