It was a singular sight when the party in the stage found themselves able to see the ears of the horses, and, soon after, the trees at the side of the road, and by and by could make them out for several paces in front of the team.
This was a vast relief, but the boys, instead of resuming their places at the rear of the coach, kept the second seat in front, while Durrell put himself beside the driver, where both had the best opportunity for discovering any peril the instant it presented itself.
“Do you think there will be any trouble?” asked the New Englander, after being silent a minute or two.
“I don’t know what to think,” was the discomforting reply.
“But we are getting pretty well through the plaguey place; it can’t be fur from t’other side.”
“That don’t make any difference; one spot in these woods is as bad as another.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t a pistol,” said Durrell.
“I aint, for I tell you it won’t do to try to use anything like that on them chaps.”
“If there were several it might be different, but the idea of two of us surrendering to one man—it galls me, Bill. I was going to get one of them boys to let me have a revolver, but I don’t want to do it as long as you feel this way.”
“I wouldn’t have it for the world; if I was sure there was but the one, I don’t know as I would object—that is, if you wanted to fight purty bad.”