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III.

“Say, Jimmie, I must tell yer something, but let me larf first. Say, I nearly fell down in a fit. I am going to tell yer all about it, but don’t call me a liar, or I’ll kill yer. What do yer think? Oh, Lord, how my stomach aches!–what do yer think? Wait a minute–I’ll tell yer in a minute, let me larf it out now, or I shall drop down right here!

“Say, I sat in that booth over there having a quiet drink, and what do yer think? A dude in the next booth commenced putting up a job with four ducks; one of them is Mexican John and the other is Brady, our assistant bar-keeper here. As far as I can make it out Brady got the three other ducks. Say, wait a minute! I don’t believe I ever will stop larfin’. What do yer think? this dude is going up to the Canyon on my next trip, and is going to have these four fellers stop the stage to put up a bluff on his girl to show what a fighter he is, and he is to give um twenty dollars each. He is going to jump out and pull his gun and clean out the crowd, and then go back and bask in the sunshine and admiration of the young girls. Oh, Lord! The skunk don’t care how much he scares the girls and the old man who are goin’ along, but all he wants is to pose as a fighter from away back. But say, Jimmie, what do yer think? I have been thinkin’ this thing over, and I don’t believe his little picnic will transpire. He calculates to blow in eighty dollars to make a monkey of himself, and I am thinkin’ that we can use that eighty dollars in our business and teach the fellow a good lesson all ter wonce. What breaks me up more than anythin’ is that he told Brady to hunt me up and tell me on the quiet that there was a reformed desperado going with me who used to be known by the name of ‘Fightin’ Harrison.’ Worked me into the job too, see? What do yer think?”

IV.

The stage was slowly toiling up a dusty hill some five miles from Flagstaff. The road was rough and the day was warm. The stage-driver let the horses take things easy, and from time to time shook with suppressed emotion. “I hope I may die,” said he to himself, “if this ain’t the damndest.”

In the back seats the two young girls, the old man, and the would-be hero were enjoying the scenery and the novelty of the trip in spite of the dust. Suddenly three men sprang into the road, and a loud voice commanded the stage to “hold up.”

“What is the matter?” asked Nellie excitedly.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Wendell, pressing her hand, “remember I am with you.”

A rough-looking man appeared at the side of the stage.

“Is your name Harrison?” he said, addressing Wendell.

“It is,” answered Harrison boldly; “what do you want?”

“I have a bill here for eighty dollars against you, which will have to be paid or you will have to get out and go back to town with me.”

“What do you mean?” gasped Harrison.

“Just what I say, young man; your name is Wendell Harrison, isn’t it? You used to be known here by the name of ‘Fighting Harrison,’ didn’t you?”

“Certainly not, you have the wrong party,” answered Harrison indignantly.

“Well, I don’t know about that; didn’t somebody tell you that this fellow was ‘Fighting Harrison,’ Bill?”

“They certainly did,” answered the stage-driver.

“It is all a mistake,” said Harrison.

“Mistake or not, you will have to pay or go back to town with us; that is all there is to it. I believe you are the Harrison I want.”

“Oh, Mr. Harrison,” said Nell, “do pay this man and let us go on; you can easily recover the money when you go back to town.”