The carbine was at the boy lyncher’s shoulder, and his finger at the trigger when he saw the marksman leap to the edge of the precipice, and halt in full view of the thunderstruck band below.
“Hurrah! for the big bonanza!” he yelled, as he swung his shabby hat defiantly at the Thugs. “What ar’ ye looking at? I’m no comet—I’m only Bonanza Jack, soon to be the gold bug of the coast.”
Then, with a wild half-maniacal laugh of triumph, the man turned away, and, as he did so, the repeating rifle dropped from the young lyncher’s shoulder.
“I can’t kill you,” he said, gazing after Old Jack. “Myra says you are mysteriously linked to her. Go and enjoy your big bonanza. But I hate you because you cheated me out of a neck.”
The ex-stage driver soon disappeared, and Hal when he looked down into the canyon once more, saw the Thugs and Deadly Dan staring at the wound ghastly and terrible in the Tiger’s breast.
“Men don’t often recover from such a wound,” murmured the boy. “But he’s got the constitution of an ox, and that’s in his favor.”
“The man what says that Tom Terror ar’ goin’ to pass in his checks lies like sin. His time will not come till he’s paid the rascal Jack fur this gapin’ hole in his life chest. Don’t look long-faced an’ down-hearted, pard. I’m goin’ to help you to the big bonanza. Did you ever see such an ugly hole? Why, it’s big enough fur death to drive a four-in-hand into a chap’s heart. They’ll hunt for me,” he said. “Ah! I know the place fur me to rest in. I found it last summer. Lodgepole, you have not forgotten—the cave in the old ravine. Take me thar.”
A few moments later the band moved slowly from the spot where the Tiger received his wound. The progress made was painfully slow, for the fact that Tom Terror lay heavily upon the scarlet arms that supported him on either side, with his dark eyes hid and teeth glued together, told that he was suffering the agonies of twenty deaths.
But guided by the young Thug, the speechless cavalcade finally left the bed of Cut-throat, and ascended to the ground above.