But this evening old Joe's boasts were doomed to fall to the ground, for
the coach could only crawl along, and the night was closing in fast.
The guard was engaged in a somewhat mysterious occupation, an occupation
which, though only partially visible from the interior of the coach,
caused a faint shriek to issue therefrom.
"What is he doing? What is it?" cried a woman's voice.
"Nothing, madam; be easy, I entreat," was the answer from within. "There
is nothing to alarm, but rather to reassure, in his actions--he prepares
his pistols and looks to their priming. Zounds! one must be ready for
all contingencies with ten miles of unfrequented road ahead of us."
The mail continued on its way, becoming slower and slower, as an ominous
creaking of the injured wheel gave token that the pace must be reduced
to a walk.
The curtain before the window was held back, and a gentleman from within
addressed the guard.
"Will the wheel hold out, think you?" he said.
"It is impossible to assure your reverence that it will, and the night
will be dark."
The gentleman drew in his head with a little "Tut-tut" of consternation.
There were four occupants of the coach--two ladies and two gentlemen. Of
the ladies one was young, perhaps nineteen, and one close upon forty.
The younger was the parson's daughter Elizabeth, otherwise Betty Ives.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96