“Goodness!  You’re not gone yet,” said Mrs. Peyton sharply.  “Do you want to lose the stage?”

An instant before, in his loneliness, he might have answered, “Yes.”  But under the cruel sting of Mrs. Peyton’s evident annoyance at his reappearance he felt his legs suddenly tremble, and his voice left him.  He did not dare to look at Susy.  But her voice rose comfortably from the depths of the wagon where she was sitting.

“The stage will be gone away, Kla’uns.”

She too!  Shame at his foolish weakness sent the yearning blood that had settled round his heart flying back into his face.

“I was looking for—­for—­for Jim, ma’am,” he said at last, boldly.

He saw a look of disgust pass over Mrs. Peyton’s face, and felt a malicious satisfaction as he turned and ran back to the stage.  But here, to his surprise, he actually found Jim, whom he really hadn’t thought of, darkly watching the last strapping of luggage.  With a manner calculated to convey the impression to the other passengers that he was parting from a brother criminal, probably on his way to a state prison, Jim shook hands gloomily with Clarence, and eyed the other passengers furtively between his mated locks.

“Ef ye hear o’ anythin’ happenin’, ye’ll know what’s up,” he said, in a low, hoarse, but perfectly audible whisper.  “Me and them’s bound to part company afore long.  Tell the fellows at Deadman’s Gulch to look out for me at any time.”

Although Clarence was not going to Deadman’s Gulch, knew nothing of it, and had a faint suspicion that Jim was equally ignorant, yet as one or two of the passengers glanced anxiously at the demure, gray-eyed boy who seemed booked for such a baleful destination, he really felt the half-delighted, half-frightened consciousness that he was starting in life under fascinating immoral pretenses.  But the forward spring of the fine-spirited horses, the quickened motion, the glittering sunlight, and the thought that he really was leaving behind him all the shackles of dependence and custom, and plunging into a life of freedom, drove all else from his mind.  He turned at last from this hopeful, blissful future, and began to examine his fellow passengers with boyish curiosity.  Wedged in between two silent men on the front seat, one of whom seemed a farmer, and the other, by his black attire, a professional man, Clarence was finally attracted by a black-mantled, dark-haired, bonnetless woman on the back seat, whose attention seemed to be monopolized by the jocular gallantries of her companions and the two men before her in the middle seat.  From her position he could see little more than her dark eyes, which occasionally seemed to meet his frank curiosity in an amused sort of way, but he was chiefly struck by the pretty foreign sound of her musical voice, which was unlike anything he had ever heard before, and—­alas for the inconstancy of youth—­much finer than Mrs. Peyton’s.  Presently his farmer companion, casting a patronizing glance on Clarence’s pea-jacket and brass buttons, said cheerily—­