FELLOW-PASSENGERS
The two decided to give Bob Budd a surprise. They said it would be
hard for them to get away, and more than likely they would have to
wait several weeks before the matter could be decided. This letter was
followed at once by themselves, and they were now within a few miles
of Bob’s home without his suspecting anything of the kind.
Having informed themselves fully, they rode to a station not far from
Piketon, where they got off, leaving their trunks to go to the town,
while they spent a half-day in hunting. Their luck was so poor that
they gave it up, and were glad to use the stage for the rest of the
journey.
“What time are you due in Piketon?” asked Jim of the driver.
“Half-past eight.”
“That’s a good deal after dark.”
“So it is, at this time of the year, and it’s going to be dark sooner
than usual.”
“How’s that?”
“Don’t you notice how it has clouded up this afternoon? A big storm is
coming and we’re going to catch it afore we strike Piketon.”
“Well,” growled Wagstaff, “that isn’t pleasant; we were fools, Jim,
that we didn’t stay in the train; but we can shut ourselves in with
the curtains and let the driver run things.”
“I reckon I haven’t druv over this road for twenty-five years,” said
Lenman, “without striking a storm afore to-night.”
“Sartinly, sartinly,” added Ethan Durrell; “life must have its shadows
as well as sunshine, though I don’t like to be catched on a lonely
road this way. I say, Bill,” he added, in a half-frightened voice,
“are you troubled with any such pesky things as highway robbers?”
“If you hadn’t asked me that question I wouldn’t have said anything
about it; but I’ve been stopped and held up, as they say, just like
them chaps out West.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed the New Englander, while the young men
on the back seat became interested.
“I didn’t suppose you were ever troubled in this part of the world by
such people,” said Wagstaff.
“We aint often, but what place can you name where you don’t find bad
people?”
“How long ago was it you were held up?” asked Ethan.
“About six months; fact is, I’ve felt shaky for the last week.”
“Why so?” asked Wagstaff.
“I’ve seen a suspicious character down in Black Bear Swamp.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s a piece of woods we pass through afore we reach Piketon; it
jines the woods where you tell me Bob Budd has put up the tent, but it
curves round and reaches the hills on t’other side.”
The words of the driver deeply interested all three of the passengers.
The knowledge that, though in the State of Pennsylvania, and in a
section fairly well settled, they were in danger of being “held up” in
the most approved style of the wild West was enough to startle any
one.
“Tell us all about it,” persisted Wagstaff, lighting a new cigarette,
and leaning forward to catch the reply.
“There isn’t much to tell,” replied the driver; “’cept there’s a
holler close to t’other side of Black Bear Swamp, and three times in
the past week, when I was passing, I’ve seen a tall, slim man moving
around among the trees and watching me, tryin’ at the same time to
keep me from seeing him.”
“But if he was a robber—”
“Who said he was a robber?” demanded Lenman, turning and looking
sharply at the young man.
“You said he was a suspicious character, and what else could he be?”
demanded Wagstaff.
“Perhaps a tramp, but I’ll admit I have thought it likely he was a man
looking for a chance to rob the stage.” “Why didn’t he do it then?”
“It happened that on each of the times I hadn’t a single passenger
with me.”
“And now you’ve got _three_,” remarked McGovern. “Well, I hope he
will attack us to-night.”
“What’ll you do if he does?” asked the New Englander.
“Don’t you see we’ve each got a rifle? Beside that, Tom and I carry a
Smith & Wesson apiece, and all our weapons are loaded; that fellow
won’t have time to call out for us to give up our valuables before
he’ll be filled as full of holes as a sieve.”
“My gracious! you wouldn’t do _that_, would you?”
“Just give us a chance, that’s all,” said Wagstaff, with a shake of
his head.
Had the young men been watching Durrell and the driver at that moment,
they would have seen a singular look pass between the two. It might
have meant nothing, and it might have signified a good deal. No words
were spoken, but the expression of their faces, to say the least, was
peculiar.
“I should have said,” continued the driver, “that the chap may have
learned something about that box, which was expected at Belmar, and
which I was to take to Piketon with me.”
“What box?” asked Wagstaff.
“The one that is strapped onto the rear of the stage.”
“Jingo!” muttered Jim, “things are beginning to look dubious.”
“As I was about to say,” continued the driver, “if that chap has made
up his mind to hold us up—and it looks mighty like it—this is the
night it will be done.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Haven’t I got three passengers for Piketon, which is the biggest
number I’ve took through in a couple of weeks, and, more’n all,
_that_ box is with me? The night is going to be as dark as a
wolf’s mouth, and when we strike Black Bear Swamp—”
“Why do they call it Black Bear Swamp?” asked Durrell.
“I don’t know of any reason, onless it is that there never was a black
bear found there, though they’re up among the mountains, where there’s
a deer now and then. But won’t the scamp be fooled, though?” chuckled
the driver.
“How’s that?”
“I never carry any shooting-irons, but you’ve got enough for us all,
and, when he sings out and you shove the muzzles of your guns forward
and let drive, why the State will be saved a big expense.”
“That’s so!” exclaimed Wagstaff, with a fierceness too vivid to be
wholly genuine; “we’ve started out for a hunting trip with Bob Budd,
and expect to bag all the bears and deer in the country, but we
weren’t looking for stage robbers, because I don’t know that we have
lost any, but if they choose to run into our way, why who’s to blame?”
“That’s so,” assented his companion, who, in truth, regretted more
than ever that they had not made the entire journey to Piketon by
train instead of partly in the lumbering stage-coach.
“It would be better,” he added, after a moment’s thought, “if the
rogue had chosen the daytime.”
“Why so?” queried the New Englander.
“We can see to aim better.”
“So can _he_, can’t he?”
“Yes, but we would have prepared better than we can at night,” replied
Wagstaff, nervously.
“And it would be the same with _him_. If you’re afraid you can’t
shoot straight, I’ll take one gun and Bill the other, and you can
crawl under the seats.”
“Who’s talking about crawling under the seats—what’s that?”
A peal of thunder rumbled overhead, and it was already beginning to
grow dark. The afternoon was merging into night, which, as has been
explained, was closing in sooner than usual, because of the cloudy
sky.
“We’re going to catch it afore we get home,” remarked the driver,
glancing upward and twitching the lines, so as to force the team into
a moderate trot.
“Why don’t you hurry up your nags more, and get home sooner?” asked
Wagstaff.
“A good master is marciful to his beast; I aint likely to gain
anything by hurrying, for the storm may come and be over afore we get
to town, while the animals are so used to this work, that, if I made
it a rule to push ’em now and then, they are likely to break down, and
trade aint good enough for me to afford _that_.”
“But if you should do it once, it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Another thing,” added the driver, as if the fact was a clincher to
the discussion, “if we should go rattling through Black Bear Swamp
ahead of time, that suspicious chap would miss us.”
“Well?”
“And we would miss _him_, which we don’t want to do. Being as
you’ve got your guns and are so anxious to use ’em on him, why I won’t
be mean enough to rob you of the chance.”