'ELEANOR WEBBER' (Con't) She Wanted A Husband. He Wanted Gold! ---------------------------------------------------------------------- The fresh team broke into a gallop, red dust flying about the huge wooden wheels. Eleanor caught at her bonnet and choked with surprise. Certainly it wasn't at all like the train ride. Soon the stagecoach was rolling down the curving road to the Bear River. A thick screen of pines and cedars shielded the mountains from view. Inside, the passengers were enjoying the merriment of Ryan who, after getting comfortable by a window, had broken into a repertoire of Irish songs. His lovely tenor voice delighted all. Eleanor, with thoughts of wedded bliss bracing her mind, consented to join in also. Her voice was true and sweet. Beyond the Bear River, the pace slowed for the long climb up the manzanita-covered slopes. The horses snorted and bobbed their heads. The singing inside continued despite the heat and dust, and Ryan passed his bottle to the other men. The stage had reached the lower acres of Sheet's Ranch, only five miles from the Grass Valley station, when four masked men stepped into the road. Seeing the road blocked, the driver quickly hauled back on the reins and slammed the brake with his foot. The team skidded and reared, tossing several of the passengers onto the floor. "By golly, if it isn't a holdup," Ryan bellowed in his rich tenor. Eleanor tried to look outside the coach, but the dust and the other passengers blocked her view. But she did hear the highwaymen yell for all the passengers to climb out. "What does this mean?" she asked. "Never you worry, little lady," Ryan said, taking her arm. "Soon as they get what they want we'll be on our way again." Outside the coach, Eleanor immediately saw the four double-barreled shotguns aimed at the driver. Scott was silent, keenly aware of what could happen if the wrong moves were made. "Everyone out," the bandit leader shouted," and unhitch the team." "What do you want?" the driver asked, although it was all too certain what they wanted. "The strong box with the gold," came the answer. "But it's on the other stage," Scott replied, attempting to thwart the robbery. "You know better than that," the leader shouted. "Everyone out. It's right here. You know there aren't two coaches running on Sunday." Eleanor's legs were cramped anyway, and she shook her shoulders, trying to regain her natural good posture. Despite the threatening situation she did not feel frightened. Instead, she was very curious about these men whose faces were covered by masks. The leader pointed to two of his men. They leveled their shotguns, knowing what to do next. "Over there," one shouted, using his gun to point out a clearing some thirty yards down the road. "Get over there and sit down, cross-legged, in a row." Eleanor, however, was allowed to remain standing, so as not to dirty her skirts. Meanwhile, the leader and one of his men had quickly uncovered the iron strongbox, attacking it with a miner's pick. They broke the outer lock, but were stopped from stripping it of its contents by a second padlock. "Going to take more than this pick," one masked man said to the leader. "Then get the blasting powder." A third man produced a canister of powder and some fuse. Suddenly Eleanor realized what was happening and nervously spoke up. "Gentlemen," she said. It is evident that you are going to use powder to blow open the safe. My trunk, which is on the deck of the stage, will in all probability be blown to pieces. It contains all that I own in this world. And while its destruction will not benefit you in the least, it will be an irreplaceable loss to me. Please, I beg you, take it down first." The masked bandit leader gallantly reassured her. "Certainly, Miss, with the greatest pleasure." Setting the canister down, he climbed up onto the deck of the stagecoach and carefully slid the trunk down over the boot to his waiting companion. The other masked man carefully carried it to safety. As the leader hefted the trunk, the wind tugged at his mask and Eleanor momentarily had a glimpse of the man's face. She smiled thinly, saying Thank you." Two men resumed tamping powder around the lock. After there was a sufficient amount inserted, they attached a long fuse and lit it cautiously. Rejoining the rest of the gang and the passengers seated on the ground, they waited quietly, flinching in anticipation of the explosion. There was no blast, however. After a full minute, the impatient leader walked up to the strongbox to see what had gone wrong. He glanced inside the coach and then jerked around, taking off at a dead run. The warning hiss of the burning fuse was swallowed up by a brilliant flash of fire and a great roar, which echoed off the immovable Sierras. To Be Continued . . . Quickly the bandits moved in... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Copied by Nancee(McMurtrey)Seifert September 28, 2005 iggy29@rnetinc.net 'A Closed Mouth Gathers No Foot.'