that man's drunk or crazy?"

"Holy sufferin'!" gasped the man next him, as the yellow horse slipped on
a turn and sent a shower of gravel a thousand feet below. "That was a
near touch," as the horse caught himself and swept on.

"Looks to me like a case of trouble, Cap," said a third speaker. "That
ain't no man, anyhow--it's only a boy."

"Horse running away with him, probably--his folks ought to be clubbed for
letting him out on such an animal. Well, spread out, boys, and we'll
catch him."

But Buck stopped in two jumps, at Ches' command of "Whoa!"

"Fren's!" cried the boy, "me pardner's caught in a tunnel dat caved in on
him. Kin yer help us out? Three mile above Jones's Hill."

He had not finished the sentence before two men sprang for the horses.
The rest grabbed picks and shovels and hurled them into the wagon.

"We'll be there, hell-a-whooping," said Captain Hanrahan.

"T'anks!" replied Ches weakly, and then the world went out. The captain
caught him as he fell.

"Poor little cuss! He rid hard to help his pardner!" said the captain.
"Hump yourselves, boys--all ready! Got the whisky, Pete? Picks enough?
Stick the axes where they won't jump loose and cut a leg off some of us.
Tie the horse behind--good animal, that. All right, let 'em go!"

They went. Over stones and gulleys, the tools clanging and banging fit to
leap from the wagon, the men clinging to the side-boards for dear life.

Down hill-sides like the slant of a roof, the horses keeping out of the
way of the wagon; up the other side with the reeking animals straining
every fiber; over bridges that bent fearfully beneath the shock of their
onset; swaying around curves with the wheels sluing and sparks flying,
and over the level as though the devil himself were behind them.

It was the record trip for eight miles in a wagon in that country. The
driver stood up, a foot braced on either side, the reins thrown loose,
the whip plied hard, and every urging that voice could give shrieked out
by his powerful lungs.

It was like the rush of a fire-engine, plus twice the speed, and twenty
times the danger. Above the pounding of hoofs, the din of rattling metal,
the crash, smash and roar of the wheels and the yells of the driver could
be heard the man Pete, ex-cowpuncher, cheerfully singing,

"Roll your tails, and roll 'em high,
We'll all be angels by-and-by."

Braced in the back corner sat Captain Hanrahan, his leg ke