Ribbons, the driver, was a good hand with the reins, a bold fellow, and one who did not shrink from driving the Overland trails no matter what the danger might be.
He was seated upon his box with the air of one who felt that a few hours more would give him rest, when suddenly a man rode down into the trail ahead of him, and two faces peered over the rocky cliff, their eyes glancing along the barrels of their rifles.
“Hands up, Ribbons, or take the consequences,” said the horseman riding toward the stage, and at the same time the men on the cliff covered the driver with their rifles.
“Pilgrims, we is in fer it!” cried Ribbons, turning to the window of the coach; and a voice quickly answered:
“Road-agents, eh? Well, I fight.”
With this, the speaker leveled his revolver at one of the men on the cliff, and pulled trigger.
The man leaped to his feet, and, tottering, fell into the road below, while his companion on the other cliff fired a shot into the coach. At the same moment the horseman shouted:
“Ha! that is your game, is it, Ribbons?”
With his words, he pulled trigger, and the driver sank back dead on his seat.
“Ho, men, head off this coach, and I’ll see who this gamecock is who dares fire upon Silk Lasso Sam and his band,” and the horseman spurred toward the coach, when several shots rang out of the window, one of which dropped his horse and another wounded him in the shoulder.