A revolver flashed from behind a jutting shelf of rock.
Bang!
The rifle in Grace Harlowe’s hands answered the revolver shot. She heard her bullet smack against the shale rock and pieces of stone patter on the trail.
“Ouch!” grunted the bandit who had fired at her.
Grace was certain that she had not hit the man, but she believed that a splinter of rock had accomplished what her bullet had missed doing.
While all of this was going on, Hippy was removing the weapons from the bandit through whose leg Grace had fired a bullet from her automatic revolver.
The Overton girl was still cautiously creeping forward.
“If any of you highwaymen fires another shot it will be your last,” she warned.
“Look out, Mrs. Gray! I reckon there’s another of them critters behind thet pint of rock,” drawled the calm voice of Ike Fairweather, who sat holding his horses, observing the fight with fascinated eyes. Ike, eager as he was to get into the fight, dared not leave his team, knowing that, if he did so, they would promptly run away with the coach and outfit.
“I have my eye on him, Mr. Fairweather,” replied Grace in a voice that was without a trace of excitement. “You heard what I said, fellow!” she added, addressing the bandit lurking behind the rock. “Toss your weapons into the road! Toss them out!”