I had to acknowledge that it was, and told her the worst part was the absence of pleasant women.  “Till you arrived, Miss Cullen,” I said, “I hadn’t seen a well-gowned woman in four years.”  I’ve always noticed that a woman would rather have a man notice and praise her frock than her beauty, and Miss Cullen was apparently no exception, for I could see the remark pleased her.

“Don’t Western women ever get Eastern gowns?” she asked.

“Any quantity,” I said, “but you know, Miss Cullen, that it isn’t the gown, but the way it’s worn, that gives the artistic touch.”  For a fellow who had devoted the last seven years of his life to grades and fuel and rebates and pay-rolls, I don’t think that was bad.  At least it made Miss Cullen’s mouth dimple at the corners.

The whole evening was so eminently satisfactory that I almost believe I should be talking yet, if interruption had not come.  The first premonition of it was Miss Cullen’s giving a little shiver, which made me ask if she was cold.

“Not at all,” she replied.  “I only—­what place are we stopping at?”

I started to rise, but she checked the movement and said, “Don’t trouble yourself.  I thought you would know without moving.  I really don’t care to know.”

I took out my watch, and was startled to find it was twenty minutes past twelve.  I wasn’t so green as to tell Miss Cullen so, and merely said, “By the time, this must be Sanders.”

“Do we stop long?” she asked.

“Only to take water,” I told her, and then went on with what I had been speaking about when she shivered.  But as I talked it slowly dawned on me that we had been standing still some time, and presently I stopped speaking and glanced off, expecting to recognize something, only to see alkali plain on both sides.  A little surprised, I looked down, to find no siding.  Rising hastily, I looked out forward.  I could see moving figures on each side of the train, but that meant nothing, as the train’s crew, and, for that matter passengers, are very apt to alight at every stop.  What did mean something was that there was no water-tank, no station, nor any other visible cause for a stop.

“Is anything the matter?” asked Miss Cullen.

“I think something’s wrong with the engine or the roadbed, Miss Cullen,” I said, “and, if you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll go forward and see.”

I had barely spoken when “bang! bang!” went two shots.  That they were both fired from an English “express” my ears told me for no other people in this world make a mountain howitzer and call it a rifle.

Hardly were the two shots fired when “crack! crack! crack! crack!” went some Winchesters.

“Oh! what is it?” cried Miss Cullen.

“I think your wish has been granted,” I answered hurriedly.  “We are being held up, and Lord Ralles is showing us how to—­”

My speech was interrupted.  “Bang! bang!” challenged another “express,” the shots so close together as to be almost simultaneous.  “Crack! crack! crack!” retorted the Winchesters, and from the fact that silence followed I drew a clear inference.  I said to myself, “That is an end of poor John Bull.”