“That girl is shore gittin’ a run fer her money,” observed Nomad; “thet is, ef she likes fast goin’ in an ole stagecoach. I’m hopin’ she ain’t hurted none whatever.” They were quickly galloping along the trail after the stage. When they came in sight of it they saw what had happened. Scared by shadows at one side of the way, the horses had swung out of the plain road, then had vainly tried to get past, a big bowlder by going one on each side of it; the result of which was that the pole of the stage had struck the rock, breaking the pole, bringing the horses to a violent stop, and tumbling the stage over on its side. In addition, the horses had snarled themselves in their harness with a perfection that rendered them helpless. Hank Elmore was aghast when he beheld the damage. “I wonder what et done fer ther woman?” was Nomad’s query. “I don’t see her stirrin’ round, and ef she ain’t eternally smashed, I sh’d think thet she’d git outer ther ole hearse.” “I am guessing,” said the baron, “dot she iss inkinscious ag’in.” “Repetition of a thing creates a habit,” said the man from Laramie, with a laugh on his lips. “I’m hoping it won’t be so in her case; as unconsciousness would be a bad habit to cultivate.” They galloped up to the stage and the tangled horses. But when they had done so and looked into the vehicle, they were struck with amazement. _The woman was not in the stage!_ “Wow! What’s ther meanin’ of et?” Nomad whooped. “Uff she had peen sbilt oudt alongk der vay ve musdt haf seen her,” said the German. “That cushion has fallen, and maybe she is crumpled up under it,” Buffalo Bill suggested. But she was not under the cushion; nor was she in the stage at all. Hank Elmore, fuming and growling, was trying to get his horses untangled. “This trip puts ther kibosh on any I ever took,” he growled. “I have been through hold-ups a-plenty, but this is wuss than any of ’em, fer me. One o’ you fellers that’s got a sharp knife lend a hand yere; this hawse has twisted ’leventeen bowknots o’ leather round his forrud laigs, and I cain’t untie none of ’em; we’ve got ter do some knife work, I reckon.” Wild Bill sprang to his aid, and the recalcitrant harness was hacked away. After making certain that the woman was not in or near the stage, the scout requested Nomad and the baron to look for trails near by, then turned about and retraced his way, leaning over from the saddle, searching carefully. A whoop from Nomad stopped the scout and brought him back. “I’ve found tracks,” said the trapper, “but they ain’t hers; look like a grizzly b’ar’s; but thet cain’t be, fer a grizzly don’t w’ar shoes.” The scout flung himself out of the saddle; and, leaving Bear Paw standing in the trail, he hurried over to the spot occupied by the baron and Nomad. Wild Bill and Hank Elmore were still unsnarling the stage horses. The trapper pointed solemnly to some tracks that he and the baron had found.