As the pursuers wheeled their steeds, the sharp tones of the revolving rifle rang out.
Four of the seven men fell from their horses.
Three of them were killed instantly, and never stirred or quivered after falling to the ground.
The fourth one, a big muscular white man, was only wounded, and no sooner was he down than he was up again, pistol held in his hand.
His right hand flew up as the two steam wonders dashed towards him.
The muzzle of his weapon was in a line with Frank Reade’s heart.
But quicker than the villain was Barney Shea.
His rifle was still held to his shoulder, and its chambers still contained many death warrants.
The muzzle of his breech-loader moved very swiftly, his finger pressed the trigger, and ere the villain on the ground could fire, Barney Shea had sent a bullet into his heart.
Both Frank and Charley knew that horses were too heavy for them to ride down without running the risk of injuring their machines, so they steered slightly to the right, and as they passed the remainder of the pursuers, the darkey and Barney let drive at them.