That was doing pretty well, but see how pride goes before a fall. Having sold out, and having a pretty fair little sum of money in my pockets, I decided to turn my face from the frontier and seek a locality where I could get into something which would more rapidly add to the small fortune I had accumulated. I paid my fare and traveled like a gentleman. The stage coach in which I journeyed was held up by road agents and I was robbed of every cent I had, except the loose change in my pockets. In consideration of my semi-clerical garb, I suppose, they made no search of my person after I had handed out my wallet. In that way I saved my ticket—which included both stage and railway transportation to my destination, which was a small city, where I expected to do some business—and a few dollars in silver.
I may say here that I never saw my wheel of fortune again. I had supposed it was stowed in the boot of the stage, but when I got off it was not there. The driver promised to start it for Munro on the next stage out after he got back, but it never reached me. It seems it was started all right, though, but the stage went over the rocks at a bad place in the road and both were helplessly wrecked, while one of the horses was killed on the spot. Fortunately, there were no passengers.
When I reached Munro on the train I met with a little adventure. It so happened that a big revival meeting was in progress at the place and an outside minister was expected to arrive on my train, who was to assist the local ministers with the meeting.
Naturally, one of the members came to meet the brother; and naturally, again, he took the daily hack which regularly met the train, since it was about a mile and a half from the station to the town.
I was the only passenger to get off, and as I had a smooth-shaven face and wore a Prince Albert coat the deacon supposed I was his man. He rushed up, greeted me cordially, grasped my grip and invited me into the hack.
I, naturally thinking he was a hotel runner (in these God-forsaken places everyone wears such a forlorn and melancholy look that it is hard to distinguish a preacher from a porter), followed without resistance.
We started off at a good gait, the way was rough, and the driver in a hurry. We were the only passengers and sat on the same seat, the front one being occupied by my valise and various packages which seemed to be in care of the driver. Time after time, as the wheels struck a particularly bad spot, my companion and I were jammed together.
Whenever this happened he would turn to me with what seemed to be a surprised and aggrieved frown on his face and say:
“Look out, brother. Stop, stop.”
Finally, after a particularly big lurch, he said positively: