It was with full cognizance of these facts and their uselessness to him that the next morning Mr. Ned Brice turned from the road where the coach had just halted on the previous night and approached the settlers cabin. If a little less sanguine than he was in Yuba Bills presence, he was still doggedly inflexible in his design, whatever it might have been, for he had not revealed it even to Yuba Bill. It was his own; it was probably crude and youthful in its directness, but for that reason it was probably more convincing than the vacillations of older counsel.
He paused a moment at the closed door, conscious, however, of some hurried movement within which signified that his approach had been observed. The door was opened, and disclosed only the old woman. The same dogged expression was on her face as when he had last seen it, with the addition of querulous expectancy. In reply to his polite Good-morning, she abruptly faced him with her hands still on the door.
Ye kin stop right there! Ef yer want ter make any talk about this yar robbery, ye might ez well skedaddle to oncet, for we aint takin any to-day!
I have no wish to talk about the robbery, said Brice quietly, and as far as I can prevent it, you will not be troubled by any questions. If you doubt my word or the intentions of the company, perhaps you will kindly read that.
He drew from his pocket a still damp copy of The Red Dog Clarion and pointed to a paragraph.
Wots that? she said querulously, feeling for her spectacles.
Shall I read it?
Go on.
He read it slowly aloud. I grieve to say it had been jointly concocted the night before at the office of the Clarion by himself and the young journalistthe latters assistance being his own personal tribute to the graces of Miss Flo. It read as follows:
The greatest assistance was rendered by Hiram Tarbox, Esq., a resident of the vicinity, in removing the obstruction, which was, no doubt, the preliminary work of some of the robber gang, and in providing hospitality for the delayed passengers. In fact, but for the timely warning of Yuba Bill by Mr. Tarbox, the coach might have crashed into the tree at that dangerous point, and an accident ensued more disastrous to life and limb than the robbery itself.
The sudden and unmistakable delight that expanded the old womans mouth was so convincing that it might have given Brice a tinge of remorse over the success of his stratagem, had he not been utterly absorbed in his purpose. Hiram! she shouted suddenly.
The old man appeared from some back door with a promptness that proved his near proximity, and glanced angrily at Brice until he caught sight of his wifes face. Then his anger changed to wonder.
Read that again, young feller, she said exultingly.
Brice re-read the paragraph aloud for Mr. Tarboxs benefit.
That ar Hiram Tarbox, Esquire, means YOU, Hiram, she gasped, in delighted explanation.
Hiram seized the paper, read the paragraph himself, spread out the whole page, examined it carefully, and then a fatuous grin began slowly to extend itself over his whole face, invading his eyes and ears, until the heavy, harsh, dogged lines of his nostrils and jaws had utterly disappeared.
Bgosh! he said, thats square! Kin I keep it?
Certainly, said Brice. I brought it for you.
Is that all ye came for? said Hiram, with sudden suspicion.
No, said the young man frankly. Yet he hesitated a moment as he added, I would like to see Miss Flora.
His hesitation and heightened color were more disarming to suspicion than the most elaborate and carefully prepared indifference. With their knowledge and pride in their relatives fascinations they felt it could have but one meaning! Hiram wiped his mouth with his hand, assumed a demure expression, glanced at his wife, and answered:
She aint here now.
Mr. Brices face displayed his disappointment. But the true lover holds a talisman potent with old and young. Mrs. Tarbox felt a sneaking maternal pity for this suddenly stricken Strephon.
Shes gone home, she added more gentlywent at sun-up this mornin.
Home, repeated Brice. Wheres that?
Mrs. Tarbox looked at her husband and hesitated. Then she saida little in her old mannerHer uncles.
Can you direct me the way there? asked Brice simply.
The astonishment in their faces presently darkened into suspicion again. Ef thats your little game, began Hiram, with a lowering brow
I have no little game but to see her and speak with her, said Brice boldly. I am alone and unarmed, as you see, he continued, pointing to his empty belt and small dispatch bag slung on his shoulder, and certainly unable to do any one any harm. I am willing to take what risks there are. And as no one knows of my intention, nor of my coming here, whatever might happen to me, no one need know it. You would be safe from questioning.
There was that hopeful determination in his manner that overrode their resigned doggedness. Ef we knew how to direct you thar, said the old woman cautiously, yed be killed outer hand afore ye even set eyes on the girl. The house is in a holler with hills kept by spies; yed be a dead man as soon as ye crossed its boundary.
Wot do YOU know about it? interrupted her husband quickly, in querulous warning. Wot are ye talkin about?
You leave me alone, Hiram! I aint goin to let that young feller get popped off without a show, or without knowin jest wot hes got to tackle, nohow ye kin fix it! And cant ye see hes bound to go, whatever ye says?
Mr. Tarbox saw this fact plainly in Brices eyes, and hesitated.
The most that I kin tell ye, he said gloomily, is the way the gal takes when she goes from here, but how far it is, or if it aint a blind, I cant swar, for I hevnt bin thar myself, and Harry never comes here but on an off night, when the coach aint runnin and thars no travel. He stopped suddenly and uneasily, as if he had said too much.
Thar ye go, Hiram, and ye talk of others gabblin! So ye might as well tell the young feller how that thar aint but one way, and thats the way Harry takes, too, when he comes yer oncet in an age to talk to his own flesh and blood, and see a Christian face that aint agin him!
Mr. Tarbox was silent. Ye know whar the tree was thrown down on the road, he said at last.
Yes.
The mountain rises straight up on the right side of the road, all hazel brush and thornwhar a goat couldnt climb.
Yes.
But thats a lie! for thars a little trail, not a foot wide, runs up from the road for a mile, keepin it in view all the while, but bein hidden by the brush. Ye kin see everything from thar, and hear a teamster spit on the road.
Go on, said Brice impatiently.
Then it goes up and over the ridge, and down the other side into a little gulch until it comes to the canyon of the North Fork, where the stage road crosses over the bridge high up. The trail winds round the bank of the Fork and comes out on the LEFT side of the stage road about a thousand feet below it. Thats the valley and hollow whar Harry lives, and thats the only way it can be found. For all along the LEFT of the stage road is a sheer pitch down that thousand feet, whar no one kin git up or down.
I understand, said Brice, with sparkling eyes. Ill find my way all right.
And when ye git thar, look out for yourself! put in the woman earnestly. Ye may have regular greenhorns luck and pick up Flo afore ye cross the boundary, for shes that bold that when she gets lonesome o stayin thar she goes wanderin out o bounds.