“Mac’ll tell yer how ’twas, fellers,” said the colonel, meekly, “while I picket the mare.”

The colonel was absent but a very few moments, but when he returned each of the four men was attired in pistols and knives, while Mac was distributing some dominoes, made from a rather dirty flour-bag.

“’Tain’t so late as all that, is it?” inquired the colonel.

“Better be an hour ahead than miss it this ’ere night,” said one of the four.  “I ain’t been so thirsty sence I come round the Horn, in ’50, an’ we run short of water. Somebody’ll get hurt ef thar’ ain’t no bitters on the old concern—­they will, or my name ain’t Perkins.”

“Don’t count yer chickings ’fore they’re hetched, Perky,” said one of the party, as he adjusted his domino under the rim of his hat.  “‘S’posin’ ther’ shud be too many for us?”

“Stiddy, Cranks!” remonstrated the colonel.  “Nobody ever gets along ef they ’low ’emselves to be skeered.”

“Fact,” chimed in the smallest and thinnest man of the party.  “The Bible says somethin’ mighty hot ’bout that.  I disremember dzackly how it goes; but I’ve heerd Parson Buzzy, down in Maine, preach a rippin’ old sermon from that text many a time.  The old man never thort what a comfort them sermons wus a-goin’ to be to a road-agent, though.  That time we stopped Slim Mike’s stage, an’ he didn’t hev no more manners than to draw on me, them sermons wus a perfec’ blessin’ to me—­the thought uv ’em cleared my head ez quick ez a cocktail.  An’—­”

“I don’t want to disturb Logroller’s pious yarn,” interrupted the colonel; “but ez it’s Old Black that’s drivin’ to-day instid of Slim Mike, an’ ez Old Black ollers makes his time, hedn’t we better vamose?”

The door of the shanty was hastily closed, and the men filed through the thicket until near the road, when they marched rapidly on parallel lines with it.  After about half an hour, Perkins, who was leading, halted, and wiped his perspiring brow with his shirt-sleeve.

“Far enough from home now,” said he. “‘Tain’t no use bein’ a gentleman ef yer hev to work too hard.”

“Safe enough, I reckon,” replied the colonel.  “We’ll do the usual; I’ll halt ’em, Logroller’ll tend to the driver, Cranks takes the boot, an’ Mac an’ Perk takes right an’ left.  An’—­I know it’s tough—­but consid’rin’ how everlastin’ eternally hard up we are, I reckon we’ll have to ask contributions from the ladies, too, ef ther’s any aboard—­eh, boy?”

“Reckon so,” replied Logroller, with a chuckle that seemed to inspire even his black domino with a merry wrinkle or two.  “What’s the use of women’s rights ef they don’t ever hev a chance of exercisin’ ’em?  Hevin’ ther purses borrowed ’ud show ’em the hull doctrine in a bran-new light.”

“They’re treacherous critters, women is,” remarked Cranks; “some of ’em might put a knife into a feller while he was ’pologizin’.”

“Ef you’re afeard of ’em,” said Perkins, “you ken go back an’ clean up the shanty.”