“Rats!” ejaculated Wickersham, briefly.  “I tell you what,” he added presently:  “if he don’t sell us that land he’ll never get a cent out of it.  No one else will ever take it.  We have him cornered.  We’ve got the land above him, and the water, too, and, what is more, his title is not worth a damn!”

“Well, that is his lookout.  I expect you will find him able to take care of himself.”

Wickersham gave a grunt, then he asked Keith suddenly: 

“Do you know a man named Plume over there at Gumbolt?”

“Yes,” said Keith; “he runs the paper there.”

“Yes; that’s he.  What sort of a man is he?”

Keith gave a brief estimate of Mr. Plume:  “You will see him and can judge for yourself.”

“I always do,” said Wickersham, briefly.  “Know anybody can work him?  The governor and he fell out some time ago, but I want to get hold of him.”

Keith thought he knew one who might influence Mr. Plume; but he did not mention the name or sex.

“Who is that woman inside?” demanded Wickersham.  “I mean the young one, with the eyes.”

“They call her Terpsichore.  She keeps the dance-hall.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Yes.”  Keith spoke shortly.

The stage presently began to descend Hellstreak Hill, which Keith mentioned as the scene of the robbery which old Tim Gilsey had told him of.  As it swung down the long descent, with the lights of the lamps flashing on the big tree-tops, and with the roar of the rushing water below them coming up as it boiled over the rocks, Wickersham conceived a higher opinion of Keith than he had had before, and he mentally resolved that the next time he came over that road he would make the trip in the daytime.  They had just crossed the little creek which dashed over the rocks toward the river, and had begun to ascend another hill, when Wickersham, who had been talking about his drag, was pleased to have Keith offer him the reins.  He took them with some pride, and Keith dived down into the boot.  When he sat up again he had a pistol in his hand.

“It was just about here that that ‘hold-up’ occurred.”

“Suppose they should try to hold you up now, what would you do?” asked Wickersham.

“Oh, I don’t think there is any danger now,” said Keith.  “I have driven over here at all hours and in all weathers.  We are getting too civilized for that now, and most of the express comes over in a special wagon.  It’s only the mail and small packages that come on this stage.”

“But if they should?” demanded Wickersham.

“Well, I suppose I’d whip up my horses and cut for it,” said Keith.

“I wouldn’t,” asserted Wickersham.  “I’d like to see any man make me run when I have a gun in my pocket.”

Suddenly, as if in answer to his boast, there was a flash in the road, and the report of a pistol under the very noses of the leaders, which made them swerve aside with a rattling of the swingle-bars, and twist the stage sharply over to the side of the road.  At the same instant a dark figure was seen in the dim light which the lamp threw on the road, close beside one of the horses, and a voice was heard: