There was not much going on in the business part of Dugonne that the four young Easterners did not see. They came to the dinner table with ravenous appetites and a whole lot to chatter about.
Mrs. White’s business with the lawyers, and with the court, was finished for the time being. Just before two o’clock a great, staggering old coach, on four rattling wheels, drew up at the door of the hotel. At a former day, mail and passengers had been transported between Dugonne and various outlying mining camps in all directions in this vehicle.
“And the mud of twenty years ago is still clinging to the wheels,” said Dorothy. “Oh, Ned! it is a most disgraceful looking affair.”
“I couldn’t find anything better,” answered the young man.
“He is making a regular show of us,” said Tavia. “I suppose we ought to dress in short skirts, and buckskin blouses, Doro, and wear fringed leggins and sombreros. Be regular ‘cowgirls.’”
“Well, Tavia,” drawled Nat. “You have a cowboy on the string they tell me——”
“Nathaniel!” admonished Mrs. White. “What language!” and she bustled forward to see the outfit.
Four spirited mustangs drew the coach—and those mustangs looked as though they had never known currycomb and brush—which was probably the fact! Old John Dempsey was sitting beside the driver, who was a broad-hatted, smiling Mexican, with gleaming teeth, beadlike black eyes, and gold rings in his ears.
“It is an awful looking thing,” gasped Aunt Winnie, when she saw the old coach.
“It is a whole lot better than it looks, mother,” urged Ned.