An hour more of riding brought them to a cabin where they received startling intelligence.  An emigrant wagon, drawn by very good horses, had driven by at a trot which was a gait previously unheard of in the case of emigrant horses; then a young man on horseback had passed at a lively gallop; a few moments later a shot had been heard in the direction of the road the wagon had taken.  Why hadn’t the owner of the house hurried up the road to see what was the matter?—­Because he minded his own business and staid in the house when he heard shooting, he said.

“Come on, boys!” shouted Bill Braymer, giving his panting horse a touch with his raw-hide whip; “perhaps, the sheriff’s needin’ help this minute.  An’ there’s generally rewards when counterfeiters are captured—­mebbe sheriff’ll give us a share.”

The whole quartet galloped rapidly off.  It was growing dark, but there was no danger of losing a road which was the only one in that part of the country.  As they approached a clearing a short distance in front of them, they saw a dark mass in the centre of the road, its outlines indicating an emigrant wagon of the usual type.

“There they are!” shouted Bill Braymer; “but where’s sheriff?  Good Lord!  The shot must have hit him!”

“Reckon it did,” said Pete Williamson, thrusting his head forward; “there’s some kind of an animal hid behind that wagon, an’ it don’t enjoy bein’ led along, for it’s kickin’ mighty lively—­shouldn’t wonder if ’twas Mansell’s own pony.”

“Hoss-thieves too, then?” inquired Braymer; “then mebbe there’ll be two rewards!”

“Yes,” said Williamson’s younger brother, “an’ mebbe we’re leavin’ poor Charley a-dyin’ along behind us in the bushes somewhere.  Who’ll go back an’ help hunt for him!”

The quartet unconsciously slackened speed, and the members thereof gazed rather sheepishly at each other through the gathering twilight.  At length the younger Williamson abruptly turned, dismounted, and walked slowly backward, peering in the bushes, and examining all indications in the road.  The other three resumed their rapid gallop, Pete Williamson remarking: 

“That boy alwus was the saint of the family—­look out for long shot, boys!—­and if there’s any money in this job, he’s to have a fair share of—­that is sheriff’s horse, sure as shootin’—­he shall have half of what I make out of it.  How’ll we take ’em, boys?—­Bill right, Sam left, and me the rear?  If I should get plugged, an’ there’s any money for the crowd, I’ll count on you two to see that brother Jim gets my share—­he’s got more the mother in him than all four of us other brothers, and—­why don’t they shoot, do you s’pose?”

“P’r’aps ther ain’t nobody but the driver, an’ he’s got his hands full, makin’ them hosses travel along that lively,” suggested Bill Braymer.  “Or mebbe he hain’t got time to load.  Like enough he’s captured the sheriff, an’ is a-takin him off.  We’ve got to be keerful how we shoot.”