Jim Woppit and his men must have had a hard ride of it. They did not
show up in camp until eleven o'clock that day, and a tougher-looking
outfit you never saw. They had scoured the surrounding country with the
utmost diligence, yet no trace whatever had they discovered of the
outlaws; the wretches had disappeared so quickly, so mysteriously, that
it seemed hard to believe that they had indeed existed. The crime, so
boldly and so successfully done, was of course the one theme of talk, of
theory, and of speculation in all that region for the conventional period
of nine days. And then it appeared to be forgotten, or, at least, men
seldom spoke of it, and presently it came to be accepted as the popular
belief that the robbery had been committed by a gang of desperate tramps,
this theory being confirmed by a certain exploit subsequently in the San
Juan country, an exploit wherein three desperate tramps assaulted the
triweekly road-hack, and, making off with their booty, were ultimately
taken and strung up to a convenient tree.
Still, the reward of one thousand dollars offered by the city government
of Red Hoss Mountain for information leading to the arrest of the glen
robbers was not withdrawn, and there were those in the camp who quietly
persevered in the belief that the outrage had been done by parties as yet
undiscovered, if not unsuspected. Mr. Mills, the superintendent of the
Royal Victoria, had many a secret conference with Jim Woppit, and it
finally leaked out that the cold, discriminating, and vigilant eye of
eternal justice was riveted upon Steve Barclay, the stage-driver. Few of
us suspected Steve; he was a good-natured, inoffensive fellow; it seemed
the idlest folly to surmise that he could have been in collusion with the
highwaymen. But Mr. Mills had his own ideas on the subject; he was a man
of positive convictions, and, having pretty nearly always demonstrated
that he was in the right, it boded ill for Steve Barclay when Mr. Mills
made up his mind that Steve must have been concerned in one way or
another in that Magpie Glen crime.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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