“No, but Mr. Fairweather’s feelings are considerably ruffled,” replied Miss Briggs.
Ike, after having been dragged to the very edge of the trail by the coach, had picked himself up and was brushing the dirt from his clothes, for he had been dragged right across the trail, but let go just in time to save himself.
“Why, Mr. Fairweather, what in the world has happened?” begged Grace solicitously.
“Don’t ask me, woman, or I’ll say somethin’. I’m mad clean through.”
“I do not blame you,” answered Grace sympathetically. “How did it occur?”
“The blamed thing got away from me while I was backin’ it around by hand, thet’s all. Ought to have known better’n to tackle it alone.”
“How long will it take to get the coach back on the trail so that we may go on?” questioned Emma Dean innocently.
“Get it on the trail?” Ike Fairweather groaned hopelessly. “We’ll never get it up, Miss. She shore is a basket of kindlin’ wood now, an’ I don’t know what we’re goin’ to do.”
“We can walk,” answered Grace confidently. “How far are we from Globe?”
“Nigh onto thirty mile, I reckon.”