covered before the bronchos showed any signs of lessening their speed. After that, by degrees, they slowed to a more comfortable pace. Ruthven reached around and picked up the package. It was still at its top weight, so far as he could judge.
"I'd like to open this and take a look at the boots, Martin," said Ruthven.
"That wouldn't be accordin' to league rules, would it?" the cowboy answered. "The package is Barton's."
"I'm just curious, that's all. This package formed my main reason for coming to Dry Wash," and he briefly explained about the mysterious differences in weight which the parcel exhibited from time to time.
"Oh, shucks!" exclaimed Martin. "That sounds like fool talk. But you can see what's inside just as soon as we git to where we're goin'. Your uncle's plumb anxious about them boots, and he'll open the package the minute he gets his hands on it. It wouldn't be the proper caper for you and me to open it. You don't really think that package gits heavier and lighter all by itself, do you?"
"I don't know what to think. I've been guessing about the matter good and hard. I"
Right there he broke off his remarks suddenly. A man had jumped out from behind a clump of brush at the roadside, and the horses had halted so abruptly that the wagon almost ran over them. The man had a cap pulled down over his eyes, and his coat collar turned up about his ears, and he was leveling two large and businesslike revolvers. Between the bronchos' heads he had a clear and comprehensive view of the pair on the seat of the mountain wagon. One weapon was trained upon Martin, and the other upon Ruthven.
"What d'you know about that!" exclaimed the startled cowboy. "Neighbor, are you tryin' to stick us up? If you are you'll find poor pickin', so far as this hits me."
Another man, his face similarly covered, emerged from the brush and started toward the wagon.
"You got a package there for Tom Barton?" said the man with the guns. "If you have, toss it over. I need a pair of boots myself."
Just at that moment Ginger and Pete had some frenzied fancies, and undertook maneuvers both startling and unexpected. They jumped forward and sideways, and Ruthven's heels went into the air and he turned a back somersault into the rear of the wagon. What Martin was doing, at the same time, he was in no position to determine.
CHAPTER IX.
FOLLOWING UP SUSPICIONS.
ONE event followed another so rapidly that Ruthven could not keep track of them. He realized dimly that the horses were running away and that he was being bounced around in the back part of the wagon in imminent danger of going overboard. He had vague, uncertain glimpses of a bag of flour, a case of tomatoes, and a side of bacon dancing in the air; and then, after a few seconds of this demoralizing experience, something like an earthquake took hold of the mountain wagon and shook it as a terrier shakes a rat.
Following this, the storm gave way to a fearsome calm. Ruthven was dizzy and dazed. The first thing he comprehended was that he was no longer in swift and violent motion. He sat up, and, by degrees, took firmer hold of his unsteady faculties. Under him was the hard earth, and all around lay fragments of the mountain wagon. A wheel, beautifully smashed, was within easy reach of his hand. An axle stuck out of the ground a few yards off, with another wheel, fairly intact, on its upper end. The boards that had formed the
