“Give me your hand, sir!” said the farmer. “You have saved us all, and rid the State of California of the most dangerous outlaw within its limits.”
“It seems hard to rejoice in the death of a fellow-being,” observed the teacher, “but no one can grieve over the taking off of such a man. Gentlemen, let us remove the body to some place less public.”
The passengers got out, and were joined by the driver.
“There is a reward of five thousand dollars offered by the authorities for the capture of Stephen Dike, dead or alive,” he said. “What gentleman killed him?”
“I did,” answered the miner; “but I want no reward. I should look upon it as blood money. What I did, I did in defence of my fellow-passengers and myself.”
Stephen Dike lay upon the ground, his features still wearing the cynical smile habitual to him. Death had come upon him so suddenly that there had not been time even to change the expression of his face.
“I suppose this man has committed many robberies?” said the teacher to the stage-driver.
“No one knows how many, but he has robbed my stage four times.”
“How did it happen that you did not recognize him when he booked as a passenger?”
“He has always worn a mask when I saw him before. This time he became bolder, and presented himself without disguise. I remember being struck by his appearance, and wondering whether I had not met him before, but it did not occur to me that it was the famous road agent, Stephen Dike.”