“Our Flying Lieutenant, Hippy Wingate, is examining it now to see if it is really fit for use,” continued Grace with no abatement of her enthusiasm.
“A Deadwood stagecoach?” wondered Emma Dean.
“That is the kind of coach they used in the old stagecoach days of the early west,” Elfreda Briggs explained.
“Eh? The kind that the bandits used to hold up, and rob the passengers? That husband of mine used to read all about it when he was a youngster. He declares that had the war not come along when it did, he might have been a bandit himself,” asserted Nora Wingate. “What does he want to look over that old stagecoach for?” she demanded suspiciously.
“Hippy is thinking of taking a ride in it,” smiled Grace. “Listen to me, girls! I will tell you what Hippy and I have to suggest.”
“It is about time,” muttered Elfreda.
“The suggestion is,” resumed Grace, “that we girls take a trip in the Deadwood coach, say out as far as the Apache Lodge on the trail. There is no reason why we should not, at least, make a night drive, say up to about midnight, go into camp for a few hours’ sleep, and then drive back to Globe in the early morning. Should we like the coaching well enough we can go on and do the entire hundred and twenty miles of the Old Apache Trail in that way.”
“This is all very well, but what about the ponies that the lieutenant has hired for the ride over the trail?” questioned Anne.
“We can have the ponies led through to Phœnix and ride them back, camping along the way back for the rest of our vacation,” replied Grace. “Hippy will arrange that matter, and make a deal with the stagecoach owner after he has carefully looked the old wagon over to make certain that it will go through the trip without falling apart.”
“You think it will be a perfectly safe thing to do, do you, Grace?” questioned Elfreda Briggs.