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her insinuations. From the corners of his weak and watery blue eyes he surveyed her surreptitiously, wiped the back of his perspiring neck with a flamboyant bandana, and shrank farther into the corner of his seat.

A half-hour later the stage swung through the gap at the foot of the pass. Before it lay the rolling uplands through which the road wound down past the Bar Y ranch house and the town of Hendersville on the flat below. The gap was narrow and winding and the road excruciatingly vile, necessitating a much slower pace than the driver had been maintaining since passing the summit.

The horses were walking, the coach lurching from one chuck-hole to another, while clouds of acrid dust arose in almost vapor lightness, enveloping beasts, vehicle and passengers. Through the nebulous curtain rising above the leaders the driver saw suddenly materialize the figures of two men.

ā€œHalt! Stick ā€˜em up!ā€

The words snapped grimly from the taller of the two. The messenger on the seat beside the driver made a single move to raise his sawed-off shot gun. A six-gun barked and the messenger toppled forward, falling upon the rump of the near wheel-horse. The horse, startled, leaped forward into his collar. The driver attempted to quiet him. The two men moved up beside the stage, one covering the driver and a passenger on top, the other threatening the two inside. The fat lady sat with her arms folded glaring at the bandit. The little old gentlemanā€™s hands touched the top of the stage.

ā€œStick ā€˜em up!ā€ said the bandit to the fat lady.

She did not move.

ā€œSure anā€™ Iā€™ll not stick ā€˜em up an inch fer the loikes oā€™ yese,ā€ she shrilled; ā€œanā€™ lucky it is for ye, ye dhirty spalpeen, that Mary Donovan hasnā€™t the bit ov a gun with her-or that there ainā€™t a man along to protect a poor, helpless widdy lady,ā€ and she cast a withering glance of scorn in the direction of the little old gentleman, who grew visibly red through the tan of his weatherworn countenance.

The other bandit stepped to the hub of the front wheel, seized the messengerā€™s bag and stepped down again.

ā€œDonā€™t move, or look back, for five minutes,ā€ he admonished them, ā€œthen pull yer freight.ā€

The two then backed away up the road behind the stage, keeping it covered with their guns. The messenger lay in the road moaning.

The fat lady unfolded her arms, opened the door and stepped out. ā€œGet back there, you!ā€ called one of the bandits.

ā€œGo to the divil!ā€ retorted Mary Donovan, as she stooped beside the wounded messenger.

The man opened his eyes and looked about, then he essayed to rise and with Mary Donovanā€™s help came to his feet. ā€œJest a scratch, me bā€™y,ā€ she said in a motherly tone as she helped him to the stage. ā€œYeā€™ll be all right the morninā€™. Git a move on ye inside there, ye ould woman with the artillery,ā€ she yelled at the little old gentleman, ā€œanā€™ give this bā€™y a hand in.ā€

Together they helped the wounded man to a seat.

The bandits were still in sight, but they had not molested her-doubtless because she was a woman and unarmed; but no more had she deposited the messenger upon the seat than she turned upon the old man and wrenched one of his guns from its holster.

ā€œDrive like the divil, Bill,ā€ she cried to the driver, sticking her head out of the window, and as he whipped up his team she turned back toward the two bandits and opened fire on them. They returned the fire, and the fusillade continued until the stage disappeared in a cloud of dust around a curve below the gap, the old gentleman and the passenger on top now taking part in the shooting.

CHAPTER III SUSPICIONS

AS THE stage swirled through the dusty street of Hendersville an hour later and drew up before The Donovan House the loiterers about the hotel and the saloons gathered about it for the news and the gossip from the outer world. Gum Smith, sheriff, was among them.

ā€œStuck up again, Gum, at the gap,ā€ the driver called to him. ā€œThey bored Mack.ā€

Mary Donovan and the little old gentleman were assisting the messenger from the stage, though he protested that he was all right and required no assistance. As the womanā€™s eyes alighted upon the sheriff, she turned upon him, her arms akimbo.

ā€œSure, yese a fine spicimin uv a sheriff, Gum Smith, that ye are-not!ā€ she yelled in a voice that could be heard the length of the single street. ā€œThree holdups in the two months right under yer nose, and all ye do is ā€˜depatizeā€™ anā€™ ā€˜depatizeā€™ anā€™ ā€˜depatize.ā€™ Why donā€™t ye git out anā€™ git ā€˜em-ye ould woman,ā€ she concluded scornfully, and then turned to the wounded man, her voice instantly as soft as a lullaby.

ā€œGet inside wid ye, ye poor bā€™y, anā€™ Mary Donovanā€™ll be after makinā€™ ye comfortable ā€˜til we get hould uv the ould saw-bones, if heā€™s sober, which he ainā€™t, or Iā€™m no lady, which I am. Come on now, aisy like, thereā€™s a good bā€™y,ā€ and she put a motherly arm about the lad and helped him to the porch of the hotel, just as Diana Henders appeared from the interior, attracted by the sounds from without.

ā€œOh, Mrs. Donovan!ā€ she exclaimed. ā€œWhat has happened? Why, itā€™s Mack! The Black Coyote again?ā€ she guessed quickly.

ā€œShure anā€™ it was none other. I seen him wid me own eyes-the black silk handkerchief about the neck uv him anā€™ another over his ugly face. Anā€™ his pardner-sure now I couldnā€™t be mishtaken wid the rollinā€™ walk uv him-if it wasnā€™t that dhirty greaser, Gregorio, me nameā€™s not Mary Donovan, which it is.ā€

Together the two women helped the messenger into a bedroom where Mary Donovan, despite the embarrassed protests of her patient, undressed him and put him to bed while Diana Henders went to the kitchen for hot water and cloths.

Mack had an ugly flesh wound in his side, and this they had cleansed as best they could by the time the doctor arrived-a drink-broken old man who had drifted in from the East. His knowledge and skill were of the first rank and Hendersville boasted that it owned the best doctor in the Territory-when he was sober.

In Gumā€™s Place-Liquors and Cigars-the male population was listening to the account of the holdup as expounded by the little old gentleman and the other passenger, the latter being a stranger in the community.

It was he who had the floor at the moment.

ā€œI never laughed so much in my life,ā€ he averred, ā€œas when the old woman calls the old man here the ā€˜ould woman with the artillery.ā€™ā€

The little old gentleman was standing at the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Apparently with a single movement, so swift was he, he dashed the glass and its contents in the face of the stranger, whipped out both guns and commenced shooting.

A stream of lurid profanity accompanied his act, yet through the flood of incoherent obscenity the nub of an idea occasionally appeared, which was to the effect that ā€œno blankety, blank tin-horn could git gay with Wildcat Bob.ā€ Almost instantly, as if a magician had waved his wand, the room, that had been comfortably filled with men, became deserted, as far as human eye could discern, except for the little old gentleman with the tobacco-dewed whiskers.

The front door had accommodated some, while heavy pieces of furniture and the bar accounted for the rest-all but the stranger with the ill-directed sense of humor. He had gone through the back window and taken the sash with him.

The shooting over, the company reappeared, grinning. Most of them knew Wildcat Bob. It had been the strangerā€™s misfortune that he had not.

ā€œIā€™d orter ā€˜aā€™ bored him, the dinged pole-cat,ā€ growled the little old gentleman, filling a fresh glass; ā€œbut I guess I larnt him his lesson. The idear of him a-speakinā€™ of Mrs. Donovan disrespectful-like like that-callinā€™ her the ā€˜old womanā€™! Why, sheā€™s the finest lady ever drew breath.

ā€œAnā€™ says she to me, says she, Mister Bob, says she, ā€˜Itā€™s such a relief to have a man like you along when thereā€™s danger,ā€™ says she, but she canā€™t stand bloodshed, beinā€™ that timid and shrinkinā€™ and she begged me not to start shootinā€™ at the varmints, otherwise than which I shore would of messed them up somethinā€™ awful,ā€ interspersed with which were quite two oaths or obscenities to each word.

The shooting over and quiet restored, Gum Smith made his belated appearance. At sight of the little old gentleman he smiled affably.

ā€œDoggone my hide if it ainā€™t Bob,ā€ he exclaimed, crossing the room with extended hand. ā€œHave a drink on the house, Bob.ā€

Wildcat Bob ignored the proffered hand. ā€œI got the dust to cover my own drinks, Mister Sheriff,ā€ he replied, ā€œan instid of loafinā€™ around here buyinā€™ drinks why ainā€™t you-all out scoutinā€™ after that there Black Coyote hombre? Youā€™re shore a hell of a sheriff, you are, Gum Smith.ā€

ā€œDonā€™t git excited, Bob,ā€ urged the sheriff, flushing. ā€œGive a man time. Ah got to git me a posse, ainā€™t Ah? Thetā€™s jest what Ah was allowinā€™ to do right now, anā€™ Ahā€™ll start by depatizinā€™ yo.ā€

ā€œYouā€™ll deputize me-hell, you will, Gum Smith,ā€ returned the old man with a snort of disgust. ā€œI ben out with you-all before. When you thinks dangerā€™s north you heads south. I had all the travelinā€™ I wants today.ā€

The sheriff mumbled something beneath his breath and turned away. Some half-hour later he rode out of town with a posse consisting of half a dozen of his cronies and leisurely took his way toward the gap.

In Mrs. Donovanā€™s sitting room Mary Donovan sat rocking comfortably and chatting with Diana Renders. Mack had been made as comfortable as circumstances permitted. The doctor had assured them that he was in no danger and had gone his way-back to Gumā€™s Place-Liquors and Cigars.

ā€œAnd what are you doinā€™ in town this day, Diana?ā€ inquired Mrs. Donovan.

ā€œI rode in with Hal Colby, heā€™s foreman now,ā€ replied the girl. ā€œI wanted to buy a few things while Hal rode on over to the West Ranch. We have some horses over there. He ought to be back any minute now.ā€

ā€œSo Colbyā€™s foreman. Whatā€™s become of Bull-quit?ā€

ā€œHe got drunk again and Dad broke him. Iā€™m so sorry for him.ā€

ā€œDonā€™t be after wastinā€™ your pity on the loikes ov him,ā€ advised Mary Donovan. ā€œThereā€™s not the wan ov thimā€™s fit to black your boots, darlinā€™.ā€

ā€œI donā€™t understand Bull,ā€ continued the girl, ignoring the interruption. ā€œSometimes I think heā€™s all right and then again Iā€™m afraid of him. Heā€™s so quiet and reserved that I feel as though no one could ever know him, and when a manā€™s like that, as Hal says, you canā€™t help but think that maybe heā€™s done something that makes him afraid to talk, for fear heā€™ll give himself away.ā€

ā€œSo Hal Colby was after sayinā€™ that? Well, maybe heā€™s right anā€™ maybe heā€™s wrong. Itā€™s not Mary Donovan thatā€™ll be sayinā€™ as donā€™t know. But this I do be after knowinā€™-theyā€™re both ov thim in love with ye, andā€

ā€œHush, Mrs. Donovan! The boys all think theyā€™re in love with me, but I hate to hear anyone else say it seriously. Itā€™s perfectly silly. Theyā€™d be just as much in love with any other girl, if she chanced to be the only girl on the ranch, as I am, and pretty nearly the only girl in the county, too. Thereā€™s Hal now. I must be going. Good-bye, Mrs. Donovan.ā€

ā€œGood-bye darlinā€™, anā€™ be after cominā€™ over again soon. Itā€™s that lonesome here, you never could imagine! Anā€™

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