The road agent, in an angry manner, cursing Rumsey for trying to deceive him, ordered him to take it out. “Don’t you leave nothing,” was the stern, ungrammatical command. Rumsey took the purse, and having added it to the pile, was about to resume his seat on the box. “Where are you going?” shouted both the robbers. “To get on the coach, you fools,” retorted Rumsey. “You’ve got all there is, and we want to go on now.” “Go back there, and get the big sack from that Irish bummer,” said one of the robbers; and pointing his pistol at Dan, he added, “You’re the man we’re after. Get that strap off your shoulder.” Poor Dan! His money was very dear to him, but his life was dearer. As he could not save both, he commenced at once to remove the strap. Rumsey came up, and tried to pull it out, but finding it would not come, stepped back, while Dan was engaged in unbuckling the belt. “Jerk it off,” shouted the robber; “or I’ll shoot you in a minute.” “Give him time,” interposed Rumsey; “you’ll not kill a man when he’s doing all he can for you?” “Well, hurry up, then, you awkward blackguard. We have no time to lose.” As soon as the belt was loosed, Dan drew forth a large, fringed, buckskin bag containing two sacks, which he handed to Rumsey, who tossed it on the heap. “That’s what we wanted,” said the robber. “Now get aboard, all of you, and get out of this as fast as you can; and if we ever hear a word from one of you, we’ll shoot you on sight.” They obeyed with alacrity. Bunton resumed his seat beside the driver, and commenced whipping the horses, observing, as they rode off, that it was the hottest place he was ever in. At a turn in the road, Bunton looked back. The bandits had dismounted. One held the horses; the other was picking up the plunder, which, in all, amounted to twenty-eight hundred dollars. After gathering up their booty, the robbers galloped rapidly over the Indian trail leading to Bannack, arriving there in advance of the coach. When intelligence of the robbery reached Bannack, public indignation was aroused, but the time had not yet arrived for action. Had the robbers been recognized, they would have fared hard on their return to Bannack, but the people felt that it was better not to strike, than strike at random. George Hilderman, one of the robber gang, was present at the express-office on the arrival of the coach, seemingly as much surprised as any one at the intelligence of the robbery. His real object, however, was to observe whether the passengers had recognized the ruffians. If so, he was to report it to them, that they might keep out of the way. “Bummer Dan,” doubtless, had in his employ some person in the confidence of the robbers; otherwise, his efforts to avoid them might have been successful.