At half past ten the coach dashed up to the “Half-way House,” with a flash of lights and a burst of cheery voices. Jeff, coming upon the porch, was met by Mr. Mayfield, accompanying a lady and two gentlemen,—evidently the guests alluded to by his daughter. Accustomed as Jeff had become to Mr. Mayfield's patronizing superiority, it seemed unbearable now, and the easy indifference of the guests to his own presence touched him with a new bitterness. Here were HER friends, who were to take his place. It was a relief to grasp Yuba Bill's large hand and stand with him alone beside the bar.
“I'm ready to go with you to-night, Bill,” said Jeff, after a pause.
Bill put down his glass—a sign of absorbing interest.
“And these yar strangers I fetched?”
“Aunty will take care of them. I've fixed everything.”
Bill laid both his powerful hands on Jeff's shoulders, backed him against the wall, and surveyed him with great gravity.
“Briggs's son clar through! A little off color, but the grit all thar! Bully for you, Jeff.” He wrung Jeff's hand between his own.
“Bill!” said Jeff hesitatingly.
“Jeff!”
“You wouldn't mind my getting up on the box NOW, before all the folks get round?”