The driver, it was true, was armed, but then this man and the girl might also be prepared with weapons. And they might even have accomplices waiting for them at an appointed spot.
What puzzled Gaskell was that the stranger knew his name, and had warned him against drinking the tea, as if he were in some way anxious to protect him. But the fact remained that he had taken possession of his revolver.
Gaskell leant forward and touched his neighbour's arm. It was exceedingly muscular.
"Kindly give me back my pistol," he requested.
To his surprise, the weapon was politely handed back to him, with the remark—
"Why, cert'nly. You see, I have loaded it for you. You may need it later on. Keep it handy. Don't speak, either to me or the driver; and if anything happens, do what I tell you. I will see you through."
Gaskell leant back in his seat, wondering more than ever, but comfortably confident that whatever his travelling companions might be, they certainly had no designs against him. He resolved to trust them, while watching them carefully.
After the coach had started, they paid no further attention to him. Neither did they speak to each other or to the driver.
Nothing suspicious occurred until they were galloping at a steady pace along the old buffalo trail between Hilton's Jump and Rattlesnake Ranch, when the girl with her veil partly lifted, and her eyes fixed upon the distant homestead, took out a large white handkerchief and waved it three times over her head. Was this a signal to some confederate? It seemed to be, yet nothing came of it. Gaskell's eyes were not keen enough to see a girl standing on the far-off verandah steps.