When they reached the section which, according to Smith, had not all been taken up by the Indians already, the party got out occasionally for closer inspection of the land. The men gravely trickled the soil through their fingers, while the women grabbed at the sweet-smelling herbs which grew in abundance everywhere, and tore their sleeves reaching for the cl.u.s.ters of bullberries, then turning red.

Dr. Slavens and William Bentley tried for fish, with a total catch between them of one small trout, which was carried in triumph to the place picked upon by Smith for the noonday camp. Smith would not trust the coffee to any hand but his own, and he blackened up the pot shamefully, Mrs. Reed declared.

But what did Smith care for the criticism of Mrs. Reed when he was making coffee for Agnes? What did he care, indeed, for the judgment of the whole world when he was laying out his best efforts to please the finest woman who ever sat beside him on the box, and one for whom he was ready to go any distance, and do any endeavors, to save her from being made a sucker of and taken in and skinned?

It was pleasant there by the river; so pleasant that there was not one of them but voted Wyoming the finest and most congenial spot in the world, with the kindest skies, the softest summer winds, and the one place of all places for a home.

"Yes," Smith remarked, tossing pebbles into the river from the place where he sat cross-legged on the ground with his pipe, "it takes a hold of you that way. It goes to twenty below in the winter, sometimes, and the wind blows like the plug had popped out of the North Pole, and the snow covers up the sheep on the range and smothers 'em, and you lose all you got down to the last chaw of t'backer. But you stick, some way, and you forgit you ever had a home back in Indiana, where strawberries grow."

"Why, don't they grow here?" asked the miller's wife, holding a bunch of red bullberries caressingly against her cheek.

"I ain't seen a natural strawberry in fourteen years," said Smith, more proud than regretful, as if such a long abstinence were a virtue.

"Natural?" repeated Mrs. Reed. "Surely you don't mean that they manufacture them here?"

"They send 'em here in cans," explained Smith, "pale, with sour water on 'em, no more like real, ma'am, than a cigarette's like a smoke."

The men with pipes chuckled their appreciation of the comparison. Horace Bentley, with a fresh cigarette--which he had taken out of a silver case--in his fingers, turned it, quizzically smiling as he struck a match.

"It's an imitation," said he; "but it's good enough for me."

The sun was slanting near the rough hills beyond the river when they started back to Comanche.

"You've seen the best of the reservation," explained Smith, "and they ain't no earthly use in seein' the worst of it."

They were well along on the way, pa.s.sing through a rough and outcast stretch of country, where upheaved ledges stood on edge, and great blocks of stone poised menacingly on the brows of shattered cliffs, when Smith, who had been looking sharply ahead, pulled in suddenly and turned to Agnes with apologetic questioning in his eyes. It seemed to her that he had something on his mind which he was afraid to put into words.

"What is it, Mr. Smith?" she asked.

"I was just goin' to say, would you mind goin' inside and lettin' that doctor man take your place for a while?"

Smith doubtless had his reason, she thought, although it hurt her pride that he should withhold his confidence. But she yielded her place without further questioning, with a great amount of blushing over the stocking which a protruding screwhead was responsible for her showing to Dr. Slavens as he a.s.sisted her to the ground.

The sudden stop, the excitement incident to changing places, threw the women within the coach into a cackle.

"Is it robbers?" demanded Mrs. Reed, getting hold of June's hand and clinging to it protectingly as she put her head out and peered up at Smith, who was sitting there stolidly, his eyes on the winding trail ahead, his foot on the brake.

"No, ma'am," answered Smith, not looking in her direction at all.

"What is it, then?" quavered Mrs. Mann from the other side of the stage.

She could not see Smith, and the desolation of their surroundings set her fancy at work stationing dusty cowboy bandits behind each riven, lowering stone.

"Oh, I _hope_ it's robbers!" said June, bouncing up and down in her seat. "That would be just fine!"

"Hush, hush!" commanded her mother, shaking her correctively. "Such a wicked wish!"

Milo Strong, the teacher from Iowa, had grown very pale. He b.u.t.toned his coat and kept one hand in the region of his belt. One second he peered wildly out of the windows on his side, the next he strained to see if devastation and ruin were approaching from the other.

"Smith doubtless had some very commonplace reason for making the change," said William Bentley, making room for Agnes beside him. "I expect Miss Horton talked too much."

With that the stage started and their fears subsided somewhat. On the box Smith was looking sharply at the doctor. Then he asked:

"Can you drive better than you can shoot, or shoot better than you can drive?"

"I guess it's about a stand-off," replied the doctor without a ripple of excitement; "but I was brought up with four mules."

Without another word Smith stood on the footboard, and Dr. Slavens slid along to his place. Smith handed the physician the lines and took the big revolver from its pocket by the seat.

"Two fellers on horseback," said he, keeping his eyes sharply on the boulder-hedged road, "has been dodgin' along the top of that ridge kind of suspicious. No reason why any honest man would want to ride along up there among the rocks when he could ride down here where it's smooth.

They may be straight or they may be crooked. I don't know. But you meet all kinds along this road."

The doctor nodded. Smith said no more, but stood, one knee on the seat, with his pistol held in readiness for instant action. When they reached the top of the ridge n.o.body was in sight, but there were boulders enough, and big enough, on every hand to conceal an army. Smith nodded; the doctor pulled up.

The stage had no sooner stopped than Walker was out, his pistol in hand, ready to show June and all her female relatives so dear that he was there to stand between them and danger as long as their peril might last.

Smith looked around carefully.

"Funny about them two fellers!" he muttered.

From the inside of the stage came June's voice, raised in admiration of Mr. Walker's intrepidity, and her mother's voice, commanding her to be silent, and not draw down upon them the fury of the bandits, who even then might be taking aim at them from behind a rock.

n.o.body appearing, between whom and June he might precipitate himself, Walker mounted a rock for a look around. He had no more than reached the top when the two hors.e.m.e.n who had caused the flurry rode from behind the house-size boulder which had hidden them, turned their backs, crouching in their saddles as if to hide their ident.i.ty, and galloped off.

"Huh! Old Hun Shanklin's one of 'em," sniffed Smith, plainly disgusted that the affair had turned out so poorly.

He put his weapon back in its place and took the lines.

"And that feller, he don't have to go around holdin' people up with a gun in his hand," he added. "He's got a safer and surer game of it than that."

"And that's no cross-eyed view of it, either," Dr. Slavens agreed.

Walker came over and stood beside the near wheel.

"One of them was Hun Shanklin!" said he, whispering up loudly for the doctor's ear, a look of deep concern on his youthful face.

Slavens nodded with what show of unconcern he could a.s.sume. For, knowing what he knew, he wondered what the gambler was there for, and why he seemed so anxious to keep the matter of his ident.i.ty to himself.

When they arrived at Comanche the sun was down. Mrs. Reed hurried June indoors, all exclamations and shudders over what she believed to have been a very narrow escape. Vowing that she never would go exploring around in that wild land again, she whisked off without a word for Smith.

The others shook hands with the driver, Agnes coming last. He took off his hat when it came her turn.

"Keep your eyes skinned," he advised her, "and don't let 'em play you for a sucker. Any time you need advice, or any help that I can give you, if I'm not here I'm on the road between here and Meander. You can git me over there by telephone."

"Thank you, Mr. Smith," said she warmly and genuinely, wondering why he should take such an unaccountable interest in her.

The others had gone about their business, thinking strongly of supper, leaving Smith and her alone beside the old green stage.

"But don't ask for Smith if you call me up," said he, "for that's only my first name, and they's a horse-wrangler over there with that for his last. They might think you wanted him."