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“No. I wuzn’t the driver,” he said.
“Nor the express messenger?” ‘
K H
0
“Well, then, if you were not the driv-
'er, nor the express messenger, nor a
passenger, what were you doing there?”
“Jest loafin’ ’round as a spectator.”
More puzzled than ever, Armstrong in-
‘quired, “How did you happen to be
there?”
“Never you mind, stranger. Dou’t be
too inquirin’ ’bout other people’s bizness.
When I tell you thet I wuz there, thet
orter settle it.”
Armstrong was hurt, not so much at
his companion’s grulfness, as at the fact
that the genial driver of the morning
had so grossly deceived him. Either
this was true or else he was singularly
unsuccessful in finding the right side
of the rough nature with which he was
trying to establish an acquaintance. He
made one further effort.
’ “Now see here, Willing--” he con-
menced.
You’re mistaken,” the driver inter-
rupted. “My name ain’t Willing.”
“The deuce you sayl‘ Who the devil
are you,‘ then?” .
“They call me the Wizard of Red
Gulch, but my real name is William
Murphy,” said the driver quietly.
‘ Armstrong sulked back in his seat,
and in gloomy silence awaited further
developments. These were soon forth-
coming. They commenced to wind about
the brow ofra mountain preparatory to
a descent on the other side of a “C11-
vide.” There was forest on both sides
of the road, and now and then they
skirted the edges of ravines-
“I’ll tell you how I got my Hamel”
said the driver, still in a quiet, monoto-
nous tonc. “I kin do things with liosses
an’ coaches sech ez no other fellcr ever
done. I’ll soon show you my Zfcatest
act. ' Jest over the hill here we go down
all the way fer ’bout a mile. Pretty
stoop too. They call it Long Canyon.
’Bout the middle there’s a stretch of a
quarter of‘a mile where the blnd on
this side isistraight down five hundred
to a thousand feet. Narrow road. Jest
.’bout the middle of this there’s a big
boulder right on the ra:;E9‘1 “189; I
turns them hosses loose an’ makes it at
a gallop. , Ev’ry trace on this side an’
both wheels hez to graze thet rock ’thou1:
hittin’ hard enough to throw us over.
See?” '
No, Armstrong,didn’t see. and d1d11’t
want to'sce. He was convinced now that
he was traveling with a maniac, But it
was too late to interfere. They had
entered upon the narrow road indicated,
with a ‘sheer, wall bfvgranite at then‘
left, and a plunge’ into unknown depths
at their right. Armstrong caught Shmpses
of the tops Ofl trees far below them, and
fancied that he heard the roaring of a
torrent at the bottom. He shut his eyes
in despair; then opened them ‘again, rm-
pclled by a horrible fascination. Yes,
there was the boulder just ahead. The
brake was jammed down hard but the
horses were plunging merrily along, their
heads in the air, their hoofs flying, quiv-
ering with excitement. The coach swayed
and lurchcd, and the man who held the
reins, his eyes fixed intently on the
leadersfleaning away f01'“"3’d, 1“ 11“
seat, was calling, with e'xPl05“'0 em‘
phasis, which seemed to lift the bron-
cos into the air: “Gol lGm0-if la-
mos! Git out o’ here!”
They swept past the boulder. Arm-
strong saw the traces touch and bound
away and heard the hubs of the wheels‘
grate against 'it. A few moments later
the danger‘ was past. The horses had
swung around a turn in the road'and
were trotting quietly upon a space that
was more nearly level. Armstrong wiped
the sweat from his face. A little later
they emerged from the canyon and the
view widened on either hand. Arm-
strong ‘bfeathed more freely.
“I knowed I could do it ag’in,” said
the driver quietly. “I done it ev’ry
day fer three year-except oneet.”
“What happened that time?” Arm-
strong stammered, with a desperate ef-
fort at unconcern.
The driver ignored‘ the question.
“Would you mind holdin’ the ribbons a.
minitf” he inquired. “I git olf here.”
Mechanically, Armstrong took the
reins. Without an instant’s hesitation,
the Wizard of Red Gulch stepped lightly
from the swiftly moving coach and
waved a farewell to Armstrong, who
looked back at him, bewildered. He
had expected to see Murphy roll head
over heels and stop with a broken neck.
But nothing of the kind occurred. Mur-
phy stood for a moment with his tall
figure sharply outlined in the glare of
the dusty road-bed, a melancholy smile
playing upon his cadaverous features.
Then he vanished, all in an instant, and
Armstrong thought that he must have
plunged into the chaparral by the side
of the road. He was uncertain whether
he ought to stop. He had never driven
a six-horse team in his life, and he hesi-
tatcd a moment between desire to be
rid of the maniac and reluctance to as-
sume responsibility. A second later
the horses settled the question, for they
broke into a gallop again, and Arm-
strong found himself occupied keeping
them in the road. For the first time he
fully. appreciated the wonderful skill of
his recent traveling companion.
Having gained a certain control, Arm-
strong-kept the horses moving along
and left the Wizard to his fate. He
soon entered a better country, where
thcre'wcre‘ranches of some pretensions
and evidences of prosperity, and was
congratulating himself that-he must be
nearing Red Gulch, when he noticed a
dozen.‘-horsemen coming swiftly towards
him. At sight of the coach t cy sepa-
rated, ranging themsclvcs on ei her side
of the road. When Armstrong came up"
they pointed rifles at his head am or-
dercd him to halt. >Hc brought th six
horses”to' a‘ stop as quickly as he could.
“Throw up your hands!” was the next
command. Armstrong lost no time in
complying. His captors were roughly
clad, uncouth, but ready men of’ the
mountains-not at all the sort to be
tritled with. They surrounded the
coach, swearing, laughing, cracking fron-
tier jokes. - - '
“Git up thar, Jim, an’ hang on to
them broncos," said a burly fellow, evi-
dently the leader. “Jim” slipped from
his horse, handed the bridle to the man
next in line, mounted the box, and
picked up the reins which Armstrong
had dropped. . ‘ '
“Now then, Sandy an’ Tom, git up thar,
too. an’ search him. for weapons.” Two
others climbed upon the stage.‘ After
a hasty examination of Armstrong’s
clothing, they reported that there were
no “shooting irons” upon him.
GLENN URQUARTE
Pla gin-Tartan.
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