“And only think!” cried Nat, “the man that owns it says that that stage was held up by ‘Billy, the Kid,’ a famous road agent in these parts, who got the registered mail-sack after shooting the driver, and all the passengers’ money and jewelry.”
“How deliciously horrid!” said Tavia. “Do you suppose Mr. Billy, the Kid will hold us up?”
“Not unless his ghost comes back to do it,” chuckled Ned. “They hanged Billy, the Kid, years ago, so the man told me.”
“It would be just too romantic for anything to meet a real highwayman,” said Tavia.
“Why, this town has mounted police that patrol the suburbs—I saw a couple,” laughed Ned. “Romance is dead, Miss Tavia, in these parts.”
“You wouldn’t say so if you’d seen our cowboy—would he, Doro?”
“A cowpuncher!” sniffed Nat. “Like that ‘baby’ old Mrs. Petterby is going to visit.”
“I wonder where the old lady is?” said Dorothy. “She arrived at Dugonne ahead of us, of course.”
“Sure,” said her cousin Ned. “She stayed on the train when we left it at Sessions. But she was just as worried about you girls as any of us when she learned you had been left behind.”
“We shall look her up later,” pronounced Dorothy. “And I’m awfully anxious to see her son.”