FullReads

“Then she don’t know what her lover is yet?” asked the Expressman eagerly.

“No.”

“Are YOU certain it’s one of the gang?”

“Can’t say FOR SURE. It mout be a young chap from Yolo who bucked agin the tiger* at Sacramento, got regularly cleaned out and busted, and joined the gang for a flier. They say thar was a new hand in that job over at Keeley’s,–and a mighty game one, too; and ez there was some buckshot onloaded that trip, he might hev got his share, and that would tally with what the girl said about his arm. See! Ef that’s the man, I’ve heered he was the son of some big preacher in the States, and a college sharp to boot, who ran wild in ‘Frisco, and played himself for all he was worth. They’re the wust kind to kick when they once get a foot over the traces. For stiddy, comf’ble kempany,” added Bill reflectively, “give ME the son of a man that was HANGED!”

* Gambled at faro.

“But what are you going to do about this?”

“That depends upon the feller who comes to meet her.”

“But you ain’t going to try to take him? That would be playing it pretty low down on them both.”

“Keep your hair on, Jimmy! The Judge and me are only going to rastle with the sperrit of that gay young galoot, when he drops down for his girl–and exhort him pow’ful! Ef he allows he’s convicted of sin and will find the Lord, we’ll marry him and the gal offhand at the next station, and the Judge will officiate himself for nothin’. We’re goin’ to have this yer elopement done on the square–and our waybill clean–you bet!”

“But you don’t suppose he’ll trust himself in your hands?”

“Polly will signal to him that it’s all square.”

“Ah!” said the Expressman. Nevertheless in those few moments the men seemed to have exchanged dispositions. The Expressman looked doubtfully, critically, and even cynically before him. Bill’s face had relaxed, and something like a bland smile beamed across it, as he drove confidently and unhesitatingly forward.

Day, meantime, although full blown and radiant on the mountain summits around us, was yet nebulous and uncertain in the valleys into which we were plunging. Lights still glimmered in the cabins and few ranch buildings which began to indicate the thicker settlements. And the shadows were heaviest in a little copse, where a note from Judge Thompson in the coach was handed up to Yuba Bill, who at once slowly began to draw up his horses. The coach stopped finally near the junction of a small crossroad. At the same moment Miss Mullins slipped down from the vehicle, and, with a parting wave of her hand to the Judge, who had assisted her from the steps, tripped down the crossroad, and disappeared in its semi-obscurity. To our surprise the stage waited, Bill holding the reins listlessly in his hands. Five minutes passed–an eternity of expectation, and, as there was that in Yuba Bill’s face which forbade idle questioning, an aching void of silence also! This was at last broken by a strange voice from the road:–

“Go on we’ll follow.”

The coach started forward. Presently we heard the sound of other wheels behind us. We all craned our necks backward to get a view of the unknown, but by the growing light we could only see that we were followed at a distance by a buggy with two figures in it. Evidently Polly Mullins and her lover! We hoped that they would pass us. But the vehicle, although drawn by a fast horse, preserved its distance always, and it was plain that its driver had no desire to satisfy our curiosity. The Expressman had recourse to Bill.

“Is it the man you thought of?” he asked eagerly.

“I reckon,” said Bill briefly.

“But,” continued the Expressman, returning to his former skepticism, “what’s to keep them both from levanting together now?”

Bill jerked his hand towards the boot with a grim smile.