CHAPTER XVII.
A SECRET KEPT
Just fifteen minutes before the time of arrival set for the coach by schedule, Hal Harding drove up to the hotel at Last Chance.
From his entering the valley, and passing the first mine, he had been followed by cheer after cheer, until when he reached Landlord Larry's tavern there were many there to swell the chorus of welcome.
Larry greeted him most warmly, and when he saw what a valuable freight he had brought through with him, he told him that he was deserving of the highest praise.
Harding received the honors heaped upon him in a modest manner, and when asked by Landlord Larry if he had seen any road-agents, answered:
"Not one."
"All quiet along the trail, then?"
"As quiet as the grave."
"I suppose you were anxious upon reaching the Dead Line?"
"I think the horses were more nervous than I was, for they at least showed it."
"You told the agent at W – about old Huck's fate?"
"Of course, sir, I told him of his mysterious disappearance."
"Do you know I half-way hoped you would hear something of old Huck at W – ."
"No, I heard nothing of him there."
"And none of the stock-tenders had seen him?"
"They did not speak to me of having done so."
"Well, he is gone, that is certain; but you have begun well, Harding, and I hope may keep it up."
"Thank you, Landlord Larry, I hope that I will, for I have an abiding faith in the belief that I will live to be an old man."
"I hope so sincerely," said the doctor, who had been an attentive listener to the conversation between the young miner and Larry.
"They say at W – , Doctor Dick, that if I go under, you will be the only man who will dare drive the coach through."
"And I will not do it unless we are doomed to be cut off from all communication, and I see that Last Chance will be ruined, from fear of traveling the trail to it," said Doctor Dick decidedly.
"How is your patient, doctor?"
"Which one, for I have a number of patients just now?"
"The young man whose wound at the hands of the road-agents turned his brain."
"I see him daily, and he is about the same, like a child, mentally."
"They asked about him at W – , for the agent had received several letters regarding him."
"Ah!" said Doctor Dick, with interest. "What was their tenor?"
"That he had come out West upon a special mission, and with considerable money, and, since leaving W – where he had written of his arrival, not a word had been heard from him."
"I am glad that he has friends, then, for he will be cared for in his misfortune."
"Yes, Doctor Dick, and the agent hinted that some one was coming out to look him up."
"I rejoice at this, for he needs care," the doctor rejoined, and he added:
"I have been convinced that he was no ordinary individual, and had been well reared; but what a blow it will be to his friends to find him as he is, poor fellow."
After some further conversation Harding went to his cabin for the night; but he was not long in discovering that he was regarded as a hero by all.
He had not made the slightest reference to having met old Huckleberry at the Dead Line, and as he thought over the fact that he had done so, and the secret that was known to him alone, he muttered to himself:
"If they only knew, what a sensation it would be for Last Chance, yes, and for W – as well, not to speak of the masked road-agent chief and his men, who thus far have been playing a winning game; but luck sometimes turns, and I guess it is nearing the turning-point now, and will come our way."
Harding reported for duty promptly when the time came around for him to take the coach again on its perilous run.
"We have got considerable gold-dust aboard, pard, and a big outgoing mail, so I hope you will go through all right," said Landlord Larry, while Doctor Dick, who just then came up, said:
"Yes, Harding, I have several valuable letters in the mail with drafts for large sums which I sincerely hope will not miscarry."
"I'll do the best I can, Doctor Dick," was the answer, and Harding went out and mounted the box.
He could not but feel gratified at the size of the crowd that had gathered to see him depart, and he raised his sombrero politely in response to the cheers.
He had gone through in safety once; but could he do it a second time? That was the thought in the brain of every man there assembled.
At last the word was given, and away went the coach, cheered all the way down the valley until it was out of sight.
As before, the young driver lost no time on the trail, but upon reaching the Dead Line, instead of seeming to dread the spot and wishing to drive rapidly by, he dismounted from the box, and, going to the cross, felt about among the wild flowers growing about it until he picked up a slip of paper, while he hastily read what he found written thereon.
Taking from his pocket a similar slip, on which there was writing, he thrust it out of sight in the spot he had taken the other from. Then he returned to the coach and drove on once more as though he felt no fear of his surroundings.
He reached the night-cabin on time, and surprised the stock-tender there by telling him that he intended to drive on to W – that night.
"You don't mean it?"
"I certainly do."
"Why, yer'll kill yer team, smash ther old box, and crush yerself to atoms."
"I believe I can drive the road at night," was the firm response.
"It's ther wust piece of road on ther whole Overland Trail."
"It is a bad one, but I will depend upon my team mainly and risk it."
"Why do you do it?"
"I have an idea that it will be safer."
"How so?"
"Well, if there were road-agents on the trail to hold me up to-morrow, I'll miss them, that is all."
"Right you are, pard; but I don't believe they is as dangerous as traveling this trail to-night."
"I'll let you know what I think upon my return," was Harding's answer, and he drove on once more.
Night had come on, and he well knew the dangers before him from a mistake in driving. He had been over the road perhaps half a dozen times, always riding upon the box, but upon his last run as driver he had most carefully noted every foot of the way.
The night was dark, but he knew that he had the instinct of his team to depend upon, and this was more than half the battle.
He was determined to push through and save his load of gold, and if he did make a successful run over that part of the trail by night, he would do what no other driver had done, and on this account his pride was at stake.
So he started boldly yet cautiously upon his way, and when the sun was just rising in W – the stage-agent there was awakened by wheels dashing up to his door and heard the call:
"The coach from Last Chance has arrived."
He was up in a hurry and congratulating the young driver upon his night drive, while he said:
"Do you know I feared you would be held up to-day, for a party of desperadoes lately left W – , and I felt most anxious about you."
"Yes, they are on the trail waiting for me now, not knowing that I slipped by in the night. I'll get together a band of brave fellows and go back after them," and an hour after Harding was mounted upon a fine horse and leading a dozen men back upon the trail he had safely driven over in the night.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A MYSTERIOUS SOUND
The stage-agent at W – was right in declaring that the coach might be held up on the rough trail that was always driven by daylight, for the party he feared were some wild fellows who had ridden into the settlement two days before and stated that they were on their way to the mines.
They were well mounted and armed, had several packhorses with them, and, though not having the excuse of drinking to make them dreaded, had carried on in a way that caused all peaceably disposed persons to dread them.
Who they were no one knew, and when they left the place honest men breathed more freely and congratulated each other that no tragedy had occurred, as a reminder of their visit.
They had gone out upon the trail to Last Chance late in the afternoon, and the agent felt sure that they would camp early and meet the coach the next morning, and the result he greatly feared, after a look at the party in question; so he was rejoiced to find that Harding had taken the great risk of driving through by night.
The crowd that he dreaded were five in number, and they were young men, bronzed-faced, brawny, and with an air of recklessness stamped upon them. That they were a dangerous lot their appearance indicated, and few men would care to face them where no help was at hand.
They had halted some dozen miles from W – , and gone into camp on a brook a few hundred yards from the trail the stage would follow. That they knew their way well their movements were proof of, for they rode at once to the camping-place, staked out their horses, spread their blankets, and gathered wood to cook their supper with.
The spot chosen was one where they could command a view of the trail for a mile in both directions, yet remain in concealment themselves.
They had supper, then gambled a while by the light of the fire, and afterward turned in, setting no watch.
It was about midnight when one of the party awoke, half-arose and listened. He heard a rumbling sound that seemed to surprise him.
"I say, pards," he called out.
A man awoke, and asked drowsily:
"What is it, Sully?"
"I hear wheels."
"Nonsense."
"But I do."
"It's the roar of the stream."
"I don't think so."
"I does."
Others were awakened and listened, and they distinctly heard a low, rumbling sound. But, after some minutes, the sound died away and the one who had first discovered it asked:
"Do you think it could have been the coach?"
"No, indeed."
"Why not?"
"No man living would dare drive a coach over this trail at night."
"It sounded to me like wheels."
"There it is again."
All listened attentively, and then one said:
"It is the wind in the pines."
The wind was rising and this solution of mysterious sound seemed to settle the matter, so all laid down in their blankets once more.
The man who had discovered the sound was the one to arise first in the morning, and the day was just dawning when he left his blankets, gazed about him, and then walked over to where the stage-trail ran, several hundred yards from their camp, and along through a bit of meadow-land.
He had hardly reached the trail when he gave a loud halloo, which brought his comrades from their blankets in an instant, and his call set them coming toward him at a run.
"Look there, pards!" he cried, and as each man reached his side he stood gazing down at the trail.
"The stage has gone by," said one, with an oath, as his eyes fell upon the tracks of the six horses and the wheel-marks, lately made.
"Then one man was bold enough to dare the drive at night!"
"Sure, and the chief will be furious with us!"
"What is to be done now?"
"The coach is safe in W – now, for if that fellow drove safely over the back trail he had no trouble beyond here."
"Then we had better get a move on us."
"Sure, for that agent suspects us, and there'll be a gang on our heels mighty quick," and hastening back to camp, the party mounted and rode rapidly on toward the mountains.
CHAPTER XIX.
A FAIR PASSENGER
Harding had ridden rapidly upon the trail back toward the night relay, for he felt sure that the agent was right in his conjecture that the party of wild fellows who had left W – had intended to hold him up on the trail the next day when he came along.
In fact, the slip of paper he had picked up at the Dead Line had been a warning to that effect, and hence he had dared take the drive at night, hoping thus to elude his foes, and had been successful.
When he reached the trail where the party had turned off to camp, they soon came upon their halting-place, and as the ashes of their fire was cold, it proved that they had departed before having breakfast there.
"Something frightened them off," said Harding. "But I wonder they did not hear my wheels, camping as they did this near to the stage-trail."
"They kept no watch, doubtless; but will you follow them?"
"Yes, to the relay-station at least."
Arriving there, for their trail had been lost in the rocky soil, Harding found that the men had not passed, so they turned back for W – , arriving there by nightfall.
The coaches that came in from the South and East the next morning brought valuable mail for Last Chance, and, to the surprise of all, a lady passenger. She was young and veiled, but enough was seen of her face to reveal its beauty.
She was dressed in perfect keeping for one on a long journey, and carried only a small trunk with her. She told the station-agent that her name was Celeste Seldon, and that she had come West for a double purpose, searching for her father, and one other whom she was most anxious to find.
The last she had heard of her father was in a letter dated from W – , and a secret communication, also mailed from W – , was the last tidings received from the second person she sought.
"I wrote you, Mr. Agent," she said in her sweet way, "asking about a young man, Bernard Brandon by name, who had come West upon a special mission. You replied that he had been to W – and gone on from here to Last Chance, a mining-camp, and though I have written there, no response came, so I decided to come myself and investigate. Have you heard anything more of Mr. Brandon?"
The agent looked troubled and, seeing it, she said quickly:
"You have heard of him, so I beg you to tell me all."
"I regret to say, miss, that he was wounded on his way to Last Chance, shot by road-agents; but here is Harding, the driver of the Last Chance coach, and he can tell you all."
Harding did not appear to like having to give pain to the young girl, but he frankly told her of the wound of the young man, who could be no other than Bernard Brandon, and the pitiful result.
"I will go to him. When do you start, sir?"
"This afternoon, miss; but the trail is a very dangerous one, and I had better bring him back with me."
"No, I will go with you and I will speak for the box-seat, if it is not engaged."
"Oh, no; no seats are engaged, for all dread the trail between here and Last Chance."
"I do not, so I ride with you, sir, on the box-seat," was the determined reply of the young girl.
She paid her fare, and when the coach started, after having dinner at the agent's, mounted to the box with Harding's aid, and took her seat by the young driver, while the crowd yelled lustily as they drove off to face the dangers of the trail.
Harding drove off with the air of one who felt his full responsibility in having the care of a young and beautiful girl, who dared risk the dangerous road he had to travel.
He found that his fair companion, as soon as she left the settlement, was very beautiful, for she removed her veil when only having to be gazed upon by one person, and that one a very handsome young miner.
It did not take her very long to discover that her companion, though driving an Overland coach, was above the average she had thus far met with among the Western wilds, for he was polite, well-informed, and his courage was proven by what he was then doing; for Miss Seldon had been told by the agent just what trouble they had had on the line.
The night relay was reached, and as there had been no expectation of ever accommodating young ladies, no provision had been made for them, so Harding and the stock-tender yielded the cabin to the fair passenger, while they occupied a shanty near-by.
The stock-tender exerted himself to make her comfortable, and to provide the best supper and breakfast his larder would allow.
"What a surprise they will get in Last Chance when they see her, pard. Why, them miners will make a goddess of her, whatever that may be," said the stock-tender.
"Yes, if we only get through, pard, for do you know I am more anxious now than when I am alone?"
"Why is that?"
"Well, I have my reasons; but let me tell you that I mean fight on this run if we are held up," and the eyes of the young driver flashed fire.
The next morning the coach started upon its way half an hour earlier than usual, and Harding pushed his horses along at a far faster pace than they were accustomed to.
For some reason he seemed anxious to get by the Dead Line far ahead of time, and to push on into Last Chance with all speed that was possible.
He found his fair charge most entertaining, and she asked him all about life in the wild West, and he was surprised to discover how much she knew of the frontier and its characters.
She spoke of army officers known to her well by name, mentioned Buffalo Bill as a hero well known in the East, and seemed anxious to glean all the information she could of the strange country into which she had ventured.
At last she touched upon the cause of her coming, and her face saddened as she said:
"It grieves me deeply to learn of the sad result of Mr. Brandon's wound, though I cannot but feel, as you say that he is bodily strong, that something can be done to restore his mind.
"He came here on a mission for me, to find my father, who, I will confess to you, was driven West by pretended friends and false misrepresentations that kept him here, as though he had been the veriest criminal hiding from justice.
"But it is not so, and I long to find my father and restore him to his home and those who love him. Have you ever heard of him here? – his name was Andrew Seldon."
"No, Miss Seldon, I never have heard the name, that I now recall. Where was he when last you heard of him?"
"Seven letters came into my possession long after they were written, for I have not seen my father for seven long years, and I was a little girl then, and the last of those letters was mailed at W – .
"In it he stated that he had been in the mining country, had been most successful, and would come home within a year or two. But this letter did not come to my hands directly, and it was answered by others, his enemies and mine, and so I, upon learning the truth, and of a cruel plot against him and myself, got Mr. Brandon to come and look him up that he might know all.
"As a dread came, upon receiving the agent's letter, that harm had befallen Mr. Brandon, I decided to come at once to the West myself, for I was reared on a plantation, am a good rider, have been inured to hardships and can handle firearms when there is need for them, so I was fitted for just such a trip as I am now taking; but here I am making a confidant of you, Mr. Harding, when I should be keeping my own counsel."
"Oh, no, I am glad to know more of you, and it may be in my power to aid you, for I will gladly do all I can."
"I feel that, and we will be friends; but why do you look so anxious?"
"Do I?"
"Yes, you do."
"Well, to be candid, I am anxious for your sake, not mine, for I half-dread trouble on this run, and we are nearing the scene of several tragedies which the miners call the Dead Line. Will you not ride in the coach now?"
"No; I take all chances with you and remain where I am," was the plucky reply of Celeste Seldon.
CHAPTER XX.
MASKED FOES
The brave response of Celeste Seldon pleased the young miner, though he did not wish her to remain upon the box. He knew the merciless nature of the road-agents, and that if they fired without challenging him, she stood, in as much danger as he did of being killed or wounded. So he said:
"I would much rather that you should go inside the coach, especially until we pass the Dead Line."
"No; I remain here."
"You are determined?"
"I am."
"Then I can say no more, and I hope, recognizing that I have a lady with me, they will not fire upon me."
"You seem to confidently expect an attack."
"I am sorry to say that I do."
"May I ask your reasons?"
"Well, I happen to know that one who was secretly on watch here on my last run is not here to-day, having been called away. I also know that five horsemen, whom I have reason to believe to be road-agents, left W – ahead of me for the purpose of robbing the coach."
"Have you much of value with you?"
"I have considerable money in bank-notes for miners at Last Chance."
"Is it too bulky for me to hide?"
"I think not, miss."
"Then let me try it."
A halt was made and the money taken from its hiding-place. Then the girl asked:
"Do you know the amount that is here?"
"Yes, miss, it is stated here," and he handed out a paper.
"I will take the paper and the money, for I can hide it," and with this she put it in a silk bag that she carried and fastened it securely beneath the skirt of her dress.
Feeling relieved on this point, Harding drove on and soon after came in sight of the Dead Line.
He had just come up level with the cross that marked the spot of former tragedies, and was talking to his team, which showed much nervousness at passing a scene which they realized as one to dread, when loud rang a voice:
"Hold hard, Harding, or you are a dead man!"
Not a soul was visible among the rocks or in the trees, and Harding had it flash through his mind to make a dash, when quickly the hand of the young girl was laid upon his arm and she said firmly:
"Obey!"
"I must do so," was the low reply, for the young man realized that it would bring a volley upon them to attempt to dash through.
So his foot went hard down upon the brake, as he pulled his horses up and the stage came to a halt.
"Make your lines fast around the brake and hands up now!" came the order from the unseen foe.
"You must obey," said Celeste Seldon, as the driver hesitated.
With a muttered imprecation Harding obeyed, and then out from the thicket came a horseman. His horse was enveloped in a black blanket, and the rider wore a black robe like a domino, shielding his form completely. His face was covered by a red, close-fitting mask, while a cowl covered his head.
"The devil on horseback," muttered Harding, as he beheld the man, and right there he made up his mind that if he was the sole one who held up the coach, he would watch his chance, if he could get Celeste Seldon away from his side, and try a duel with him for mastery.
But this hope died away when, as though suspecting the intention of Harding, the horseman called out:
"Come, men, and let us get to work."
Silently there came out of the thicket half a dozen men on foot, but all enveloped in black robes, wearing red masks, and with their feet clad in moccasins, while a quick glance at the hoofs of the horse ridden by the chief showed that he had muffles on, to prevent making a track.
The girl calmly surveyed the scene.
The half-dozen men appearing at the call of their chief seemed to be well trained, for two of them went to the heads of the horses, two more to either door of the coach, and the others awaited orders.
The horseman rode close up to the side of the coach, his hand upon his revolver.
"Harding, I see that you meditate resistance if opportunity offers, but let me warn you that you are a dead man the instant you make any attempt to escape or fire upon us. I would kill you now without the slightest hesitation, only I fear it would break up the line and travel to Last Chance, and that I do not wish. Dismount from that box, and, remember, my revolver covers you!"
Harding obeyed in sullen silence.
"Now, what freight have you on?"
"I have the mails, and this lady passenger, but, low as you are, you will not rob her, I hope."
"There was money sent through by you to Last Chance."
"You pretend to know this, but I have no money for Last Chance."
"I know better."
"There is the coach, search it; but let me tell you, if you touch the United States mails you will have every soldier stationed at W – and at Faraway on your track."
"I believe you are right about that, and I do not care to fight the Government by robbing the mails; but the money I want."
"I have not got any, I told you."
"I do not believe you."
"Then find it."
"I will."
A thorough search of the coach was made, and then the driver was searched, but without any money being found.
"I know that the sum of thirty thousand dollars was to be sent by you to the miners in Last Chance."
"You know this?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Never mind, but I know it."
"Well, you see that your spy misinformed you."
"As the money cannot be found it is a dead loss to me, and I hold you responsible."
"All right, I am."
"But, as I said, if I kill you no man will be found to take your place – "
"Oh, yes, Doctor Dick will."
"D – Doctor Dick – I beg pardon, miss, but he refers to one whom I hate, and some day will be avenged upon."
"Well, if you kill me you will have the chance, for he will drive."
"With even that hope to get even with him, I will not kill you, yet I must have that money or a hostage."
"Take me, then."
"No, I could not realize the amount on you."
"Then do without."
"Not I, when there is a hostage at hand."
"Who?"
"This lady."
"Coward! you would not dare."
"Won't I? Then see, for that lady becomes my prisoner until I receive that money."
"What money?"
"The thirty thousand you beat me out of to-day."
"How can you get it by taking me with you?" asked Celeste Seldon quietly.
"Why, very easily, miss."
"How so, may I ask?"
"Harding will go on to Last Chance and report that I have you as my prisoner, to hold until the miners pay me the sum of – well, I'll add interest, so call it thirty-five thousand dollars."
"The miners have nothing to do with me, sir, they do not even know me."
"That does not matter, for they are a gallant lot of men, rough though they may look, and many of them be, so, when it is known what I have done, they will chip in generously and the money will be raised very quickly."
"How will you get it?" asked Harding.
"I will meet you on any day we may agree upon, at this spot, with this lady, and you will come alone, as I will, and the exchange of the hostage for the money will be made. If you come with others, or attempt treachery, I swear to you I will kill the girl before your eyes, so if you wish to have that done, play traitor, while, if you act squarely with me, all will be well. What do you say?"
"I say, as it cannot be otherwise, I will be your hostage until the money is paid you," said Celeste Seldon firmly.