She took my confession better than I hoped she would, laughing with me, and then said, “Well, that was courageous, after all.”
“Yes,” I confessed, “I was frightened into bravery.”
“Perhaps if they had known the danger as well as you, they would have been less courageous,” she continued; and I could have blessed her for the speech.
While we were still eating, the mail clerk came to my car and reported that the most careful search had failed to discover the three registered letters, and they had evidently been taken. This made me feel sober, slight as the probable loss was. He told me that his list showed they were all addressed to Ash Forks, Arizona, making it improbable that their contents could be of any real value. If possible, I was more puzzled than ever.
At six-ten the runner whistled to show he had steam up. I told one of the brakemen to stay behind, and then went into 218. Mr. Cullen was still dressing, but I expressed my regrets through the door that I could not go with his party to the Grand Cañon, told him that all the stage arrangements had been completed, and promised to join him there in case my luck was good. Then I saw Frederic for a moment, to see how he was (for I had nearly forgotten him in the excitement), to find that he was gaining all the time, and preparing even to get up. When I returned to the saloon, the rest of the party were there, and I bade good-by to the captain and Albert. Then I turned to Lord Ralles, and, holding out my hand, said,—
“Lord Ralles, I joked a little the other morning about the way you thought road agents ought to be treated. You have turned the joke very neatly and pluckily, and I want to apologize for myself and thank you for the railroad.”
“Neither is necessary,” he retorted airily, pretending not to see my hand.
I never claimed to have a good temper, and it was all I could do to hold myself in. I turned to Miss Cullen to wish her a pleasant trip, and the thought that this might be our last meeting made me forget even Lord Ralles.
“I hope it isn’t good-by, but only au revoir,” she said. “Whether or no, you must let us see you some time in Chicago, so that I may show you how grateful I am for all the pleasure you have added to our trip.” Then, as I stepped down off my platform, she leaned over the rail of 218, and added, in a low voice, “I thought you were just as brave as the rest, Mr. Gordon, and now I think you are braver.”
I turned impulsively, and said, “You would think so, Miss Cullen, if you knew the sacrifice I am making.” Then, without looking at her, I gave the signal, the bell rang, and No. 3 pulled off. The last thing I saw was a handkerchief waving off the platform of 218.