"He was too rash—entirely too rash. Deadwood Dick is a daring whelp, and Vansevere's open offer of a reward for his apprehension only put the young tiger on his guard, and he will be more wary and watchful in the future."
This in a positive tone.
"Yes; he will be harder to trap than a fox who has lost a foot between jaws of steel. He will be revengeful, too!"
"Bah! I fear him not, old as I am. He is but a boy in years, you remember, and will be easily managed."
"I hope so; I don't want my brains blown out, at least."
The stage rumbled on; the Jehu cursed and lashed his horses; the canyon grew deeper, narrower and darker, the grade slightly descending.
The moon seemed resting on the summit of a peak, hundreds of feet above, and staring down in surprise at the noisy stage.
Alexander Filmore (the elder passenger) succeeded in steadying himself long enough to ignite the end of a cigar to the bowl of Jehu's grimy pipe; then he watched the trees that flitted by. Clarence, his son, had smoked incessantly since leaving Camp Crook, and now threw away his half-used cheroot, and listened to the sighing of the spectral pines.
"The girl—what about her?" he asked, after some moments had elapsed.
"She will be as much to the way as the boy will."