“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.”
“You don't object to THAT—surely? I think we were deucedly lucky.”
Bill slowly drew off his other glove. “I've been riskin' my everlastin' life on this d——d line three times a week,” he said with mock humility, “and I'm allus thankful for small mercies. BUT,” he added grimly, “when it comes down to being passed free by some pal of a hoss thief, and thet called a speshal Providence, I AIN'T IN IT! No, sir, I ain't in it!”
II.