“Buffalo Bill is chief of scouts at the fort, and he is a man to tie to when one needs a friend. It war them two, if you’ll pardon me for saying it, along with the miner from Pocket City, thet captured Silk Lasso Sam and his gang, and stopped highway robbery on this trail.”
“Then you think there will now be no more holding-up of coaches on the Overland?”
“Not on ther trail I runs, miss, I’m thinking.”
So the coach went along its way. Horseshoe Ned delighted at exhibiting his skill as a driver and striving hard to keep Ruth from dwelling upon the fact that she had parted with her brother forever.
Just as the coach drove down into Deep Dell Brook, where it had been last held-up and Ribbons had been killed, Horseshoe Ned said:
“I tells yer, miss, it’s a comfort ter feel yer kin halt in thet stream ter water your horses, and not be expecting a shot all ther time.”
“Yes, for you have risked dangers enough to enjoy some sense of security now,” was Ruth’s answer.
But hardly had the words been uttered when suddenly down the trail beyond, leading into the stream, rode a horseman. He was dressed in black, but rode a snow-white horse, though all of his trappings were of sable hue.
The horseman was masked, and wore a black sombrero, but his hair fell in heavy waves upon his broad shoulders, concealing even his neck, while, as he wore gauntlet gloves, no one could have told from his appearance whether he was paleface, Indian, Chinese, or negro.
“Hands up, Horseshoe Ned, for you carry a rich prize,” cried the horseman, as he reached the water’s edge, and leveled his rifle at the driver.