The boy had passed the dangerous bit of road and was jogging along in a deep divide between two ranges, when he was startled by a sudden sound right ahead of him.
It was unmistakably a shot.
A rifle shot, too, the boy judged. He spurred forward rapidly, not knowing well just what to expect when he should round a curve in the road just ahead.
It did flash into his mind that his landlord at Go ’long had spoken of the coach being held up occasionally, but Jack had placed little stock in the stories. In fact, he rather inclined to think that old Jerry was telling them with the idea of getting a rise out of a Tenderfoot.
Still, there were a few mines in that part of the country and occasionally gold was shipped through to Go ’long, which was not far from the main line of the Southern Pacific Railroad.
But Jack had only made a few paces forward on his quickened mount when three other shots rang out in rapid succession.
“Now I am perfectly sure there is trouble on the trail ahead!” exclaimed Jack to himself, urging his pony forward at a yet faster gait.
The idea of personal danger did not enter Jack’s head, although the scene that he beheld as he swept round the curve on his galloping pony might well have alarmed an older hand than he.
Coming toward him at a hard gallop was the Go ’long coach. Its six horses were in a lather of perspiration, and the coach was swaying wildly from side to side.