Women do not know the power of surrender. This surrender had no sooner been made than every man outside was her champion.
"You will ride on that back seat to Gumbolt to-night, or I'll ride in Jim Digger's hearse. I am layin' for him anyhow." The voice was Jake Dennison's.
"And I'll ride with him. Stand aside, Jake, and let me git in there. I'll yank him out," said his friend.
But Jake was not prepared to yield to any one the honor of "yanking." Jake had just been down to Squire Rawson's, and this young man was none other than Mr. Ferdy Wickersham. He had been there, too.
Jake had left with vengeance in his heart, and this was his opportunity. He was just entering the stage head foremost, when the occupant of the coveted seat decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and announced that he would give up the seat, thereby saving Keith the necessity of intervening, which he was about to do.
The ejected tenant was so disgruntled that he got out of the stage, and, without taking any further notice of the occupants, called up to know if there was a seat outside.
"Yes. Let me give you a hand," said Gordon, leaning down and helping him up. "How are you?"
Wickersham looked at him quickly as he reached the boot.
"Hello! You here?" The rest of his sentence was a malediction on the barbarians in the coach below and a general consignment of them all to a much warmer place than the boot of the Gumbolt stage.
"What are you doing here?" Wickersham asked.