When Wild Bill came near he swung his hat and whooped: “Did he get away?” he demanded. “Plum made ther through trip,” Nomad answered, his face an angry red. “Was it a woman who was left in the stage?” the scout asked. “It was Vera Bright.” “You’re sure of that?” “There’s no doubt whatever, pard. We brought her round, and she talked with us. She’s in the stage yet, but weak; we left her there and come hoppin’ back, judgin’ that you was needin’ help. She told us that Benson had taken her hand bag, got clothing and other things out of it, and made a change in his looks, while he was in the stage with her; and that she was too frightened to make an outcry. He said to her, too, that he was expecting you to appear, and that he would fool you, and get away.” “Et’s what he has done, ther ornery skunk!” cried Nomad. “But et’s jest like Benson.” “He iss like der flea,” put in the baron; “vhen you haf got him, you gan loogk vor him at some odder blaces alreadty.” “He’s certain a mighty smart un,” commented the stage driver. “I was tur’ble oneasy as I driv up ter ther cañon, but I’d ’a’ been throwin’ fits ef I had guessed thet Benson was the little gent ridin’ in my hearse.” “Benson knew that the town and the trails were watched and covered, so he had to make use of some scheme to get out at all; and, of course, he wanted to get out,” said the scout. “I wonder where he will go now?” “Could we trail him?” asked the man from Laramie. “That’s to be settled, after we try it.” “Then you mean to try it?” “I certainly shall do everything to keep him from getting out of the country. After he leaves this rocky section and puts his foot on softer ground he has got to make a trail, and I see no reason why we can’t find it and follow him. It will take time; but if no rain comes to wash out his tracks, we can do it.” “No rain in sight now,” said Nomad. “Et don’t rain down in this kentry enough ter make a man reckle’t what a good rain seems like.” A sound came from the direction of the horses, that the stage driver had tied to the tree. “Wow!” he howled. “They’ve broke that hitchin’ strap, and thar they go, cuss ’em!” The horses had broken away from the tree, and were going down the trail at a tearing gait, dragging the stagecoach, which swayed and bounced on the rough places, as if it would go over. The excited stage driver started after them on foot, as if he thought he could overtake them in that way. “No use to run your lungs out in that style, Elmore,” the man from Laramie called out to him. “Our horses are right here. You can straddle the back of one of ’em, with the reg’lar rider, and get there a heap quicker.” The scout and his pards hurried to get up their horses, which were hidden out in the scrub. But by the time they had done this the stage had bobbed out of sight. By and by they even ceased to hear it; though, before the sounds of its flight ceased, a crashing sound reached them, much as if the stage had been overturned.