Sergeant Clancey and half a dozen troopers jerked at their bridles.  But Crosby, at the window, shouted “Halt!”

“What’s your name?” he demanded of the salesman.

“Myers,” stammered the drummer.  “I’m from the Hancock Uniform—­”

Curtis had spurred his horse beside that of his brother officer.  “Is Colonel Patten at Kiowa?” he interrupted.

“I can’t give you any information as to that,” replied Mr. Myers, importantly; “but these ladies and I have just been held up by the Red Rider.  If you’ll hurry you’ll—­”

The two officers pulled back their horses from the stage and, leaning from their saddles, consulted in eager whispers.  Their men fidgeted with their reins, and stared with amazed eyes at their officers.  Lieutenant Crosby was openly smiling, “He’s got away with it,” he whispered.  “Patten missed the stage, thank God, and he’s met nothing worse than these women.”

“We must make a bluff at following him,” whispered Curtis.

“Certainly not!  Our orders are to report to Colonel Patten, and act as his escort.”

“But he’s not at Kiowa; that fellow says so.”

“He telegraphed the Colonel from Kiowa,” returned Crosby.  “How could he do that if he wasn’t there?” He turned upon Hunk Smith.  “When did you leave Henderson’s?” he demanded.

“Seven o’clock,” answered Hunk Smith, sulkily.  “Say, if you young fellows want to catch—­”

“And Patten telegraphed at eight,” cried Crosby.  “That’s it.  He reached Kiowa after the stage had gone.  Sergeant Clancey!” he called.

The Sergeant pushed out from the mass of wondering troopers.

“When did the paymaster say he was leaving Kiowa?”

“Leaving at once, the telegram said,” answered Clancey.

“‘Meet me with escort before I reach the buttes.’  That’s the message I was told to give the lieutenant.”

Hunk Smith leaned from the box-seat.  “Mebbe Pop’s driving him over himself in the buckboard,” he volunteered.  “Pop often takes ’em over that way if they miss the stage.”

“That’s how it is, of course,” cried Crosby.  “He’s on his way now in the buckboard.”

Hunk Smith surveyed the troopers dismally and shook his head.  “If he runs up against the Red Rider, it’s ‘good-by’ your pay, boys,” he cried.

“Fall in there!” shouted Crosby.  “Corporal Tynan, fall out with two men and escort these ladies to the fort.”  He touched his hat to Miss Post, and, with Curtis at his side, sprang into the trail.  “Gallop!  March!” he commanded.

“Do you think he’ll tackle the buckboard, too?” whispered Curtis.

Crosby laughed joyously and drew a long breath of relief.

“No, he’s all right now,” he answered.  “Don’t you see, he doesn’t know about Patten or the buckboard.  He’s probably well on his way to the post now.  I delayed the game at the stage there on purpose to give him a good start.  He’s safe by now.”