“So you arrived all safe, Miss Borlan? How do you like the place?”
“Better than the inhabitants,” she answered, with a glance over the way. “Than those, I mean. Is it a hospital?”
“For the present I believe it is.”
“And will be for some time to come, if they all stay till they’re cured. But have you seen Jack?”
“Yes—last evening. He was very sorry that he could not wait for you, but it may be as well, however. He has gone down to San Francisco, and he will wait for you there. The stage leaves here in about two hours, and I advise you to take passage in it, if you are not too much fatigued.”
“I’m not tired a bit, Mr. Ruger. I will go back. Thank you for the trouble you have taken.”
“No trouble, Miss Borlan. Give my respects to Jack, and tell him I will be down in a week or two. Good-morning.”
While talking, Mr. Ruger had about evenly divided his glances between the very beautiful face of Fanny Borlan and the somewhat expressive countenances of the Ten Milers. Not that he found anything to admire in their damaged physiognomies, but he never wholly ignored the presence of any one.
“Good-morning, gentlemen,” he said, as he rode up in front of them.
“Not to you, Tom Ruger,” spoke a tall Ten Miler—the only one, by-the-way, who had come out of the previous day’s trial unscathed. “Not to you, Tom Ruger! Where’s Borlan?”