"Oh, not so long, Señor," said the man. "In six you will be well at Santa Isabel."
"We do not go so far to-night, I think," said Mr. Page. "However, that will depend on circumstances."
Mrs. Page was ready. "Shall we start at once, Ralph?" she inquired. "Or shall we wait and see the others off first?"
"We ought to go ahead of them," said the husband; "otherwise we shall have the dust of the road in our eyes all the way. Those stage horses make clouds of dust."
"Well, then, we had better go ahead. Let us wait, though, till the stage arrives. I want to feel that they are coming just behind us," she said.
"Here it is now!" shouted Walter.
"My patience!" exclaimed Aunt Mary. "What a ramshackle affair it is—nothing but a dilapidated covered wagon."
The driver, a thin-faced, dark-skinned young man with a strong nasal accent, showed a set of brilliant teeth as he rejoined pleasantly:
"Mebbe it looks ramshackle, miss; but you'll find it all right as a carrier. There's lots of folks come up and down oncet or twicet a week just for the pleasure of ridin' in this here stage."