“You want to be careful of that near wheeler, Hunk,” he said, “or he'll upset you into a gully. An' in crossing the second ford, bear to the right; the water's running high, and it may carry youse all down stream. I don't want that these ladies should be drowned in any stage of mine. An' if the Red Rider jumps you don't put up no bluff, but sit still. The paymaster's due in a night or two, an' I've no doubt at all but that the Rider's laying for him. But if you tell him that there's no one inside but womenfolk and a tailor, mebbe he won't hurt youse. Now, ladies,” he added, putting his head under the leather flap, as though unconscious that all he had said had already reached them, “without wishing to make you uneasy, I would advise your having your cash and jewelry ready in your hands. With road-agents it's mostly wisest to do what they say, an' to do it quick. Ef you give 'em all you've got, they sometimes go away without spilling blood, though, such being their habits, naturally disappointed.” He turned his face toward the shrinking figure of the military tailor. “You, being an army man,” he said, “will of course want to protect the ladies, but you mustn't do it. You must keep cool. Ef you pull your gun, like as not you'll all get killed. But I'm hoping for the best. Good-night all, an' a pleasant journey.” The stage moved off with many creaks and many cracks of the whip, which in part smothered Hunk Smith's laughter. But after the first mile, he, being a man with feelings and a family, pulled the mules to a halt. The voice of the drummer could instantly be heard calling loudly from the darkness of the stage: “Don't open those flaps. If they see us, they'll fire!” “I wanted you folks to know,” said Hunk Smith, leaning from the box-seat, “that that talk of Pop's was all foolishness. You're as safe on this trail as in a Pullman palace-car. That was just his way. Pop will have his joke. You just go to sleep now, if you can, and trust to me. I'll get you there by eleven o'clock or break a trace. Breakin' a trace is all the danger there is, anyway,” he added, cheerfully, “so don't fret.” Miss Post could not resist saying to Mrs. Truesdall: “I told you he was joking.” The stage had proceeded for two hours. Sometimes it dropped with locked wheels down sheer walls of clay, again it was dragged, careening drunkenly, out of fathomless pits. It pitched and tossed, slid and galloped, danced grotesquely from one wheel to another, from one stone to another, recoiled out of ruts, butted against rocks, and swept down and out of swollen streams that gurgled between the spokes. “If ever I leave Fort Crockett,” gasped Mrs. Truesdall between jolts, “I shall either wait until they build a railroad or walk.”