“He is the very man I want,” he said, looking at the old stage-driver.
Jack, springing agilely over the horse, struck the ground, and turned toward the stage.
As the air was bracing, but not cold; the stage was open, and Jack, leaping upon the hub of the left fore wheel, was about to thrust his bronzed face inside when he sprung back with a cry of surprise.
The Gulch Tiger started forward.
What did he see?
He saw two revolvers thrust from the window, and between them appeared a face illumined by a smile of triumph. But the eye glittered like a snake’s; they seemed full of death.
“A deuced pretty game you two vermin are playing,” said the man at the window. “Jack, I’ll deal with you first. Go up or down! I’ll give you a minute. If I drive this stage to Custer I’ll leave you here with your toes pointing to the stars. I don’t waste words. The devil on that horse knows this. Now, Jack, go up or down.”
Jack glanced at Tom.
That worthy was staring at the face at the stage window.
“They’ve met before,” Jack muttered; “I guess I’d better go up.”