“Yes—yes. Go back, Varley, dear,” she panted, “I will come with you.”
“No—no,” he said, hurriedly. “Stay here; you are safe here.”
He patted her on the back encouragingly and ran back to the coach, and, of course, she followed him, although at a little distance.
The fight was nearly over when Varley reached the coach, and his reappearance put the finishing touch to it. Two of the Dog’s Ear men lay stretched upon the ground; the Three Star men, breathless and perspiring, were gathered round them; the passengers were huddled together in a heap and trying to realize that this was the end of the nineteenth century; Johnson and the guard were coolly soothing and rubbing down the horses as if this little affair were quite in the ordinary way of business.
Varley ordered the two Dog’s Ear men to be taken and put inside the coach, made a roll-call of his own men, found that two were wounded, and ordered them also into the coach, then he turned to examine the passengers, to discover which was Esmeralda’s husband. As he did so he found Esmeralda at his side.
“Which is your husband?” he asked in an undertone.
She laid her hand upon his arm and turned her head aside.
“He is not here, Varley,” she said in a low voice.
He looked at her with momentary surprise; but even yet there was no time to ask questions.
“Get up into your seats, gentlemen,” he said. “The little play is over.”