“Fact,” chimed in the smallest and thinnest man of the party. “The Bible says somethin’ mighty hot ’bout that. I disremember dzackly how it goes; but I’ve heerd Parson Buzzy, down in Maine, preach a rippin’ old sermon from that text many a time. The old man never thort what a comfort them sermons wus a-goin’ to be to a road-agent, though. That time we stopped Slim Mike’s stage, an’ he didn’t hev no more manners than to draw on me, them sermons wus a perfec’ blessin’ to me—the thought uv ’em cleared my head ez quick ez a cocktail. An’——” “I don’t want to disturb Logroller’s pious yarn,” interrupted the colonel; “but ez it’s Old Black that’s drivin’ to-day instid of Slim Mike, an’ ez Old Black ollers makes his time, hedn’t we better vamose?” The door of the shanty was hastily closed, and the men filed through the thicket until near the road, when they marched rapidly on parallel lines with it. After about half an hour, Perkins, who was leading, halted, and wiped his perspiring brow with his shirt-sleeve. “Fur enough from home now,” said he. “’Tain’t no use bein’ a gentleman ef yer hev to work _too_ hard.” “Safe enough, I reckon,” replied the colonel. “We’ll do the usual; I’ll halt ’em, Logroller’ll tend to the driver, Cranks takes the boot, an’ Mac an’ Perk takes right an’ left. An’—I know it’s tough—but consid’rin’ how everlastin’ eternally hard up we are, I reckon we’ll have to ask contributions from the ladies, too, ef ther’s any aboard—eh, boy?” “Reckon so,” replied Logroller, with a chuckle that seemed to inspire even his black domino with a merry wrinkle or two. “What’s the use of women’s rights ef they don’t ever hev a chance of exercisin’ ’em? Hevin’ ther purses borrowed ’ud show ’em the hull doctrine in a bran-new light.” “They’re treacherous critters, women is,” remarked Cranks; “some of ’em might put a knife into a feller while he was ‘pologizin’.” “Ef _you’re_ afeard of ’em,” said Perkins, “you ken go back an’ clean up the shanty.” “Reminds me of what the Bible sez,” said Logroller; “‘there’s a lion on the trail; I’ll be chawed up, sez the lazy galoot,’ ur words to that effect.” “Come, come boys,” interposed the colonel; “don’t mix religion an’ bizness. They don’t mix no more than——Hello, thar’s the crack of Old Black’s whip! Pick yer bushes—quick! All jump when I whistle!” Each man secreted himself near the roadside. The stage came swinging along handsomely; the inside passengers were laughing heartily about something, and Old Black was just giving a delicate touch to the flank of the off leader, when the colonel gave a shrill, quick whistle, and the five men sprang into the road. The horses stopped as suddenly as if it was a matter of common occurrence, Old Black dropped his reins, crossed his legs, and stared into the sky, and the passengers all put out their heads with a rapidity equaled only by that with which they withdrew them as they saw the dominoes and revolvers of the road-agents.