"Yes," said Williamson's younger brother, "an' mebbe we're leavin' poor Charley a-dyin' along behind us in the bushes somewhere. Who'll go back an' help hunt for him!"
The quartet unconsciously slackened speed, and the members thereof gazed rather sheepishly at each other through the gathering twilight. At length the younger Williamson abruptly turned, dismounted, and walked slowly backward, peering in the bushes, and examining all indications in the road. The other three resumed their rapid gallop, Pete Williamson remarking:
"That boy alwus was the saint of the family—look out for long shot, boys!—and if there's any money in this job, he's to have a fair share of—that is sheriff's horse, sure as shootin'—he shall have half of what I make out of it. How'll we take 'em, boys?—Bill right, Sam left, and me the rear? If I should get plugged, an' there's any money for the crowd, I'll count on you two to see that brother Jim gets my share—he's got more the mother in him than all four of us other brothers, and—why don't they shoot, do you s'pose?"
"P'r'aps ther ain't nobody but the driver, an' he's got his hands full, makin' them hosses travel along that lively," suggested Bill Braymer. "Or mebbe he hain't got time to load. Like enough he's captured the sheriff, an' is a-takin him off. We've got to be keerful how we shoot."
The men gained steadily on the wagon, and finally Bill Braymer felt sure enough to shout:
"Halt, or we'll fire!"
The only response was a sudden flash at the rear of the wagon; at the same instant the challenger's horse fell dead.
"Hang keerfulness about firin'!" exclaimed Braymer. "I'm a-goin' to blaze away."
Another shot came from the wagon, and Williamson's horse uttered a genuine cry of anguish and stumbled. The indignant rider hastily dismounted, and exclaimed:
"It's mighty kind of 'em not to shoot us, but they know how to get away all the same."