She wished he hadn't said that, but, nevertheless, she returned a little archly: “But you haven't any business with the stage company nor with ME, although I admit I intend to get my Dunstable hereafter from your firm at the wholesale prices.”
Before he could reply, the detonation of two gunshots, softened by distance, floated down from the ridge above them. “There!” said Miss Cantire eagerly. “Do you hear that?”
His face was turned towards the distant ridge, but really that she might not question his eyes. She continued with animation: “That's from the coach—to guide us—don't you see?”
“Yes,” he returned, with a quick laugh, “and it says hurry up—mighty quick—we're tired waiting—so we'd better push on.”
“Why don't you answer back with your revolver?” she asked.
“Haven't got one,” he said.
“Haven't got one?” she repeated in genuine surprise. “I thought you gentlemen who are traveling always carried one. Perhaps it's inconsistent with your gospel of good-humor.”
“That's just it, Miss Cantire,” he said with a laugh. “You've hit it.”
“Why,” she said hesitatingly, “even I have a derringer—a very little one, you know, which I carry in my reticule. Captain Richards gave it to me.” She opened her reticule and showed a pretty ivory-handled pistol. The look of joyful surprise which came into his face changed quickly as she cocked it and lifted it into the air. He seized her arm quickly.
“No, please don't, you might want it—I mean the report won't carry far enough. It's a very useful little thing, for all that, but it's only effective at close quarters.” He kept the pistol in his hand as they walked on. But Miss Cantire noticed this, also his evident satisfaction when she had at first produced it, and his concern when she was about to discharge it uselessly. She was a clever girl, and a frank one to those she was inclined to trust. And she began to trust this stranger. A smile stole along her oval cheek.