“I'll tell you why,” said Mrs. Tucker, with a slight return of color. “It was the first land we ever bought, and Spencer always said it should be mine and he would build a new house on it.”
Captain Poindexter smiled and nodded at the picture. “Oh, he did say that, did he? Well, THAT'S evidence. But you see he never gave you the deed, and by sunrise to-morrow his creditors will attach it—unless—”
“Unless—” repeated Mrs. Tucker, with kindling eyes.
“Unless,” continued Captain Poindexter, “they happen to find YOU in possession.”
“I'll go,” said Mrs. Tucker.
“Of course you will,” returned Poindexter, pleasantly; “only, as it's a big contract to take, suppose we see how you can fill it. It's forty miles to Los Cuervos, and you can't trust yourself to steamboat or stage-coach. The steamboat left an hour ago.”
“If I had only known this then!” ejaculated Mrs. Tucker.
“I knew it, but you had company then,” said Poindexter, with ironical gallantry, “and I wouldn't disturb you.” Without saying how he knew it, he continued, “In the stage-coach you might be recognized. You must go in a private conveyance and alone; even I can not go with you, for I must go on before and meet you there. Can you drive forty miles?”
Mrs. Tucker lifted up her abstracted pretty lids. “I once drove fifty—at home,” she returned simply.
“Good! and I dare say you did it then for fun. Do it now for something real and personal, as we lawyers say. You will have relays and a plan of the road. It's rough weather for a pasear, but all the better for that. You'll have less company on the road.”