Just at the highest point a horseman appeared around a curve and stationed himself directly in front of the stage, with a revolver pointed at the driver.

“Stop and give up your money, or I fire!” he exclaimed.

It was the dreaded highwayman, Dick Hawley.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A SUDDEN TRAGEDY.

The driver pulled up short.  The passengers realized that something had happened, and the nervous man put his head out of the window.

Instantly a change came over his face.

“We are all dead men!” he groaned.  “It is the highwayman!”

Andy felt startled in spite of his pluck, and so did the other passengers.

“I would jump out and confront the scoundrel,” said a determined-looking man, “but there is no room.  We are on the verge of a precipice.”

“What will happen?” exclaimed the cadaverous-looking man in an agony of terror.

“I suppose we shall be robbed.  That will be better than tumbling over the precipice.”

“Oh, why did I ever leave home?”

“I don’t know.  Ask me something easier,” said the resolute man, in disgust.  “Such a man as you ought never to stir from his own fireside.”

“Stop the coach and pass over your watches and pocketbooks!” cried Dick Hawley, in a commanding tone.

By way of exciting alarm and enforcing his order he fired one charge of his revolver.  The consequences he did not anticipate.

The terrified stage horses, alarmed by the report, got beyond control of the driver and dashed forward impetuously.  The highwayman had hardly time to realize his danger when his horse was overthrown and pushed over the precipice along with its rider, while the stage dashed on.  The last that the passengers saw of Dick Hawley was a panic-stricken face looking upward as he fell rapidly down toward the rocks at the bottom.

“He’s gone!  We are saved!” exclaimed the cadaverous-looking man, joyfully.

“That is, if the coach doesn’t tumble after him.”

But the coach was saved.  Had the horses swerved in their course all would have been killed.  As it was, the dangerous place was safely crossed and the stage emerged upon a broad plateau.

The driver stopped the horses, and, dismounting from the box, came around to the coach door.

“I congratulate you, gentlemen,” he said.  “We had a close shave, but we are out of danger.  Dick Hawley will rob no more stages.”

“Driver, you are a brave man—­you have saved us,” said one of the passengers.

“It was not I; it was the horses.”

“Then you did not start them up?”

“No; I should not have dared to do it.  They were frightened by the revolver and took the matter into their own hands.”

“Dick Hawley was foolhardy.  Had he ever stopped a stage at this point before?”

“Yes, he did so last year.”