As the flying horseman went up the hill on the other side of the valley, he glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the Terror had arrived within a mile.
Fast as Jim Malone was on a level stretch, he could not race up the steep grade of a hill with anything like the speed at which the Terror went.
In consequence, long before the bandit reached the plateau he was heading for, the engine was close behind him.
Jack sat outside steering.
He did not have on his armor.
Frank suddenly paused.
Wheeling his horse around he raised his rifle.
Crack–bang!
It was a good shot.
The bullet struck the stage within an inch of Jack's head.