So with this clever scheme to outwit the road agents, if held up, he started once more upon his flying ride.
He carried his revolver ready for instant use and flew along the trail with every nerve strung to meet any danger he might have to confront.
He had an idea where he would be halted, if halted at all, and it was a lonesome spot in a valley, the very place for a deed of crime to be committed.
As he drew near the spot Buffalo Bill was on the alert, and yet when two men suddenly stepped out from among the shrubs and confronted him it gave him a start in spite of his nerve.
They had him covered with their rifles, and they brought him to a halt with the words, “Hold! Hands up, Pony Express Bill, for we knows yer, and what yer carries.”
“I carry the express; and it’s hanging for two if you interfere with me,” was the plucky response.
“Ah, we don’t want you, Billy, unless you force us to call in your checks; but it’s what you carry, we want.”
“It won’t do you any good to get the pouch for there isn’t anything valuable in it.”
“We are to be the judges of that, so throw us the valuables or catch a bullet. Which will it be, Billy?”
The two men stood directly in front of the pony rider, each one covering him with a rifle, and to resist was certain death.