“I really believe you're afraid of something, Mr. Boyle,” she said, without looking up. “What is it? You haven't got that Indian scare too?”
Boyle had no false shame. “I think I have,” he returned, with equal frankness. “You see, I don't understand Indians as well as you—and Foster.”
“Well, you take my word and Foster's that there is not the least danger from them. About here they are merely grown-up children, cruel and destructive as most children are; but they know their masters by this time, and the old days of promiscuous scalping are over. The only other childish propensity they keep is thieving. Even then they only steal what they actually want,—horses, guns, and powder. A coach can go where an ammunition or an emigrant wagon can't. So your trunk of samples is quite safe with Foster.”
Boyle did not think it necessary to protest. Perhaps he was thinking of something else.
“I've a mind,” she went on slyly, “to tell you something more. Confidence for confidence: as you've told me YOUR trade secrets, I'll tell you one of OURS. Before we left Pine Barrens, my father ordered a small escort of cavalrymen to be in readiness to join that coach if the scouts, who were watching, thought it necessary. So, you see, I'm something of a fraud as regards my reputation for courage.”
“That doesn't follow,” said Boyle admiringly, “for your father must have thought there was some danger, or he wouldn't have taken that precaution.”
“Oh, it wasn't for me,” said the young girl quickly.
“Not for you?” repeated Boyle.
Miss Cantire stopped short, with a pretty flush of color and an adorable laugh. “There! I've done it, so I might as well tell the whole story. But I can trust you, Mr. Boyle.” (She faced him with clear, penetrating eyes.) “Well,” she laughed again, “you might have noticed that we had a quantity of baggage of passengers who didn't go? Well, those passengers never intended to go, and hadn't any baggage! Do you understand? Those innocent-looking heavy trunks contained carbines and cartridges from our post for Fort Taylor”—she made him a mischievous curtsy—“under MY charge! And,” she added, enjoying his astonishment, “as you saw, I brought them through safe to the station, and had them transferred to this coach with less fuss and trouble than a commissary transport and escort would have made.”
“And they were in THIS coach?” repeated Boyle abstractedly.