“You look as if you’d had a big scare, old man, but you’ve clear grit for all that!” he said, with a critical and reassuring smile.  “Now, what are you doing here?  Stay,” he continued, as Brice’s parched lips prevented him from replying immediately.  “I ought to know your face.  Hello! you’re the expressman!” His glance suddenly shifted, and swept past Brice over the ground beyond him to the entrance of the hollow, but his smile returned as he apparently satisfied himself that the young man was alone.  “Well, what do you want?”

“I want to see Snapshot Harry,” said Brice, with an effort.  His voice came back more slowly than his color, but that was perhaps hurried by a sense of shame at his physical weakness.

“What you want is a drop o’ whiskey,” said the stranger good humoredly, taking his arm, “and we’ll find it in that shanty just behind the tree.”  To Brice’s surprise, a few steps in that direction revealed a fair-sized cabin, with a slight pretentiousness about it of neatness, comfort, and picturesque effect, far superior to the Tarbox shanty.  A few flowers were in boxes on the window—­signs, as Brice fancied, of feminine taste.  When they reached the threshold, somewhat of this quality was also visible in the interior.  When Brice had partaken of the whiskey, the stranger, who had kept silence, pointed to a chair, and said smilingly:—­

“I am Henry Dimwood, alias Snapshot Harry, and this is my house.”

“I came to speak with you about the robbery of greenbacks from the coach last night,” began Brice hurriedly, with a sudden access of hope at his reception.  “I mean, of course,”—­he stopped and hesitated,—­“the actual robbery before you stopped us.”

“What!” said Harry, springing to his feet, “do you mean to say you knew it?”

Brice’s heart sank, but he remained steadfast and truthful.  “Yes,” he said, “I knew it when I handed down the box.  I saw that the lock had been forced, but I snapped it together again.  It was my fault.  Perhaps I should have warned you, but I am solely to blame.”

“Did Yuba Bill know of it?” asked the highwayman, with singular excitement.

“Not at the time, I give you my word!” replied Brice quickly, thinking only of loyalty to his old comrade.  “I never told him till we reached the station.”

“And he knew it then?” repeated Harry eagerly.

“Yes.”

“Did he say anything?  Did he do anything?  Did he look astonished?”

Brice remembered Bill’s uncontrollable merriment, but replied vaguely and diplomatically, “He was certainly astonished.”

A laugh gathered in Snapshot Harry’s eyes which at last overspread his whole face, and finally shook his frame as he sat helplessly down again.  Then, wiping his eyes, he said in a shaky voice:—­