A moment’s silence followed. Jack saw the horseman’s eyes wander to the stage.
“Empty, Jack?”
“Yes; thunderin’ poor trip; this road’s got unpopular o’ late. Do THEY know you’re back?”
“Guess not.”
“May I tell ’em?”
“If I let you go—yes.”
Jack, startled by these ominous words, felt a cold thrill shoot through his veins.
“Jack—old Jack it used to be, while we sifted an’ panned on Feather River—why ar’ you drivin’ stage when thar’s a gold-mine at yer feet?”
“A gold-mine!” echoed the driver, dazedly.
“Sartainly, an’ one that beats the Emma King all holler.”