RUNAWAY STAGECOACH

Duane's big, black horse pulled ahead steadily, as the stagecoach wheels spun furiously a few feet away. The stagecoach driver lay dead in the boot, shot through the chest while the shotgun guard was gone, and baggage bounced in the cage atop the coach. “Come on, boy,” Duane whispered into Midnight's ear. “We've got to catch the nigh leader.”

Thunderous hoofbeats filled the air, as Midnight rampaged alongside the panicked horses. His withers nearly touched their flanks as the horses drew the speeding stagecoach over the rocky trail. Duane knew he should've stayed in bed that morning, as he raised his leg over the saddle, and poised himself to leap onto the nigh leader.

He might die in the moments to come, but deep reflection had never stopped the Pecos Kid before. A Mexican señorita was trapped in the coach, so he took a deep breath and launched himself desperately into the deadly tangled vortex of harnesses, reins, and traces.