“You coward!  Do you think I care for a bonnet when the best man in Gumbolt may be dying down in them woods?”

With a cuff on the ear as the man burst out laughing and put his hand on her to soothe her, she turned and darted over the bank into the woods.  Fortunately for the rest of her apparel, which must have suffered as much as the dishevelled bonnet,—­which the grizzled miner had picked up and now held in his hand as carefully as if it were one of the birds which ornamented it,—­some one was heard climbing up through the bushes toward the road a little distance ahead.

The men stepped forward and waited, each one with his hand in the neighborhood of his belt, whilst the women instinctively fell to the rear.  The next moment Keith appeared over the edge of the road.  As he stepped into the light it was seen that his face was bleeding and that his left arm hung limp at his side.

The men called to Terpy to come back:  that Keith was there.  A moment later she emerged from the bushes and clambered up the bank.

“Did you get him?” was the first question she asked.

“No.”  Keith gave the girl a swift glance, and turning quietly, he asked one of the men to help him off with his coat.  In the light of the lamp he had a curious expression on his white face.

“Terpy was that skeered about you, she swore she was goin’ down there to help you,” said the miner who still held the hat.

A box on the ear from the young woman stopped whatever further observation he was going to make.

“Shut up.  Don’t you see he’s hurt?” She pushed away the man who was helping Keith off with his coat, and took his place.

No one who had seen her as she relieved Keith of the coat and with dexterous fingers, which might have been a trained nurse’s, cut away the bloody shirt-sleeve, would have dreamed that she was the virago who, a few moments before, had been raging in the road, swearing like a trooper, and cuffing men’s ears.

When the sleeve was removed it was found that Keith’s arm was broken just above the elbow, and the blood was pouring from two small wounds.  Terpy levied imperiously on the other passengers for handkerchiefs; then, not waiting for their contributions, suddenly lifting her skirt, whipped off a white petticoat, and tore it into strips.  She soon had the arm bound up, showing real skill in her surgery.  Once she whispered a word in his ear—­a single name.  Keith remained silent, but she read his answer, and went on with her work with a grim look on her face.  Then Keith mounted his box against the remonstrances of every one, and the passengers having reentered the stage, Wickersham drove on into Gumbolt.  His manner was more respectful to Keith than it had ever been before.

Within a half-hour after their arrival the sheriff and his party, with Dave Dennison at the head of the posse, were on their horses, headed for the scene of the “hold-up.”  Dave could have had half of Gumbolt for posse had he desired it.  They attempted to get some information from Keith as to the appearance of the robber; but Keith failed to give any description by which one man might have been distinguished from the rest of the male sex.