Wagon, horses and men reeled on the brink an agonizing instant; the white-faced driver dropped the lines and sprang to the secure ground; the riders strained with the energy of deadly fear to tear themselves loose from their steeds, but in vain.
Then the frantic mess crashed down the jagged rocks, tearing up the stunted cedars as if they were weeds, and fell with a sounding splash on the limestone bed of the shallow creek.
Fortner, Glen and Edwards came down as quickly as possible, the latter spraining his ankle badly by making a venturesome leap to reach the road first.

They found a man that Fortner had shot at stone dead, with a bullet through his temple.

The other two had been struck in the body.
Their horses stood near, looking wonderingly at their prostrate masters.
Bolton was rubbing his bruises and abrasions, and vituperating everything, from the conduct of the war to the steepness of Kentucky mountains.

Aunt Debby had partially recovered from the stunning of her fall, and limped slowly up, with her long riding-skirt raised by one hand.

Her lips were compressed, an her great gray eyes blazed with excitement.
They all went to the side of the road, and looked down at the crushed and bleeding mass in the creek.
"My God! that's awful," said Henry, with a rising sickness about his heart, as the excitement began subsiding.
"Plenty good enuf fur scoundrels who rob poor men of all they hev," said Fortner fiercely, as he re-loaded his rifle.