“I’m thinking he ain’ after that,” said Silver Sam, with conviction, “no more nor you an’ I are. It’s my ’pinyun he’s got sick of being road agent and thinks there’s a princely fortune in that mine.”
“Well, is there not?”
“There ain’t any doubt of it.”
“Well,” said Frank, slowly and with great determination, “I don’t mind telling you, friends, that I am in this region to spoil his game and to rescue Harvey Montaine. I mean to do it—or die!”
“We glory in your pluck, stranger,” cried Silver Sam, warmly. “We hope ye’ll succeed an’ we’ll help ye all we can.”
“I thank you.”
“One thing is sure. If Miguel Costello troubles us, we’ll make it warm for him. We don’t mean to give up our claim. But as he is twenty miles from here on another spur of the mountain-—-” Silver Sam did not finish his speech. A thrilling thing happened at that moment.
There was a wild, blood-curdling laugh far up the gorge, and the next moment the crack of rifles smote upon the air.
Two of the red-shirted miners upon the top of the coach fell dead.