After Jack had left, Tucker wiped his face with a handkerchief and sighed with relief. He buried his head in his hands and thought hard for several minutes, then called his deputy and said he would not be back until noon. Without further waste of time, the town marshal went to the livery stable, secured his horse, and headed for the El Dorado Mine.
As Jack-twin Allen left town, he pulled his horse to a walk to escape the dust of the Black Rock stage that was just ahead of him. About three miles from town he swung his horse off the trail and climbed up the bank of the gulch. Two faint reports of a Colt floated to his ears. He remained undecided for a moment. If it had been rifle fire, he would have ignored it as shots from some hunter, but this, he was sure, was a short gun.
“Some gent practicin’ on rabbits, I reckon. Still, it can’t be more than a mile down the trail, an’ I ain’t in no hurry. Won’t have to be back in town afore sunset, to see if them gents has left as ordered. Guess I’ll take a look!”
His horse slid down the shelving side of the gulch, and once more he trotted along the trail to Black Rock. He did not hurry—he was simply following a sort of routine duty in investigating those shots. The hill flattened and then turned sharply into a narrow cut. Jack Allen gave an oath and spurred forward. At the farther end of the cut was the stage, with several men trying to straighten out the tangled horses.
“What’s up?” Jack snapped.
Old Bill and the three passengers turned and stared at him for a moment before replying.
“Holdup!” one of them explained at last.
“Did yuh recognize him?” Allen asked sharply. “Which way did he go?”
He had to wait for an answer. Here was a situation altogether uncommon. Each of the men waited for the other to reply.
“It was Jim,” Old Bill finally blurted. “He didn’t make no attempt to disguise himself. He headed north!”