"Yes, I guess it is," returned Bert, gazing intently at the distant
smirch against the clear blue background of sky; "come along, fellows.
Ride hard and we'll reach the trail before the coach comes along."

Accordingly they set spurs to their horses and galloped rapidly over the
sunburned prairie. In a short time they reached the travel-hardened
trail, beating the coach by a good half mile. Then they drew rein, and
waited impatiently for the lumbering vehicle to reach them.

With rattle of harness and creak of complaining axle-tree the coach
toiled over the endless trail, drawn by four raw-boned mules. As it drew
near, the boys waved their sombreros to the driver, who returned the
salute with a flourish of his long snakeskin whip.

At last it reached them and the driver rumbled a hoarse greeting. "How
goes it, pards," he said, "an' what's the good word?"

"That's just what we were going to ask you," said Bert with a friendly
smile. "We've been hearing a lot lately of the expected redskin uprising,
and we wanted to know if you had a line on the real situation, Buck. Is
there anything really doing, or is it all just talk?"

"I dunno," answered the driver, "some says yes an' some says no, but
if you want my honest opinion I'd say thet the Injuns ain't got nerve
enough to start trouble no more. Why, they're so all-fired meek an' lowly
thet----"

Zip! A bullet whizzed through the sultry air and whirled the stage
driver's slouch hat from his head. Zip! Zip! Zip! and the air was alive