Sergeant Clancey and half a dozen troopers jerked at their bridles. But Crosby, at the window, shouted “Halt!”
“What's your name?” he demanded of the salesman.
“Myers,” stammered the drummer. “I'm from the Hancock Uniform—”
Curtis had spurred his horse beside that of his brother officer. “Is Colonel Patten at Kiowa?” he interrupted.
“I can't give you any information as to that,” replied Mr. Myers, importantly; “but these ladies and I have just been held up by the Red Rider. If you'll hurry you'll—”
The two officers pulled back their horses from the stage and, leaning from their saddles, consulted in eager whispers. Their men fidgeted with their reins, and stared with amazed eyes at their officers. Lieutenant Crosby was openly smiling, “He's got away with it,” he whispered. “Patten missed the stage, thank God, and he's met nothing worse than these women.”
“We MUST make a bluff at following him,” whispered Curtis.
“Certainly not! Our orders are to report to Colonel Patten, and act as his escort.”
“But he's not at Kiowa; that fellow says so.”
“He telegraphed the Colonel from Kiowa,” returned Crosby. “How could he do that if he wasn't there?” He turned upon Hunk Smith. “When did you leave Henderson's?” he demanded.