Harrison's face was very red, and he looked and acted ugly; but this man evidently meant business, and there was no way out of it but to pay the money, which he did with a very bad grace, taking a receipt made out to Wendell Harrison, alias "Fighting Harrison of Arizona."
"An exciting incident," said Nell, as the party rode away.
"Yes," said Harrison, "but one that might just as well have been left out of the programme."
The stage moved on, but Harrison seemed uneasy; every few minutes he mopped his face with his handkerchief and pressed his hand to his head as if in pain. Visions of the little reception committee some few miles ahead were constantly in his mind. What would he say and do when the stage was stopped, and he received his cue to spring out and fire off his six-shooter, especially as he had only fifteen dollars left in his pocket. What would these pseudo-gentlemen of the road do to him, if, after his little exhibit of bravery, he failed to wind up the melodrama by settling with the actors? He didn't care to find out, and his mind was bent now in deciding the best way to get back to Flagstaff. He continued
mopping his face, and once or twice he groaned.
"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Stiversant; "are you ill?"
"I fear so," answered Harrison faintly. "I have a dull pain in my head and I feel faint."
"Oh, let us go back," said Nell, "it is only five miles, and we can start again to-morrow just as well."
"Perhaps it would be as well," said Harrison weakly; "I fear I am going to be ill."