ght."

"You--you best quit it," said Minky in serious, anxious tones. "We
kin, maybe, hold the gold up against him here. It ain't too late. It
ain't, sure."

Bill's face suddenly darkened. All the lightness which the prospect
before him had inspired suddenly left it. His words came so full of
bitter hatred that the other was startled.

"Not for a million-dollar halo!" he cried, reaching out for his long
whip.

With a dexterous swing he set it cracking over his horses' backs. The
high-strung beasts plunged at their bits, and the leaders started to
rear. Again he swung out his whip, and this time it flicked the
plunging leaders. Instantly there was a rush of feet and a scrunch of
wheels. The "tugs" pulled taut, and the gush of eager nostrils hissed
like steam upon the still air. There was a shout of farewell from the
onlookers, and the gambler turned in his seat.

"So long, fellers," he cried. "I'm makin' Spawn City by daylight
to-morrer--sure."

The next moment he was lost in a cloud of dust, as the horses raced
down the hill.

CHAPTER XXX

ON THE SPAWN CITY TRAIL

Wild Bill's lean hands clawed the reins with muscles of steel. For the
moment his six horses occupied his every thought. They were pulling
with the madness of high-bred racehorses. The trail lay before them,
their master sat behind. What more could they want, but that liberty
to stretch their willing bodies?

Down the hill and along the wood-lined trail that ran parallel to the
sluggish creek they raced. The dust rose under their feet, and the
wheels of the cart left a fog behind them. It rose in swirling clouds
as though to shut off all retreat. Presently the road narrowed to a
mere track, and the dark woods closed in. But there was no slackening
under the hand of the gambler. Nor had the horses any desire to
slacken their headlong rush. The woods broke and gave to a low bush,
and in a moment the track opened upon Scipio's claim.

Now, for the first time since the start as they swept across it, Bill
permitted his gaze to wander from his charges. He looked away at the
mouth of the tunnel Sandy had spent so much labor and such bitter
cursing in the process of constructing; and a half-smile flitted
across his hard face as he beheld the oozy debris, the idle tools, the
winch and buckets. The sight seemed to afford him amusement. There was
a softening, too, in his hard face. Maybe it was the result of his
amusement. Maybe it was due to some