"Oh, I don't just know," she returned lightly. "I suppose you have your orders not to let that box be out of your sight."
The young man went very red and was obviously confused.
"What do you know about the box?" he asked pointedly.
"Nothing but what I have observed," she replied. "It looks a kinder ordinary box for carrying samples. But the canvas is worn at the corner, and I can see an iron band. When the coach lurched, crossing the divide, the box was so heavy that the seat creaked under its weight. Guess it ain't likely to be packed with feathers. I've seen the address label, too, and you wouldn't be takin' feathers to a bank in Ottawa. And, again, you're carryin' a six-shooter. I caught sight of it when you opened your coat to look at the time, a while back. Say, now, is it loaded, that pistol of yours? I do hope it won't explode, and me sittin' so near! But it ought to be loaded."
"Lucy!" Her companion in clerical attire spoke to her reprovingly. "Don't be so inquisitive. What does it matter to you whether the gentleman's pistol is loaded or not?"
"All right, dad," objected Lucy rather rudely. "Keep your hair on. It would matter a heap if we was to be attacked by Indians or—or road agents; and I should be a lot more comfortable if I knew it was loaded. I'm not just sure that it is."
The young man behind her appeared suddenly to be anxious on the same point, for he thrust his hand under the front of his coat and withdrew it quickly, staring in blank amazement at the weapon that it held.
"You minx!" he cried to the girl accusingly. "This is some conjuring trick of yours! This isn't my pistol at all. Mine was loaded—this is empty!"
Very smartly, very calmly, the girl's clerical companion laid a firm hand upon the weapon and took possession of it.