“Oh, if it’s a joke, I don’t mind.”
Then the talk about the famous road agent subsided. Gradually they passed beyond the limits of population, and entered a mountain defile, dark with frowning hills on each side.
“Let me get out a minute!” said the black-eyed man, signalling to the driver.
The stage stopped. Once upon the ground the black-eyed passenger drew out his revolvers, and levelling them at the astonished travellers, cried: “Hold up your hands, gentlemen; get ready to surrender all your valuables. I am Stephen Dike!”
CHAPTER XXXV.
A TRAGEDY.
I have said that the passengers were astonished at discovering that the notorious road agent was their fellow-traveller. There were two, however, who were not wholly surprised—the miner who had related his cousin’s story and the farmer who had had a sharp colloquy with the black-eyed man.
For a minute no one moved or spoke.
“Come,” said Dike impatiently; “I have no time to waste. Give me your money.”
“Do you want mine?” asked Grant, who was entirely willing to give up the small amount of gold coin he had with him, if he could save the dust in his valise.
“No; I don’t care for the trifle you have, nor the other boy’s money, but those miners over there must give up their treasure, and my agricultural friends also.”