Mr. Ruger caught sight of her face about that time, and tossing away the cigar, he lifted his hat to her in the most approved style.

She acknowledged the salute by a bow, and when he rode up to the side of the stage, and made some casual remark about the fine weather, she did not choose to consider it out of the way to receive this advance toward a traveling acquaintance with seeming cordiality.

“Have you traveled far?” he asked.

“From the Atlantic coast, sir.”

“The same journey that I intend to take some of these days, only that I hope to substitute the word Pacific at its termination.  I hope you are near the end of your journey in this direction?”

“My destination is Ten Mile Gulch, I believe; but you have such horrid names out here.”

“I presume they do appear somewhat queer to a stranger, but they nearly all have the merit of being appropriate.  You stop at the settlement?”

“I do not know.  My brother wrote to me to come to Ten Mile Gulch.  Is it the name of a town?”

“Both of a village and a mining district, from which the village takes its name.  Is your brother a miner?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I presume he intended to meet you at the settlement You will no doubt find him at the tavern; if not, I will tell him of your arrival, for my way leads through the mines.”

“Thank you, sir.  My brother’s name is John Borlan.”

“I am somewhat acquainted with him,” said Mr. Kuger, “though in this region of strange names we call him Jack.  My name is Thomas Ruger.”

“Tom, in California style?” she asked, with a merry twinkle in her eye.

“Yes, Miss Borlan,” he said, also smiling.  “Tom Ruger is well known where Thomas Ruger never was heard of.  And now I will bid you good-day, Miss Borlan, for I am in something of a hurry to reach the settlement.  If I do not find Jack there, I will go on to the mines and tell him.”

“Ah, Miss, you don’t have such men as Tom Ruger out where you come from,” said the driver, as Tom disappeared up the road.  “And them nags of his’n can’t be beat this side of the mountains.  He makes a heap o’ money with ’em.”

“What! a horse-jockey?” exclaimed Miss Borlan.

“We don’t call him that, miss.  Some says he’s a sportin’ man, which ain’t nothin’ ag’in him, for the country’s new, ye see.  He’s got heaps o’ money anyway, and there ain’t a camp nor a town on the coast that don’t know Tom Ruger.  Ah, ye don’t have such men as Tommy.  He’d be at home in a palace, now wouldn’t he?  And it’s jest the same in a miner’s shanty.  Ye don’t have such men as he.  If he takes a likin’ to anybody, he sticks to ’em through thick and thin; but if he gits ag’in ye once, he’s—­the—­very—­deuce.  Ah, ye don’t have no such man out where you come from.”

She did not care to dispute this point.  In fact, after what she had seen and heard, she was inclined to believe that there was no such men as Tom Ruger out where she had come from; so she made no reply; and the driver, following out his train of thought, rattled on about Tom Ruger until they came in sight of Ten Mile Gulch, winding up his narrative with the sage, but rather unexpected, remark, that there weren’t no such men as Tom Ruger out where she had come from.