Maverick Joe, despite his courage, almost fell against his young companion.
His followers had also recognized the specter with the pistols.
It was Old Jack, the driver, but he looked more like a corpse than a man in whose breast a heart was beating.
“Single file!” said Maverick Joe, glancing at his Vigilantes. “Death is at the old fellow’s heart-strings. He doesn’t know what he’s doin’. Let no man touch ’im.”
At the head of his men, the Vigilante of Custer moved forward. Chilled with terror, they all hugged the canyon wall, nor breathed until they had passed the apparition.
Beyond the specter Maverick Joe drew rein.
“Great rocks and the gods! did you all notice ’im?” he exclaimed, turning to his men.
“He is dead, stone dead!” said several. “Look! there he sits yet! just as we passed ’im. He’ll tumble off when his horse moves.”
The band looked back, and saw the occupant of the pass, motionless, like an equestrian statue in brass.
But suddenly the silence was broken.