"What odds if thar is?" he retorted. "We kin deal with 'em, sure—three of us, droppin' on 'em unawares, and Alf helpin' us. Nat'rally thar'll be the messenger in charge of the boodle," he explained, "some quill-drivin', white-collared bank clerk from Ottawa. Don't figure as he need count for a lot. He ain't liable ter be anyways handy with a gun; and Tom Mason'll see as the skunk's shooter is empty. Soon as Alf enters the gulch, drivin' slow, he'll give us the signal. He'll crack his whip ter let us know as everythin's serene. Then the fun'll begin."
"We got ter fire in the air, then?" questioned Bill Allison. "We got ter do nothin' but fill the atmosphere with yells an' smoke? Seems easy!"
"The more noise we makes the better," returned Red Derrick. "But we've got ter do more'n make a clatter. Y'see, Alf Bulger c'n hardly make out as he's been held up by a gang of desperate road agents if we don't give him the evidence of a considerable pepperin' of bullet holes in the panels of his coach. As fer Mister Bank-clerk, if he shows fight—well, you kin leave him t' me. Savvy? Him and any other passengers, while you two make off with the swag."
His two confederates signified their understanding of the bold scheme by which the stage coach was to be held up and robbed: and they had now only to discuss the details of their plan of attack.
While they discussed, they proceeded to empty the bottle of what Derrick had called liquid refreshment, and it was perhaps because of his anxiety to secure his full share of the drink that Hen Faxon failed to detect a repetition of the faint rustling sound outside the hut which had previously caught his attention. It is more probable, however, that the movement was so slight that even if he had been listening for it he could not have known that it was anything more than the mere whispering of the wind in the surrounding brush.
No Indian scout, skilled in the art of taking cover, could have accomplished his purpose more silently than did the man who had stealthily crawled up to the rear of the ruined shanty to watch and listen.
Keeping still as a rock, lying at full length along the ground with an eye at a knot-hole in one of the timbers, hardly breathing lest he should betray his presence, he had heard every word that had been spoken; and now, knowing that he could discover nothing further, he was stealing away to make prompt use of his secret.
Very slowly, very silently, inch by inch, he crawled on hands and knees through the tangled brushwood and rank grass, working his way up the rising ground until he came to the edge of the coulee. Then he rose to his feet, looked back to assure himself that he had not been seen, and strode quickly but very cautiously through a belt of trees to where his horse was waiting, watching him as he approached.
"Quiet!" he whispered as he drew near, and the animal seemed to understand, for it made no movement, no slightest sound, but stood rigidly still until the rider had swung himself into the saddle.