_ CHAPTER XVI. 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. _