"How—eh—did you happen to—eh—recognize the church?" asked McNeil with evident admiration. "You—eh—can't see it from the saloon."
Moffat disdained reply, and the lurching stage rolled rapidly down the valley, the mules now lashed into a wild gallop to the noisy accompaniment of the driver's whip.
The hoofs clattered across the narrow bridge, and, with a sudden swing, all came to a sharp stand, amid a cloud of dust before a naked yellow house.
"Here 's where you get out, miss," announced the Jehu, leaning down from his seat to peer within. "This yere is the Herndon shebang."
The gentlemen inside assisted Miss Spencer to descend in safety to the weed-bordered walk, where she stood shaking her ruffled plumage into shape, and giving directions regarding her luggage. Then the two gentlemen emerged, Moffat bearing a grip-case, a bandbox, and a basket, while McNeil supported a shawl-strap and a small trunk. Thus decorated they meekly followed her lead up the narrow path toward the front door. The latter opened suddenly, and Mrs. Herndon bounced forth with vociferous welcome.
"Why, Phoebe Spencer, and have you really come! I did n't expect you 'd get along before next week. Oh, this seems too nice to see you again; almost as good as going home to Vermont. You must be completely tired out."
"Dear Aunt Lydia; of course I 'm glad to be here. But I 'm not in the least tired. I 've had such a delightful trip." She glanced around smilingly upon her perspiring cavaliers. "Oh, put those things down, gentlemen—anywhere there on the grass; they can be carried in later. It was so kind of you both."
"Hey, there!" sang out the driver, growing impatient, "if you two gents are aimin' to go down town with this outfit, you'd better be pilin' in lively, fer I can't stay here all day."
Moffat glanced furtively aside at McNeil, only to discover that individual quietly seated on the trunk. He promptly dropped his own grip.
"Drive on with your butcher's cart," he called out spitefully. "I reckon it's no special honor to ride to town."