CHAPTER XVIII. THE RACE WITH DEATH.

The young officer’s face was stern, yet calm. No nerves had he, and, although so much depended upon his work of the next few moments, he was certainly cool. His eyes only flashed, showing the excitement that bore him up.

He glanced at the pistol to see that all was right. Straight along the level the maddened horses came, the coach swaying behind them like a ship in a heavy sea. And behind it came Chief as though he hoped to do something for his imperiled master.

Dick Danforth was above the road, and, as he had pulled back his horse, the creature was fairly sliding down the steep incline, laying back on its haunches and bracing its forefeet to retard its progress.

Buffalo Bill could do nothing to help himself. Even had he been able to seize the reins at this moment and slam on the brake, he could not have brought the wild horses to a halt before the damage was done. It all depended upon Dick Danforth.

Far up the hill the keen eye of the officer descried a band of horsemen. They wore no uniforms, were not in buckskin, and were not Indians. He understood who they were at once. He knew that Buffalo Bill had been sent to his doom by the bandits of the overland trail.

“But, by thunder! we’ll fool ’em!” muttered the young officer.

Almost instantly his finger touched the trigger of the pistol, and the flash and report followed. With perfect presence of mind he had made his calculations. Did he kill one of the leaders it would throw the other horses upon him, and the stage would be wrecked after all, and Buffalo Bill doubtless killed.

Did he kill one of the wheel-horses instead it would act as a drag on the others, and still be borne along at a slackening speed, until its mate could be brought down. This he had aimed to do and--he succeeded!

With the crack of the first shot the off-wheeler dropped, the stage swayed forward sideways, and then was dragged on, with the dead horse, yet at a slackened pace.

With the second shot the other wheel-horse stumbled, staggered, half-fell, regained its feet again, and finally went down heavily. Again the coach swayed badly; but the stout pole was kept up by the pressure of the draft of four horses upon it, and the heavy breast chains and traces held the two dead animals firmly attached to it, both acting as a powerful drag upon the others, and retarding their speed to a slow gallop.

Dick Danforth let his mount out, came down the remainder of the run with a rush, and on the level reached the leader’s heads. He seized the bridle of the nearest horse and dragged him to one side, almost throwing him. The horse broke step and pulled its mate down. In a minute all four were brought up standing--and not an instant too soon, for the brink of the second and more perilous part of the hill was right before them!

The horses were still in a nervous state; but Dick Danforth could trust his own mount. He placed the horse he rode in front of the leaders, leaped from the saddle, and left the bridle-reins hanging over his horse’s head. While they remained thus nothing less than an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption, would make the horse move out of his tracks--and the coach-animals could not pass him.

“Quick, Danforth! As you are alone you’d best get out of here quick. Here come my foes!” cried Buffalo Bill, glancing back.

Boyd Bennett and his men, all mounted now, were picking their way down the hill, intent upon overtaking Buffalo Bill again and his lone rescuer. But Dick Danforth was not the man to fly and leave a comrade in peril. His escort was as yet a long way off, he knew; Buffalo Bill was bound too tightly for quick release, and could not aid in beating back the bandits.

Danforth ran directly toward the coach, nevertheless. Along came Chief at an easy lope, and he caught the horse. He saw that Cody’s loaded pistols were in the holsters. He snatched them out, and climbed quickly up to the box seat.

By then the bandits had begun to fire. But, without replying, and while the lead whistled about their heads like hail, the lieutenant slashed the cords which held Buffalo Bill’s hands in limbo.

“Grab these and let the sons-of-guns have ’em, Cody!” yelled the excited officer, thrusting his own pistols into the scout’s hands.

Then he flung himself forward upon his face along the coach top, and, dragging his own guns from his boots, into the tops of which he had dropped them, he began to blaze away at Boyd Bennett and his gang with such good success that almost instantly the leader was wounded and another man was dropped out of his saddle. Buffalo Bill began to fire rapidly, too, being able to twist the upper part of his body about and take aim.

With two such dead shots against the robbers, the latter had little stomach for the battle. Besides, the scoundrels saw Danforth’s hat, and one yelled:

“Look out, boys! the troopers are on us!”

And already the thunder of the squadron of cavalry on the plateau above reached their ears. Their leader having disappeared in such a hurry, the cavalrymen had come up rapidly, and now heard the firing of the guns below.

“Hold, men! fly for your lives!” shouted the voice of Boyd Bennett.

He wheeled and larruped his horse up the hill. Before the troopers reached the brink of the bluff above the coach, the robbers were out of sight.

“You’re all right, old man!” yelled Danforth, in huge delight, smiting Cody on the back.

“Thanks to you, Dick.”

“Who was your particular friend yonder--the fellow with the mustache and the black hair?”

“Boyd Bennett.”

“By the nine gods of war! Too bad I didn’t settle his hash instead of just stinging him.”

“Too bad, indeed, Dick.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No. But you might cut my other ropes. I’d like to get off this blamed old ramshackle thing before she starts again. Those horses are still nervous.”

“Right you are, Bill!” cried the lieutenant, and while his men hurriedly made their way down the hill leading their mounts--and passing wondering remarks at the trail left on the hillside by the lieutenant’s horse--Danforth finished cutting Cody free.

While Cody related his adventure with the coach, the lieutenant’s men dragged out the dead horses and reharnessed the others. The dead soldiers and driver brought forth angry ejaculations from the troopers. Danforth and his men were out on scouting duty, and when the lieutenant heard of the hidden treasure-chest, he undertook the duty of getting it and bearing it and the stage-coach on to Fort Advance.

“You don’t need all your men for that, Dick,” the scout said. “Half your escort can take the coach and the treasure in. I’ve a long score to even up with Boyd Bennett, and I’m going to hit his trail right now. I have my horse and my weapons, and with you and a file of your men we ought to be able to handle the scoundrels if we have the luck to overtake them.”

“I’m agreeable, Cody,” declared the reckless lieutenant. “You haven’t any scruples about my shooting these road-agents if we come up with them?”

“What do you mean, lieutenant?” asked Cody curiously. “What’s the burn?”

“Why, you seemed to object to my potting that Injun gal, White Antelope.”

The scout’s face clouded, and he shook his head.

“Don’t jest over that, Dick.”

“Pshaw! I’m not jesting. I spotted her only this morning--and stayed my hand. Otherwise she would be walking behind my chariot.”

“White Antelope out this way?” exclaimed Cody wonderingly.

“She sure was.”

“Then there’s something afoot among the Sioux. We must look into this.”

“But first the road-agents?”

“Yes. First we’ll serve Boyd Bennett.”