It was about eleven o’clock when the stage came in from Silverton, on its way to the Red Hill Mine. Little Whizzer sat beside Baldy on the driver’s seat, as proud as a peacock. It was several days since the grizzly episode, during which time Baldy had taken the child with him everywhere. It was a new experience for Whizzer.
Baldy shook hands with Brick, who picked Whizzer off the seat and carried him into Wesson’s store after candy.
“Where’s yore spur?” asked Brick, noting that Whizzer was not wearing it.
Whizzer removed the candy long enough to gasp for breath and inform Brick that—
“I ain’t no puncher now. Stage drivers don’t wear spurs.”
“By golly, that’s my mistake,” laughed Brick. “I’m sure an ignorant jigger.”
“Yeah,” nodded Whizzer seriously, much to Harp’s delight.
He put the boy back on the seat and waved his hat at him, as they swept out of town. It was about two hours later when Brick and Harp saddled their horses and headed north.
It was eighteen miles from Marlin to the Red Hill mines. For a greater part of the distance the road followed the cañon, but about five miles from the mines it led to higher ground, winding along the sides of the mountain where, as Brick expressed it, “a driver is only allowed one mistake.”
As they rode out of the cañon and began climbing, a rider came into view, coming down the grade. He was a medium-sized man, possibly forty years of age, slightly stooped in his saddle.