Far up the hill the keen eye of the officer descried a band of horsemen. They wore no uniforms, were not in buckskin, and were not Indians. He understood who they were at once. He knew that Buffalo Bill had been sent to his doom by the bandits of the overland trail. “But, by thunder! we’ll fool ’em!” muttered the young officer. Almost instantly his finger touched the trigger of the pistol, and the flash and report followed. With perfect presence of mind he had made his calculations. Did he kill one of the leaders it would throw the other horses upon him, and the stage would be wrecked after all, and Buffalo Bill doubtless killed. Did he kill one of the wheel-horses instead it would act as a drag on the others, and still be borne along at a slackening speed, until its mate could be brought down. This he had aimed to do and--he succeeded! With the crack of the first shot the off-wheeler dropped, the stage swayed forward sideways, and then was dragged on, with the dead horse, yet at a slackened pace. With the second shot the other wheel-horse stumbled, staggered, half-fell, regained its feet again, and finally went down heavily. Again the coach swayed badly; but the stout pole was kept up by the pressure of the draft of four horses upon it, and the heavy breast chains and traces held the two dead animals firmly attached to it, both acting as a powerful drag upon the others, and retarding their speed to a slow gallop. Dick Danforth let his mount out, came down the remainder of the run with a rush, and on the level reached the leader’s heads. He seized the bridle of the nearest horse and dragged him to one side, almost throwing him. The horse broke step and pulled its mate down. In a minute all four were brought up standing--and not an instant too soon, for the brink of the second and more perilous part of the hill was right before them! The horses were still in a nervous state; but Dick Danforth could trust his own mount. He placed the horse he rode in front of the leaders, leaped from the saddle, and left the bridle-reins hanging over his horse’s head. While they remained thus nothing less than an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption, would make the horse move out of his tracks--and the coach-animals could not pass him. “Quick, Danforth! As you are alone you’d best get out of here quick. Here come my foes!” cried Buffalo Bill, glancing back. Boyd Bennett and his men, all mounted now, were picking their way down the hill, intent upon overtaking Buffalo Bill again and his lone rescuer. But Dick Danforth was not the man to fly and leave a comrade in peril. His escort was as yet a long way off, he knew; Buffalo Bill was bound too tightly for quick release, and could not aid in beating back the bandits. Danforth ran directly toward the coach, nevertheless. Along came Chief at an easy lope, and he caught the horse. He saw that Cody’s loaded pistols were in the holsters. He snatched them out, and climbed quickly up to the box seat.