Of the King’s Treasure
“What the Hell is this?” said I.
Creech met my eyes in bewilderment. “There’s no one left,” he says, in a low voice.
“Where did that come from?” said I. And just then by way of answer came another crack, and a bullet passed Creech’s nose.
“My God!” says he, and whisked about. There was the pause of an instant, and a third report sounded, and Creech staggered, and then began to run with a shambling, tottering gait away upon the London road. But I stood staring. And suddenly out of the coach a black figure jumped hastily, and running round to the front, cut loose the dead nag, and clambered upon the box.
“Hell!” said I, and forthwith made for the coach as fast as my shaking legs would let me. The man had gotten the reins in his hand when I reached it; and I had just time to fling myself at a strap on the rumble, when the team plunged and reared under the whip, and the wheels turning slowly, the coach rolled on sideways for a few paces, and then lumbering
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