"All who are worth anything," assented Mrs. Lancaster.
"No wonder you are a rich people."
Something about his use of the adjective touched her.
"Our people have a sense of duty, too, and as much courage as any others, only they do not make any to-do about it. I have a friend--a gentleman--who drove a stage-coach through the mountains for a while rather than do nothing, and who was held up one night and jumped from the stage on the robber, and chased him down the mountains and disarmed him."
"Good!" exclaimed the gentleman. "Nervy thing!"
"Rather," said Mrs. Lancaster, with mantling cheeks, stirred by what she considered a reflection on her people. And that was not all he did. "He had charge of a mine, and one day the mine was flooded while the men were at work, and he went in in the darkness and brought the men out safe."
"Good!" said the gentleman. "But he had others with him? He did not go alone?"
"He started alone, and two men volunteered to go with him. But he sent them back with the first group they found, and then, as there were others, he waded on by himself to where the others were, and brought them out, bringing on his shoulder the man who had attempted his life."
"Fine!" exclaimed the gentleman. "I've been in some tight places myself; but I don't know about that. What was his name?"
"Keith."