“Bejabers, I think I’ll have to learn how to shoot,” he muttered, disconsolately. “It’s three times shure that I thried it an’ each toime missed me mark.” The stage-coach meanwhile under Bill Guernsey’s able guidance had gained a tremendous lead. It seemed, indeed, well out of the race. The greasers were completely scattered. The Steam Man went flying about the prairie picking them off by twos and threes. Every shot fired from the cage was deadly. In face of such a withering fire the greasers could not stand their ground. They broke in wild confusion for the cover of the hills. In the open the Steam Man was too much for them. It could have whipped an army on a plain of good size, for it could easily keep out of the way while a most deadly fire was kept up. In short, the Steam Man put to rout the entire party of greasers. They fled in the wildest confusion to the cover of the hills. But the Steam Man was all the while pounding at their heels. In a very short time the plain was cleared. The stage-coach was a speck upon the horizon line. It was on its way to Saint’s Repose, which Frank reckoned was a small mining town, of which there were many in the Rocky Mountains. It was now a question as to what it was best to do. Darkness was coming on and it would be necessary to find a camp somewhere. Frank had thought of keeping on to Saint’s Repose with the stage. There he believed it would not be difficult to pick up a respectable force of men with which to attack the greasers in the hills. Of course the Steam Man could whip them in the open. But the greasers could stick to the hills and no efforts would serve to dislodge them. It required no little thought and consideration upon Frank’s part to decide what to do. “Bejabers, av it was me,” declared Barney, sententiously, “I’d jist go an up there mesilf alone and lave the naygur aboard the Steam Man.” “Golly! it am jes’ as easy fo’ yo’ to stay dar as fo’ me,” spluttered Pomp. “You’se a no count I’ishman, anyway.” “Don’t yez say that to me, naygur, or I’ll spile the face av yez,“retorted Barney, with mock earnestness. “Huh! jes’ yo’ try it, I’ish. Yo’ll hab yo’ han’s full in jes’ a minnit.” “Begorra, I will thry it.” “Jes’ cum right along.” Barney began to roll up his sleeves. It was likely that the two rascals would have indulged in a friendly rough-and-tumble but for Frank. “Come, this won’t do,” he said, sharply. “If you want to have any skylarking, you must wait for a better time.” Pomp made a grimace to Barney behind Frank’s back, and Barney shook his fist at the darky. This ended the discussion. Frank decided not to go to Saint’s Repose. It would have been a long run of fifty miles, and the result would have been extremely doubtful. “My mission is to rescue Harvey Montaine,” he decided, finally. “I don’t care to wage war upon the greasers or anybody else for any other purpose.” So Frank remained out on the plain until nightfall.