While Harp bathed his soul in tears, Brick and Soapy rode along the Big Elk grades, rattling along at a good pace over the narrow road. They were nearing the spot where the stage had gone over the edge, and Brick was telling Soapy about how he and Harp had passed the wreck without knowing it.
Suddenly the team swerved widely on a hairpin turn, throwing one rear wheel off the grade. Brick grabbed the side of the seat, as he was thrown violently over the side, and his eyes caught a flash of a masked man just ahead of the horses, his rifle pointing at them.
The next moment he landed in a heap on the steep side-hill and rolled into a clump of brush, so badly jarred that he was unable to move. It was possibly a minute before he could realize what had happened to him.
He sat up and looked around at a landscape that would not hold still. His eyes gradually regained their focus on objects and he got painfully to his feet. He was bruised all over and his face was bleeding from several cuts. He looked back at the grade, but was unable to see anything on account of the extreme angle.
He remembered the flash he had had of the masked man. His holster was empty, but about half-way up to the grade he found his gun, wedged in the rocks. It was a stiff climb back to the grade, where he found Soapy trying to untangle his team.
Soapy gawped at him and swore wonderingly.
“By , I thought you was killed,” he told Brick.
“I was,” panted Brick. “What in was it, Soapy? Was it a hold-up?”
Soapy yanked the team straight on the grade.