"Hands up!" ordered a sharp voice.
A horseman loomed up in the darkness beside the wagon. A second appeared from the brush. Other figures emerged dimly from the void.
Jack gave his mules the whip and the heavy wagon plowed into the deep sand. Before the wheels had made two revolutions the leaders were stopped. Other men swarmed up the side of the wagon, dragged the driver from his seat, and flung him to the ground.
Even though his face was buried in the sand and two men were spread over his body, the captive was enjoying himself.
"This is no way to treat a man's anatomy—most unladylike conduct I ever saw," he protested.
He was sharply advised to shut up.
After the pressure on his neck was a little relieved, Jack twisted round enough to see that his captors were all masked.
"What is this game, boys—a hold-up?" he asked.
"Yes. A hold-up of a hold-up," answered one.
Three of the men busied themselves moving the ore sacks from his wagon to another that had been driven out of the brush. A fourth, whom he judged to be Bleyer, was directing operations, while the fifth menaced him with a revolver shoved against the small of his back.