As they had found nothing to take, the road-agents had doubtless visited their vengeance upon old Huck, especially to repay him for having run the gantlet on a former occasion. There were passengers booked for Last Chance by stage, but when it became known that old Huck had been killed, as all supposed he must have been, they concluded they were in no great hurry to reach the mining-camps and could wait a while longer. So Harding discovered that he would have to return with an empty coach, as far as passengers were concerned. He showed no disappointment, however, at having to return alone, and was told by the agent that he was to carry back considerable money and a valuable mail. "All right, sir, I'll do my best to go through in safety," he said, and he grasped the outstretched hand of the agent, who said: "I feel as though I was shaking hands with a man about to die." "Now, I don't feel that way in the least," was the laughing response, and Harding sprang up to the box, seized the reins, cracked his whip when he got the word, and was off. The crowd gathered there cheered him, of course, but a generally sad expression rested upon every face as they looked upon the brave young miner who had taken his life in his hand to drive what was now called the death-trap. Having halted for the night at the way cabin, Harding pushed on the next morning with the first glimmer of dawn, and reached the third relay at noon. There was then one more relay and the run into Last Chance, which in good weather could readily be made before sunset. He passed the last relay, and the stock-tender said, as he was about to start: "Good-by, pard, and do you know I kinder feels as if yer was a dead man already?" "Don't you believe it, for I am worth a dozen dead men, old man," was the laughing response, and Harding drove on, with the Dead Line rising in his mind before him. He drove more rapidly than was the schedule-time, and when he came into the pass, with the Dead Line just ahead, he had half an hour to spare. The horses pricked up their ears, as though they knew the doomed place well, and the leaders gave a snort as they beheld a form ahead. It was a man leaning against the cross erected in memory of Bud Benton. That Harding also saw the form was certain, for his eyes were riveted upon the spot. As he drew nearer, the man moved away from the cross and advanced down into the trail. Still Harding made no move to halt, to rush by, or appeared to take notice of him. The man placed himself by the side of the trail, and stood as still as a statue, after making a slight sign, as it appeared. The answer of Harding to this sign was to shake his head.