The tenderfoot looked at Bill with deep and reverent awe, but he
said nothing. The stage bumped over the uneven road, lurching
drunkenly around curves. A masked man waited silently behind the
boulders at the south end of the gap. He appeared nervous, turning
often to glance back into the chapparal from which he had emerged a
few moments before. "I wonder where in hell Gregorio is," he
muttered, half aloud, "he told me last night that he would be here
before me."
The stage drew nearer. Bill Gatlin reined his team to a walk at
the first deep chuck-hole at the entrance to the gap. The horses
moved slowly, picking their way and sometimes stumbling in the deep
dust-filled cavities that made this short stretch of scarce fifty
yards the most notorious piece of road within a hundred mi
