“We might have the luck to catch him on the ground. If not, we’ll pick up his trail as soon as we see a part of your men off with the coach and the treasure,” said Cody.
The four horses drew the empty stage up the hill with little difficulty, and, surrounded by the troop of cavalry, it rattled back along the trail to the gruesome spot where Cody had first seen it. There Danforth set his men afoot, and at several points of vantage, to watch the road and the valley behind the ridge, while he and the scout went down into the swamp for the treasure-chest.
They had one of the troopers follow them at a distance of a few rods. Their numbers were so few, and they were so scattered, that Danforth took every precaution against being ambushed. The day was waning, and they were obliged to hurry if they would fish out the chest and then pick up the trail of the outlaw gang before night. And Danforth was quite as eager as the scout to do this last.
When they got into the wood which masked the swampy ground they alarmed a big caribou, which started slowly in the very direction they were taking.
“That doesn’t look much as though there were either reds or whites lurking near,” muttered Cody.
“By Jove, Bill! I want a shot at that fellow,” exclaimed Danforth eagerly.
“He’s not going fast. Perhaps you can bring him down.”
“I’m going to try. There, he’s stopped to feed again. He’s a cheeky old cuss.”
“What you want him for? Your party is well provisioned.”
“The colonel will be glad of a haunch of caribou venison. He’s fond of it, and the flesh is good now.”