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Then, too, Mary thought of Hoover; what would the big, honest fellow think, to find himself deserted in this emergency without a word of warning? Altogether it was very dreadful. But Mary Lackington was a daughter who did her father’s bidding trustingly.

Three-fingered Hoover went with Jim Woppit that day. There were thirteen in the posse–fatal number–mounted on sturdy bronchos and armed to the teeth. They knew their business and they went gayly on their way. Around the mountain and over the Tin Cup path they galloped, a good seven miles, I ‘ll dare swear; and now at last they met up with the main road, and at Jim Woppit’s command they drew in under the trees to await the approach of the party in the stage.

Meanwhile in camp the comedy was drawing to a close. Bill Merridew drove stage that day; he was Steve Barclay’s pardner–pretty near the only man in camp that stood out for Steve when he was suspicioned of being in some sort of cahoots with the robbers. Steve Barclay’s arm was still useless and Bill was reckoned the next best horseman in the world.

The stage drew up in front of the Mears House. Perhaps half a dozen passengers were in waiting and the usual bevy of idlers was there to watch the departure. Great was the astonishment when Sir Charles and Mary Lackington appeared and stepped into the coach. Everybody knew Sir Charles and his daughter, and, as I have told you, it had been given out that they were not to leave the camp until the morrow. Forthwith there passed around mysterious whisperings as to the cause of Sir Charles’ sudden departure.

It must have been a whim on Barber Sam’s part. At any rate, he issued just then from Casey’s restaurant across the way, jaunty and chipper as ever. He saw Sir Charles in the stage and Bill Merridew on the box. He gave a low, significant whistle. Then he crossed the road.

“Bill,” says he, quietly, “It ‘s a summerish day, and not feelin’ just as pert as I oughter I reckon I ‘ll ride a right smart piece with you for my health!”

With these words Barber Sam climbed up and sat upon the box with Bill Merridew. A moment later the stage was on its course along the main road.

“Look a’ here, Bill Merridew,” says Barber Sam, fiercely, “there ‘s a lord inside and you outside, to-day–a mighty suspicious coincidence! No, you need n’t let on you don’t tumble to my meenin’! I ‘ve had my eye on Steve Barclay an’ you, and I ‘m ready for a showdown. I ‘m travelin’ for my health to-day, and so are you, Bill Merridew! I ‘m fixed from the ground up an’ you know there ain’t a man in the Red Hoss Mountain country that is handier with a gun than me. Now I mean bizness; if there is any onpleasantness to-day and if you try to come any funny bizness, why, d—- me, Bill Merridew, if I don’t blow your head off!”

Pleasant words these for Bill to listen to. But Bill knew Barber Sam and he had presence of mind enough to couch his expostulatory reply in the most obsequious terms. He protested against Barber Sam’s harsh imputations.

“I ‘ve had my say,” was Barber Sam’s answer. “I ain’t goin’ to rub it in. You understand that I mean bizness this trip; so don’t forget it. Now let’s talk about the weather.”

Mary Lackington had hoped that, as they passed The Bower, she would catch a glimpse of Miss Woppit–perhaps have sufficient opportunity to call out a hasty farewell to her. But Miss Woppit was nowhere to be seen. The little door of the cabin was open, so presumably the mistress was not far away. Mary was disappointed, vexed; she threw herself back and resigned herself to indignant reflections.