by Bret Harte
coach knew that the dangerous part of the journey had begun. The twoguards in the coach had already made obtrusive and warlike preparations,to the ill-concealed disgust of Yuba Bill. "I'd hev been willin' to getthrough this yar job without the burnin' of powder, but ef any of themdevils ez is waitin' for us would be content with a shot at them fancypolicemen inside, I'd pull up and give 'em a show!" Having relieved hismind, Bill said no more, and the two men relapsed into silence. The moonshone brightly and peacefully, a fact pointed out by Bill as unfavorablydeepening the shadows of the woods, and bringing the coach and the roadinto greater relief.
An hour passed. What were Yuba Bill's thoughts are not a part of thishistory; that they were turbulent and aggressive might be inferred fromthe occasional growls and interjected oaths that broke from his lips.But Jeff, strange anomaly, due perhaps to youth and moonlight, waswrapped in a sensuous dream of Miss Mayfield, of the scent of her darkhair 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, butthe 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 thebox, to the guards within.) A responsive rustle in the coach, which nowbounded 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! Apeaceful outlook from the coach; the white moonlit road stretching tothe ridge, no noise but the steady gallop of the horses!
Then a yellow flash, breaking from the darkness of the buckeye; a cracklike the snap of a whip; Yuba Bill steadying himself for a moment, andthen 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 ownpower and ability.
Yet he sat like a statue. Six masked figures had appeared from the veryground, clinging to the bits of the horses. The coach stopped. Two wildpurposeless shots--the first and last fired by the guards--were answeredby the muzzle of six rifles pointed into the windows, and the passengersfoolishly and impotently filed out into the road.
"Now, Bill," said a voice, which Jeff instantly recognized as theblacksmith'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 besideJeff, and discovery was certain. Jeff leaned over and unhooked the coachlamp, 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 blazingfluid over the haunches of the wheelers! The maddened animals gave onewild plunge forwards, the coach followed twice its length, throwing theblacksmith under its wheels, and driving the other horses towards thebank. But as the lamp broke in Jeff's right hand, his practiced lefthand discharged its hidden Derringer at the head of the robber who hadheld the bit of Blue Grass, and, throwing the useless weapon away, helaid the whip smartly on her back. She leaped forward madly, draggingthe other leaders with her, and in the next moment they were free andwildly careering down the grade.
A dozen shots followed them. The men were protected by the coach, butYuba 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 runningaway; but Blue Grass was limping.
"For God's sake," said Bill, desperately dragging his wounded figureabove the dash-board, "keep her up! LIFT HER UP, Jeff, till we pass thecurve. 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 betweenhis 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 oftheir smarting haunches, and with the skill and instinct of a Mexicanvaquero, made his way over their turbulent tossing backs to Blue Grass,cut her traces and reins, and as the vehicle neared the curve, witha sharp lash, drove her to the bank, where she sank even as the coachdarted by. Bill uttered a feeble "Hurrah!" but at the same moment thereins dropped from his fingers, and he sank at the bottom of the boot.
Riding postilion-wise, Jeff could control the horses. The dangerouscurve was passed, but not the possibility of pursuit. The single leaderhe was bestriding was panting--more than that, he was SWEATING, and fromthe evidence of Jeff's hands, sweating BLOOD! Back of his shoulder was ajagged hole, from which his life-blood was welling. The off-wheel horsewas limping too. That last volley was no foolish outburst of uselessrage, but was deliberate and premeditated skill. Jeff drew the reins,and as the coach stopped, the horse he was riding fell dead. Into thesilence that followed broke the measured beat of horses' hoofs on theroad above. He was pursued!
To select the best horse of the remaining unscathed three, to break openthe boot and place the treasure on his back, and to abandon and leavethe senseless Bill lying there, was the unhesitating work of a moment.Great heroes and great lovers are invariably one-ideaed men, and Jeffwas 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 tolistening. A certain hoof-beat in the rear was growing more distinct. Abitter thought flashed through his mind. He looked back. Over the hillappeared the foremost of his pursuers. It was the blacksmith, mounted onthe fleetest horse in the county--Jeff's OWN horse--Rabbit!
But there are compensations in all new trials. As Jeff faced roundagain, he saw he had reached the open table-land, and the bleak wallsand ghastly, untenanted windows of the "Half-way House" rose before himin the distance. Jeff was master of the ground here! He was entering theshadow of the woods--Miss Mayfield's woods! and there was a cut off fromthe 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 theroad again, was swiftly done.
Take a gentle woman, betray her trust, outrage her best feelings, driveher 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 tohim 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 andear, that suddenly confronted the blacksmith.
What more! A single shot from a trained hand and one-ideaed intellectsettled the blacksmith's business, and temporarily ended this Iliad! Isay temporarily, for Mr. Dodd, formerly deputy-sheriff, prudently pulledup at the top of the hill, and observing his principal bend his headforwards and act like a drunken man, until he reeled, limp and sideways,from the saddle, and noticing further that Jeff took his place with awell-filled saddle-bag, concluded to follow cautiously and unobtrusivelyin the rear.
VII.
But Jeff saw him not. With mind and will bent on one object--to reachthe first habitation, the "Summit," and send back help and assistance tohis wounded comrade--he urged Rabbit forward. The mare knew her rider,but he had no time for caresses. Through the smarting of his hands hehad only just noticed that they were badly burned, and the skin waspeeling from them; he had confounded the blood that was flowing from acut on his scalp, with that from the wounded horse. It was one hour yetto the "Summit," but the road was good, the moon was bright, he knewwhat Rabbit could do, and it was not yet ten o'clock.
As the white outbuildings and irregular outlines of the "Summit House"began to be visible, Jeff felt a singular return of his former dreamyabstraction. The hour of peril, anger, and excitement he had just passedthrough seemed something of years ago, or rather to be obliterated withall else that had passed since he had looked upon that scene. Yet itwas all change
d--strangely changed! What Jeff had taken for the white,wooden barns and outhouses were greenhouses and conservatories. The"Summit Hotel" was a picturesque villa, nestling in the self-sametrees, but approached through cultivated fields, dwellings of laborers,parklike gates and walls, and all the bountiful appointments of wealthand security. Jeff thought of Yuba Bill's malediction, and understood itas he gazed.
The barking of dogs announced his near approach to the principalentrance. Lights were still burning in the upper windows of the houseand its offices. He was at once surrounded by the strange medley ofa Californian ranchero's service, peons, Chinese, and vaqueros. Jeffbriefly stated his business. "Ah, Carrajo!" This was a matter for themajor-domo,
