“Don’t you put too much confidence in that, old man,” said Bennett. “At least, you won’t be to my hanging.”
“There’s many a slip, you know,” said the scout tauntingly.
“I presume you hope to be rescued even now, do you not?” cried Bennett.
But Buffalo Bill did not expect that. He had taunted the man, hoping to inspire him with such ungovernable fury that he would shoot him quickly and so save him the awful ride to death. Even the boldest man might shrink from that journey down Breakneck Hill!
“No, no, old man! You are mine this time. I tell you that you, the horses, and the old hearse, shall all go to the devil together. Here, boys! lead the horses to yonder fork of the roads and there turn them loose!”
The command was obeyed. Whether the other outlaws desired Buffalo Bill’s death as their leader did, he had such a hold upon them that not one objected to the mode of vengeance to be wreaked upon the scout. The horses were led to the brink of the steep hill. It had once been the stage-road; but a landslide, and various heavy rains, had made it impracticable. It was almost as steep as the side of a house in places, and the roadway was full of boulders and stumps, while the gulleys made by heavy rains cut through it in many spots. A careful pack-animal might pick its way from top to bottom safely; but no vehicle could exist in a passage down Breakneck Hill.
The hill was not a continuous decline. It pitched sharply at first; then there was nearly a quarter of a mile of easy going along a plateau until there came the final and impassable descent into the valley.
“Now, Buffalo Bill, your life ends here!” cried Bennett savagely.
“All right, Bennett! And the boys won’t forget how I died,” was the reckless response.
“Turn ’em loose!” shouted the bandit leader.