“Now, tumble down, old boy,” said the young leader to Barney, as he climbed up into the seat once more, “we will soon be in a dangerous locality.”
Barney handed him the reins, and then dropped over the seat to the bottom, by the side of the gloomy Dwight.
Frank looked out ahead.
In the far-reaching light of the brilliant magnesium coils he could see the mixed band of prairie banditti lying in a big half moon around the mouth of the awful trap, into which they had driven their prey.
Even as he had looked they began moving, for the bright light startled them greatly.
Then Frank pulled his reins, and at a swift rate closed in upon them as they tumbled up from the ground in sudden alarm.
A great united chorus of shouts, shrieks, and yells went up to the sky as the steed, with blazing eyes, rushed over the plains with rapid strides.
“Pull!” cried Frank.
Jared Dwight heard the order, and he drew the china knob with a hard jerk.
From a dozen different points of the huge iron railing, running around the top of the body, sprang up bright jets of chemical fire—red, blue, green, orange and other colors—seeming to issue from little tubes set at regular distances all around the rail.