"Yes; that's he. What sort of a man is he?"
Keith gave a brief estimate of Mr. Plume: "You will see him and can judge for yourself."
"I always do," said Wickersham, briefly. "Know anybody can work him? The governor and he fell out some time ago, but I want to get hold of him."
Keith thought he knew one who might influence Mr. Plume; but he did not mention the name or sex.
"Who is that woman inside?" demanded Wickersham. "I mean the young one, with the eyes."
"They call her Terpsichore. She keeps the dance-hall."
"Friend of yours?"
"Yes." Keith spoke shortly.
The stage presently began to descend Hellstreak Hill, which Keith mentioned as the scene of the robbery which old Tim Gilsey had told him of. As it swung down the long descent, with the lights of the lamps flashing on the big tree-tops, and with the roar of the rushing water below them coming up as it boiled over the rocks, Wickersham conceived a higher opinion of Keith than he had had before, and he mentally resolved that the next time he came over that road he would make the trip in the daytime. They had just crossed the little creek which dashed over the rocks toward the river, and had begun to ascend another hill, when Wickersham, who had been talking about his drag, was pleased to have Keith offer him the reins. He took them with some pride, and Keith dived down into the boot. When he sat up again he had a pistol in his hand.
"It was just about here that that 'hold-up' occurred."