“I’ll bet that’s the coach now,” exclaimed Dick, pointing to a cloud of dust in the distance.

“Yes, I guess it is,” returned Bert, gazing intently at the distant smirch against the clear blue background of sky; “come along, fellows.  Ride hard and we’ll reach the trail before the coach comes along.”

Accordingly they set spurs to their horses and galloped rapidly over the sunburned prairie.  In a short time they reached the travel-hardened trail, beating the coach by a good half mile.  Then they drew rein, and waited impatiently for the lumbering vehicle to reach them.

With rattle of harness and creak of complaining axle-tree the coach toiled over the endless trail, drawn by four raw-boned mules.  As it drew near, the boys waved their sombreros to the driver, who returned the salute with a flourish of his long snakeskin whip.

At last it reached them and the driver rumbled a hoarse greeting.  “How goes it, pards,” he said, “an’ what’s the good word?”

“That’s just what we were going to ask you,” said Bert with a friendly smile.  “We’ve been hearing a lot lately of the expected redskin uprising, and we wanted to know if you had a line on the real situation, Buck.  Is there anything really doing, or is it all just talk?”

“I dunno,” answered the driver, “some says yes an’ some says no, but if you want my honest opinion I’d say thet the Injuns ain’t got nerve enough to start trouble no more.  Why, they’re so all-fired meek an’ lowly thet——­”

Zip!  A bullet whizzed through the sultry air and whirled the stage driver’s slouch hat from his head.  Zip!  Zip!  Zip! and the air was alive with the whine and drone of bullets.

“Hold-ups, by the ’tarnal,” yelled the driver, accompanying his words with a whirl of oaths.  “Down behind the coach, Sam!” addressing the guard, who always rode beside him on the box with loaded rifle; “we’ll stand ’em off, or I’m a greaser.”

The guard leaped down behind the coach at the same moment that Bert and Dick and Tom made for the same shelter.  There were only two passengers in the coach, and they, pale of face and with chattering teeth, joined the little group.

“Them shots came from that bunch of chaparral over there,” said Buck, “but it’s an almighty queer way for road agents to go about a job.  They ginerally——­”

“Injuns!” shouted the guard, who had been peering cautiously around the end of the coach.  “Injuns, by the Lord Harry, shoot me if they ain’t!”

A thrill passed over the three comrades, and they looked warily forth in the direction in which the guard had pointed.  Sure enough, over the top of the chapparal they could discern a number of hideously painted faces surmounted by tufts of eagle feathers.  The guard, recovering from his first paralysis of astonishment, took careful aim at one of them and pulled the trigger.  A yell of pain followed the report of his rifle, and a savage shout went up from the band of redskins.  They answered with a volley that bored through the sides of the coach, and narrowly missed several of the little group gathered behind it.