“How far is that from here—I mean Squaw Valley?”
“Nigh onto thirty mile, I reckon.”
“That, I think, will be about as much of a trip as my companions can stand, so we will say Squaw Valley, or the next available point. I leave the selection of the camping place to your judgment. What time do you think we shall reach the Valley?”
“’Bout ten o’clock. Have to go slow when we get into the hills, an’ we bump ’em right smart after leavin’ Globe. Sharp turns and narrow trail in spots, but it ain’t much like the days when I driv a coach an’ four in the hills an’ carried the mail an’ kep’ a weather eye out for bandits. Since then them buzz wagons has took all the starch out of livin’. Ever drive one?”
“I drove an ambulance at the front for nearly a year of the war,” answered Grace quietly.
“You don’t say?” Ike regarded the slender figure of the young Overton girl, his gaze finally coming to rest on her well-tanned face. “Come to look you over, you’ve got a mighty steady eye an’ a good jaw. I’ve seen thet kind before an’ sometimes behind a gun. Thet kind is fine till you get them riled, then look out for the lightnin’. Where you goin’ to ride?”
“Outside with you until we reach Squaw Valley, if I may,” answered Grace smilingly.
“Glad to have you. All aboard thet’s goin’!”
“Please get in with the girls, Hippy. Later on you and I will change seats, if that will suit you,” said Grace.
The lieutenant stood aside until the four girls were safely stowed away in the stagecoach, Grace, in the meantime, having swung herself up to the front seat with the driver. The door slammed, Ike cracked his whip, and the coach started with a jolt that brought strong protest from the passengers down below.