“No, Billy, you’re not,” I said.

“Wish I was.  They couldn’t get me back to Laramie then; but, oh, bother!  I’d not go for ’em!  I’d like to see ’em try!  Lin wouldn’t leave me go.  You ain’t married, are you?  No more is Lin now, I guess.  A good many are, but I wouldn’t want to.  I don’t think anything of ’em.  I’ve seen mother take ’pothecary stuff on the sly.  She’s whaled me worse than Lin ever does.  I guess he wouldn’t want to be mother’s husband again, and if he does,” said Billy, his voice suddenly vindictive, “I’ll quit him and skip.”

“No danger, Bill,” said I.

“How would the nice lady inside please you?” inquired the driver.

“Ah, pshaw! she ain’t after Lin!” sang out Billy, loud and scornful.  “She’s after her brother.  She’s all right, though,” he added, approvingly.

At this all talk stopped short inside, reviving in a casual, scanty manner; while unconscious Billy Lusk, tired of the one subject, now spoke cheerfully of birds’ eggs.

Who knows the child-soul, young in days, yet old as Adam and the hills?  That school-yard slur about his mother was as dim to his understanding as to the offender’s, yet mysterious nature had bid him go to instant war!  How foreseeing in Lin to choke the unfounded jest about his relation to Billy Lusk, in hopes to save the boy’s ever awakening to the facts of his mother’s life!  “Though,” said the driver, an easygoing cynic, “folks with lots of fathers will find heaps of brothers in this country!” But presently he let Billy hold the reins, and at the next station carefully lifted him down and up.  “I’ve knowed that woman, too,” he whispered to me.  “Sidney, Nebraska.  Lusk was off half the time.  We laughed when she fooled Lin into marryin’ her.  Come to think,” he mused, as twilight deepened around our clanking stage, and small Billy slept sound between us, “there’s scarcely a thing in life you get a laugh out of that don’t make soberness for somebody.”

Soberness had now visited the pair behind us; even Lin’s lively talk had quieted, and his tones were low and few.  But though Miss Jessamine at our next change of horses “hoped” I would come inside, I knew she did not hope very earnestly, and outside I remained until Buffalo.

Journeying done, her face revealed the strain beneath her brave brightness, and the haunting care she could no longer keep from her eyes.  The imminence of the jail and the meeting had made her cheeks white and her countenance seem actually smaller; and when, reminding me that we should meet again soon, she gave me her hand, it was ice-cold.  I think she was afraid Lin might offer to go with her.  But his heart understood the lonely sacredness of her next half-hour, and the cow puncher, standing aside for her to pass, lifted his hat wistfully and spoke never a word.  For a moment he looked after her with sombre emotion; but the court-house and prison stood near and in sight, and, as plain as if he had said so, I saw him suddenly feel she should not be stared at going up those steps; it must be all alone, the pain and the joy of that reprieve!  He turned away with me, and after a few silent steps said, “Wasted! all wasted!”