"Yes, and an honest man, too," William answered.
"I believe you; thank you. You know stages are robbed out this way?"
"I do."
"Did you ever see it done?"
"No; nor have I any desire to be around on such an occasion," he replied, laughing.
"I reckon you hadn't better, either," said the Governor earnestly. "It wouldn't make so much difference if they would do the work a trifle genteelly, in a gentlemanly way; but the fact is, we have low fellows along our Texas stage-lines. They have no regard for a man's family. Why," he continued, warmly, "they'll just pop out from behind the trees, or up through some clumps of bushes, ram a double barreled shot-gun, loaded to the muzzle with slugs and things, into the coach from both sides at once, and just blaze away—all that are not killed outright are scared to death. There's nothing fair about it!"
William expressed his curiosity to know if the drivers were ever killed.
"Drivers? Never, sir, never. Why, those ruffians are too smart for that. Let it be known that they have begun killing drivers, and there isn't a stage company in Texas that could send a coach past the first timber. They couldn't afford to kill stage-drivers, for the moment they began it, that would be the end of staging."
My son expressed his thanks at learning so much of the business principles of these land pirates, and the old gentleman continued:
"You see, it takes a peculiar kind of a driver for a Texas coach. You want one, first, that can drink right smart of whiskey, for the water isn't good along some of these branches. You want one that can swear a hoss's head square off, too. He's got to be a coward, or he would help put this robbing down; and yet, he has got to be rather brave to drive right along up to a spot where he knows he is to see his passengers butchered! and that," continued the Governor, earnestly, "is just what I want to talk to you about, as I feel sure that I can trust you."