"'Tain't often we sees sich a crowd of passengers this time of year," he added.
"Passengers? A crowd?"
Alf Bulger emptied his glass, took up his long-lashed driving-whip, and strode towards the door, looking more like a western cowboy than a coach-driver, with his buckskin jacket and wide-rimmed hat, his leather leggings, and his brace of formidable-looking revolvers. He was to take charge of the express from Soldier's Knee east as far as Kananaskis, and he was naturally personally interested in the announcement concerning passengers.
"A crowd, eh?" he repeated in a tone of surprise.
Usually it did not greatly matter to him whether there were few passengers or many, or, indeed, if there were none at all. The Government mail-bags were his principal freight. Passengers were, as a rule, a secondary consideration.
He silently watched the lumbering coach approaching along the trail in a cloud of white dust, and he drew a deep breath of relief when he discovered that what his neighbour had announced as a crowd resolved itself into three individuals.
"Say, Alf," observed a young rancher at his elbow. "You'll need ter be on your Sunday best behaviour this trip. I see one of your passengers is a parson, and—yes, a female woman alongside of him. Guess she's his daughter. I allow she's the one as leads off with the camp meetin' hymns. A woman's voice fetches the boys every time. Wonder if they're shapin' to hold a revival meetin' in Soldier's Knee while the team's bein' changed!"
"Maybe they're figgerin' ter settle down right here," suggested Alf, his wish being father to the thought. "Thar's a consid'rable stock of all-round iniquity for 'em to work upon. What d'you make of the third passenger? Kinder commercial traveller, by the cut of him, I'd say."
"Yep. Guess that's his mark. I've seen him before, along this trail. Seen him a week ago, on the westbound stage. Comes from Ottawa."
"Ah!" nodded Alf Bulger with satisfaction. He, too, had seen the passenger before and knew him to be the bank messenger whom he had expected. "A nice, harmless, meek an' mild sort of chap. Looks as if he didn't know a pistol from an infant's feedin' bottle."