“Ye had a mighty narrer escape down there just now,” said that gentleman confidentially, as Hale buckled his saddle girths.

“I thought, as we were not supposed to defend ourselves, there was no danger,” said Hale scornfully.

“Oh, I don’t mean them road agents.  But him.”

“Who?”

“Kernel Clinch.  You jist ez good as allowed he hadn’t any grit.”

“Whatever I said, I suppose I am responsible for it,” answered Hale haughtily.

“That’s what gits me,” was the imperturbable reply.  “He’s the best shot in Southern California, and hez let daylight through a dozen chaps afore now for half what you said.”

“Indeed!”

“Howsummever,” continued Rawlins philosophically, “ez he’s concluded to go with ye instead of for ye, you’re likely to hev your ideas on this matter carried out up to the handle.  He’ll make short work of it, you bet.  Ef, ez I suspect, the leader is an airy young feller from Frisco, who hez took to the road lately, Clinch hez got a personal grudge agin him from a quarrel over draw poker.”

This was the last blow to Hale’s ideal crusade.  Here he was—­an honest, respectable citizen—­engaged as simple accessory to a lawless vendetta originating at a gambling table!  When the first shock was over that grim philosophy which is the reaction of all imaginative and sensitive natures came to his aid.  He felt better; oddly enough he began to be conscious that he was thinking and acting like his companions.  With this feeling a vague sympathy, before absent, faintly showed itself in their actions.  The Sharpe’s rifle put into his hands by the stable-man was accompanied by a familiar word of suggestion as to an equal, which he was ashamed to find flattered him.  He was able to continue the conversation with Rawlins more coolly.

“Then you suspect who is the leader?”

“Only on giniral principles.  There was a finer touch, so to speak, in this yer robbery that wasn’t in the old-fashioned style.  Down in my country they hed crude ideas about them things—­used to strip the passengers of everything, includin’ their clothes.  They say that at the station hotels, when the coach came in, the folks used to stand round with blankets to wrap up the passengers so ez not to skeer the wimen.  Thar’s a story that the driver and express manager drove up one day with only a copy of the Alty Californy wrapped around ’em; but thin,” added Rawlins grimly, “there was folks ez said the hull story was only an advertisement got up for the Alty.”

“Time’s up.”

“Are you ready, gentlemen?” said Colonel Clinch.

Hale started.  He had forgotten his wife and family at Eagle’s Court, ten miles away.  They would be alarmed at his absence, would perhaps hear some exaggerated version of the stage coach robbery, and fear the worst.

“Is there any way I could send a line to Eagle’s Court before daybreak?” he asked eagerly.