“Morse had a gold shipment aboard,” he explained in a low voice, and added in bitter self-condemnation: “He sent me along to guard it, and I never even fired a shot to save it.”
“But—do you mean that somebody held up the stage?” she gasped.
“Yes. But whoever it was can’t escape. I’ve ’phoned to Jack Flatray and to Morse. They’ll be right out here. The sheriff of Mesa County has already started with a posse. They’ll track him down. That’s a cinch. He can’t get away with the box without a rig. If he busts the box, he’s got to carry it on a horse and a horse leaves tracks.”
“But who do you think it was?”
“Don’t know. One of the Roaring Fork bunch of bad men, likely. But I don’t know.”
The young man was plainly very much excited and disturbed. He walked nervously up and down, 86 jerking his sentences out piecemeal as he thought of them.
“Was there only one man? And did you see him?” Melissy asked breathlessly.
He scarcely noticed her excitement, or if he did, it seemed to him only natural under the circumstances.
“I expect there were more, but we saw only one. Didn’t see much of him. He was screened by the bushes and wore a black mask. So long as the stage was in sight he never moved from that place; just stood there and kept us covered.”
“But how could he rob you if he didn’t come out?” she asked in wide-eyed innocence.