“I’m going,” he said, and ran up to the coach.
“Hop inside, er on ther seat with ther driver, jest as ye like,” cried Elmore.
He swung on round, glowering at the crowd.
“As I was sayin’, thar ain’t no need fer ary gent hyer what is wantin’ to travel over this trail to-day to be afeard o’ Tim Benson. I know he’s a rantakerous gun man, what shoots first and does his explainin’ about it later; and that he has conducted more hold-ups than ary man whatever was in this town; but he’s got sense. He don’t hold up no stage when thar’s nothin’ to be gained by it. To-day I ain’t kerryin’ no gold dust, ner treasure o’ any kind—- ’ceptin’ the lady, gents, o’ course!—so, I know he won’t bother me. He allus knows when treasure is goin’ out, an’ when it ain’t; an’ he was never knowed to come fer an empty stage. How he knows when it kerries treasure I reckon is his business. So—who’s goin’ over the trail with me ter-day?”
When nobody else showed a desire to accompany him, Hank Elmore climbed to his high seat, swung his long lash, yelled at the horses; and the stage bounced and jolted away over the cobblestone street, into the Calumet Wells trail.
“It’s gittin’ so that women have sure got more sand than the men!” was his mental comment, as he thought of his female passenger. “But I wonder why she’s pikin’ out of Blossom Range?”
The man who had entered the stage was apparently thinking the same thing; for he began to question her.
“I’ve seen you at the Casino,” he said, his tone one of flattery. “Good show they’ve got there! I understood that you was to stay another week.”
She had lifted her veil after entering the stage, and now gave him a close look.
“I don’t think I know you!” she said, as if that were a sufficient answer.