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“You ain’t puttin’ any price on that opinion, air ye?” inquired Bill politely.

“No.”

“‘Cos thar’s a comic paper in ‘Frisco pays for them things, and I’ve seen worse things in it.”

“Come off, Bill,” retorted the passenger, slightly nettled by the tittering of his companions. “Then what did you put out the lights for?”

“Well,” returned Bill grimly, “it mout have been because I didn’t keer to hev you chaps blazin’ away at the first bush you THOUGHT you saw move in your skeer, and bringin’ down their fire on us.”

The explanation, though unsatisfactory, was by no means an improbable one, and we thought it better to accept it with a laugh. Bill, however, resumed his abstracted manner.

“Who got in at the Summit?” he at last asked abruptly of the Expressman.

“Derrick and Simpson of Cold Spring, and one of the ‘Excelsior’ boys,” responded the Expressman.

“And that Pike County girl from Dow’s Flat, with her bundles. Don’t forget her,” added the outside passenger ironically.

“Does anybody here know her?” continued Bill, ignoring the irony.

“You’d better ask Judge Thompson; he was mighty attentive to her; gettin’ her a seat by the off window, and lookin’ after her bundles and things.”

“Gettin’ her a seat by the WINDOW?” repeated Bill.

“Yes, she wanted to see everything, and wasn’t afraid of the shooting.”

“Yes,” broke in a third passenger, “and he was so d—-d civil that when she dropped her ring in the straw, he struck a match agin all your rules, you know, and held it for her to find it. And it was just as we were crossin’ through the brush, too. I saw the hull thing through the window, for I was hanging over the wheels with my gun ready for action. And it wasn’t no fault of Judge Thompson’s if his d—-d foolishness hadn’t shown us up, and got us a shot from the gang.”

Bill gave a short grunt, but drove steadily on without further comment or even turning his eyes to the speaker.

We were now not more than a mile from the station at the crossroads where we were to change horses. The lights already glimmered in the distance, and there was a faint suggestion of the coming dawn on the summits of the ridge to the west. We had plunged into a belt of timber, when suddenly a horseman emerged at a sharp canter from a trail that seemed to be parallel with our own. We were all slightly startled; Yuba Bill alone preserving his moody calm.

“Hullo!” he said.

The stranger wheeled to our side as Bill slackened his speed. He seemed to be a “packer” or freight muleteer.

“Ye didn’t get ‘held up’ on the Divide?” continued Bill cheerfully.

“No,” returned the packer, with a laugh; “I don’t carry treasure. But I see you’re all right, too. I saw you crossin’ over Galloper’s.”

“SAW us?” said Bill sharply. “We had our lights out.”

“Yes, but there was suthin’ white–a handkerchief or woman’s veil, I reckon–hangin’ from the window. It was only a movin’ spot agin the hillside, but ez I was lookin’ out for ye I knew it was you by that. Good-night!”

He cantered away. We tried to look at each other’s faces, and at Bill’s expression in the darkness, but he neither spoke nor stirred until he threw down the reins when we stopped before the station. The passengers quickly descended from the roof; the Expressman was about to follow, but Bill plucked his sleeve.

“I’m goin’ to take a look over this yer stage and these yer passengers with ye, afore we start.”

“Why, what’s up?”

“Well,” said Bill, slowly disengaging himself from one of his enormous gloves, “when we waltzed down into the brush up there I saw a man, ez plain ez I see you, rise up from it. I thought our time had come and the band was goin’ to play, when he sorter drew back, made a sign, and we just scooted past him.”

“Well?”

“Well,” said Bill, “it means that this yer coach was PASSED THROUGH FREE to-night.”