"I don't know. Ask me something easier," said the resolute man, in disgust. "Such a man as you ought never to stir from his own fireside." "Stop the coach and pass over your watches and pocketbooks!" cried Dick Hawley, in a commanding tone. By way of exciting alarm and enforcing his order he fired one charge of his revolver. The consequences he did not anticipate. The terrified stage horses, alarmed by the report, got beyond control of the driver and dashed forward impetuously. The highwayman had hardly time to realize his danger when his horse was overthrown and pushed over the precipice along with its rider, while the stage dashed on. The last that the passengers saw of Dick Hawley was a panic-stricken face looking upward as he fell rapidly down toward the rocks at the bottom. "He's gone! We are saved!" exclaimed the cadaverous-looking man, joyfully. "That is, if the coach doesn't tumble after him." But the coach was saved. Had the horses swerved in their course all would have been killed. As it was, the dangerous place was safely crossed and the stage emerged upon a broad plateau. The driver stopped the horses, and, dismounting from the box, came around to the coach door. "I congratulate you, gentlemen," he said. "We had a close shave, but we are out of danger. Dick Hawley will rob no more stages." "Driver, you are a brave man--you have saved us," said one of the passengers. "It was not I; it was the horses." "Then you did not start them up?" "No; I should not have dared to do it. They were frightened by the revolver and took the matter into their own hands." "Dick Hawley was foolhardy. Had he ever stopped a stage at this point before?" "Yes, he did so last year." "And succeeded?" "Yes; he made a big haul. This time he has met his deserts." There were no further incidents that deserve recording in Andy's journey. It is needless to say that he enjoyed it. The scenes through which he passed were new and strange to him. It was a country he had never expected to see, and for this reason, perhaps, he enjoyed it the more. At last he reached Tacoma. It was irregularly built on a hillside. There were no buildings of any pretensions. All its importance was to come. He put up at the Tacoma House, a hotel of moderate size, and after dinner he went out to see the town. He sought out the plot of lots owned jointly by Mr. Crawford and himself, and found that they were located not far from the center of the business portion of the town. It took no sagacity to foresee that the land would rise in value rapidly, especially after the Northern Pacific Railroad was completed. In the afternoon, feeling tired, he sat in his room and read a book he had picked up at a periodical store--a book treating of the great Northwest. The partitions were thin, and noises in the adjoining room were easily audible.