“Confound such a road!” growled the younger man, as the stage bounced him about like a rubber ball.  “For my part I wish I had remained at home, instead of coming out into this outlandish region.  It is perfectly awful.”

“Y-y-y-e-s!” chattered the elder between the jolts and jerks—­“it is not what it should be, that’s true.  But have patience; ere long we will reach our destination, and—­”

“Get shot like poor Vansevere did!” sneered the other.  “I tell you, governor, this is a desperate game you are playing.”

The old man smiled, grimly.

“Desperate or not, we must carry it through to the end.  Vansevere was not the right kind of a man to set after the young scamp.”

“How do you mean?”

“He was too rash—­entirely too rash.  Deadwood Dick is a daring whelp, and Vansevere’s open offer of a reward for his apprehension only put the young tiger on his guard, and he will be more wary and watchful in the future.”

This in a positive tone.

“Yes; he will be harder to trap than a fox who has lost a foot between jaws of steel.  He will be revengeful, too!”

“Bah!  I fear him not, old as I am.  He is but a boy in years, you remember, and will be easily managed.”

“I hope so; I don’t want my brains blown out, at least.”

The stage rumbled on; the Jehu cursed and lashed his horses; the canyon grew deeper, narrower and darker, the grade slightly descending.

The moon seemed resting on the summit of a peak, hundreds of feet above, and staring down in surprise at the noisy stage.

Alexander Filmore (the elder passenger) succeeded in steadying himself long enough to ignite the end of a cigar to the bowl of Jehu’s grimy pipe; then he watched the trees that flitted by.  Clarence, his son, had smoked incessantly since leaving Camp Crook, and now threw away his half-used cheroot, and listened to the sighing of the spectral pines.

“The girl—­what about her?” he asked, after some moments had elapsed.

“She will be as much to the way as the boy will.”

“She?  Well, we’ll attend to her after we git him out of the way.  He is the worst obstacle to our path, at present.  Maybe when you see the girl you will take a fancy to her.”

“Pish!  I want no petticoats clinging to me—­much less an ignorant backwoods clodhopper.  She is probably a fit mate for an Indian chief.”

“You are too rough on the tender sex, boy,” and the elder Filmore gave vent to a disconnected laugh.  “You must remember that your mother was a woman.”

“Was she?” Clarence bit the end of his waxed mustache, and mused over his sire’s startling announcement. “You recollect that I never saw her.”

“D’ye carry poppin’-jays, pilgrims?” demanded Jehu, turning so suddenly upon the two passengers as to frighten them out of their wits.

“Popping-jays?” echoed Filmore, senior.