Trouble struck with the powerful boom from a large caliber rifle, the sound quickly evaporating like a rare morning mist in the hot desert air. The Whip felt the passing of the heavy slug as it blasted a hole in his hat and then tore off some wood molding on the back of the stagecoach before kicking up dust in the road. Whoever was shooting had just barely missed him, and the Whip knew he was in serious trouble. He leaned over, creating a smaller profile, and began yelling and snapping the reins on the rumps of his four-horse team in a desperate attempt to increase their pace.