“I can’t; that is, without help.  They’re awfully tight, don’t you know.”

“Which boot is your money in?” asked the road agent, impatiently.

“The right boot.”

“Hold it up, then, and I’ll help you.”

The road agent stooped over, not suspecting any danger, and in doing so laid down his revolver.

In a flash Mortimer Sprague electrified not only his assailants, but all the stage passengers, by producing a couple of revolvers, which he pointed at the two road agents, and in a stern voice, wholly unlike the affected tones in which he had hitherto spoken, said:  “Get out of here, you ruffians, or I’ll fire!”

The startled road agent tried to pick up his revolver, but Sprague instantly put his foot on it, and repeated the command.

The other road agent, who was occupied with the minister, turned to assist his comrade, when he, too, received a check from an unexpected source.

The minister, who was an old man, had a stout staff, which he used to guide him in his steps.  He raised it and brought it down with emphasis on the arm which held the revolver, exclaiming.  “The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!  I smite thee, thou bold, bad man, not in anger, but as an instrument of retribution.”

“Well done, reverend doctor!” exclaimed Mortimer Sprague.  “Between us we will lay the rascals out!”

Luke, who was close at hand, secured the fallen revolver be fore the road agent’s arm had got over tingling with the paralyzing blow dealt by the minister, who, in spite of his advanced age, possessed a muscular arm.

“Now git, you two!” exclaimed Mortimer Sprague.  “Git, if you want to escape with whole bones!”

Never, perhaps, did two road agents look more foolish than these who had suffered such a sudden and humiliating discomfiture from those among the passengers whom they had feared least.

The young dude and the old missionary had done battle for the entire stage-load of passengers, and vanquished the masked robbers, before whom the rest trembled.

“Stop!” said Colonel Braddon, with a sudden thought.  “One of the rascals has got my pocketbook!”

“Which one?” asked Mortimer.

The colonel pointed him out.

Instantly the dude fired, and a bullet whistled within a few inches of the road agent’s head.

“Drop that pocketbook!” he exclaimed, “or I’ll send another messenger for it; that was only a warning!”

With an execration the thoroughly terrified robber threw down the pocketbook, and the relieved owner hastened forward to pick it up.

“I thought I’d fetch him, don’t you know,” said the dude, relapsing into his soft drawl.

By this time both the road agents were at a safe distance, and the rescued passengers breathed more freely.

“Really, Mr. Sprague,” said Colonel Braddon, pompously, “you are entitled to a great deal of credit for your gallant behavior; you did what I proposed to do.  Of course, I had to submit to losing my pocketbook, but I was just preparing to draw my revolver when you got the start of me.”