He took out the bags of coin, propped a cushion on the seat with a coat over it, tied the reins to the splash-board, and clucked to the horse to go on.
Kinnersly chuckled silently. "I see now," he whispered.
"Glad o' that," remarked Sam. "Now we'll keep along in the bushes a bit behind the wagon. You come along with me, Kinnersly, an', Godfrey, you take the nigger. I don't need to tell you to shoot straight when the chance comes."
The horse went splashing slowly through the water, here about a foot deep. The four men stole noiselessly along through the bushes on either side.
They had gone perhaps a hundred yards, and reached the bottom of the hollow, where the water was axle-deep, when suddenly a rifle crashed, and a spit of fire flashed from the bushes to the right.
"Got him," came a shout, and men came plunging out of the scrub and surrounded the wagon.
"Now, lads!" came a crisp command from French, and at the word four weapons spoke simultaneously.
Three of the robbers dropped in their tracks. The other two stood dumfounded, unable to imagine whence the sudden attack had come.
Then one of them—Ducane himself—gave a yell of defiance, and came charging furiously toward French's party, firing as he ran.
A bullet whipped Kinnersly's hat from his head. Then a second volley rang out, and Ducane flung up his hands, and, without a sound, fell over on his back. The fifth man ran for his life.