The lone horseman was dressed in a cavalry fatigue uniform with pants tucked in boots, a slouch-hat pinned up with a pair of crossed sabers, and a gold cord encircling the hat, while upon the shoulders of his jacket were straps showing his rank to be that of a first lieutenant in the United States Army. His face was stern for so young a man, but there were humorous lines about his smoothly shaven lips, and fun danced in the corners of his eyes. Despite the hard brown of his countenance, that must have begun to be tanned by the Western sun and wind at an early age, there was a kindly appearance about the young lieutenant. He was armed with a cavalry sword and a pair of service pistols. One gauntleted hand rested on his sword-hilt as his horse galloped along. He was several miles ahead of his men, who were now scarcely more than black specks against the horizon. “Kinder risky to ride so far ahead, I suppose,” he was muttering. “Bill would tell me that. By thunder! if I’m attacked on this plateau I can fight--or run--I hope. There’s little cover hereabouts for either Indians or road-agents. And the latter gentry don’t usually care to tackle Uncle Sam’s cavalry.” Suddenly the silence about him was shattered by distant yells and several rifle-shots. He glanced back. Nothing was happening to his men. The sound came from ahead. Again he heard shouts and shots, and after that the ring of horses’ hoofs and the rumble of heavy wheels. “By thunder! a hold-up!” he gasped. “And those weren’t Indian yells. The stage-coach, I’ll bet! Yet the coach wouldn’t take the old road yonder. Why! It couldn’t come that way! It would be surely wrecked.” Yet, although the shouts and rifle-shots died away, the sound of the wheels and the hammering of the horses’ hoofs increased. Some heavy vehicle, drawn by several horses, was coming down the Breakneck Hill road! The lone horseman, who had halted at the first sound, now set spurs to his mount again. He headed directly across the plateau. The stage-road was just below the brink of the precipitous slant not many rods away, and toward this place the lieutenant hurried. “It _is_ the stage!” he cried. “The miscreants have turned it down the old road. There’s a level bit below here for some rods; but if it crosses that and goes down the other descent--well! God help them if there is man, woman, or child aboard!” He reached the brink of the steep descent to the level stretch of the old road. Down the first dip was tearing six frightened steeds with the old stage-coach swaying and bounding behind them. And in the rear a riderless white horse was racing after the coach! That horse the lieutenant recognized. “That’s Cody’s mount--it is, by thunder! What’s it doing here? And where’s Bill?” There was not another horse like Chief on the frontier; but the stage was too far away for the young man to recognize the figure swaying on the coach seat.