"Push on, do, Doc, and I'll follow with the men as fast as I can," cried the landlord.
With a word to Racer, the horse was off like an arrow, and fairly flew up and down hill along the rugged trail to reach the scene of the tragedy and lend aid to the wounded driver.
At last the coach came in sight, and the coming miners were yet all of two miles behind. The four coach-horses, still attached to the pole, stood where they had been left by their driver, while the wheel-horse shot by the road-agent lay where he had fallen.
Near the coach, to one side, and not twenty paces from where Bud Benton had been killed, lay the form of Dave Dockery.
Throwing himself from his saddle Doctor Dick bent over him and said quickly:
"He still lives! Dave! Dave! speak to me!"
The eyes slowly opened, and there was a convulsive movement of the form, a struggle which, becoming violent, caused the doctor to grasp him firmly, and thus hold him.
The dying man seemed in an agony of despair at being unable to speak, and after a slight resistance ceased his efforts and sank back exhausted.
"Here, Dave, take this, for it will revive you," and Doctor Dick poured some medicine between the white lips.
As he did so a groan from another quarter startled him, and, glancing in the direction from whence it came, he saw the form of the young passenger, who had been riding on the box, quiver slightly.