“There’s Fairfax,” said Dick Mattingly, at last, with a lazy effort.  His face was turned to the hillside, where a man had just emerged from the woods, and was halting irresolutely before the glaring expanse of upheaved gravel and glistening boulders that stretched between him and the shaded group.  “He’s going to make a break for it,” he added, as the stranger, throwing his linen coat over his head, suddenly started into an Indian trot through the pelting sunbeams toward them.  This strange act was perfectly understood by the group, who knew that in that intensely dry heat the danger of exposure was lessened by active exercise and the profuse perspiration that followed it.  In another moment the stranger had reached their side, dripping as if rained upon, mopping his damp curls and handsome bearded face with his linen coat, as he threw himself pantingly on the ground.

“I struck out over here first, boys, to give you a little warning,” he said, as soon as he had gained breath.  “That engineer will be down here to take charge as soon as the six o’clock stage comes in.  He’s an oldish chap, has got a family of two daughters, and—­I—­am—­d——­d if he is not bringing them down here with him.”

“Oh, go long!” exclaimed the five men in one voice, raising themselves on their hands and elbows, and glaring at the speaker.

“Fact, boys!  Soon as I found it out I just waltzed into that Jew shop at the Crossing and bought up all the clothes that would be likely to suit you fellows, before anybody else got a show.  I reckon I cleared out the shop.  The duds are a little mixed in style, but I reckon they’re clean and whole, and a man might face a lady in ’em.  I left them round at the old Buckeye Spring, where they’re handy without attracting attention.  You boys can go there for a general wash-up, rig yourselves up without saying anything, and then meander back careless and easy in your store clothes, just as the stage is coming in, sabe?”

“Why didn’t you let us know earlier?” asked Mattingly aggrievedly; “you’ve been back here at least an hour.”

“I’ve been getting some place ready for them,” returned the new-comer.  “We might have managed to put the man somewhere, if he’d been alone, but these women want family accommodation.  There was nothing left for me to do but to buy up Thompson’s saloon.”

“No?” interrupted his audience, half in incredulity, half in protestation.

“Fact!  You boys will have to take your drinks under canvas again, I reckon!  But I made Thompson let those gold-framed mirrors that used to stand behind the bar go into the bargain, and they sort of furnish the room.  You know the saloon is one of them patent houses you can take to pieces, and I’ve been reckoning you boys will have to pitch in and help me to take the whole shanty over to the laurel bushes, and put it up agin Kearney’s cabin.”

“What’s all that?” said the younger Kearney, with an odd mingling of astonishment and bashful gratification.