Brice thought of Flora, but he had resolved not to compromise her, and he had a consciousness that she would be equally loyal to him.  “No one,” he answered boldly.

“Very good.  And I suppose you wouldn’t mind if it were kept out of the newspapers?  You’re not hankering after a reputation as a hero?”

“Certainly not,” said Brice indignantly.

“Well, then, we’ll keep it where it is.  You will say nothing.  I will hand over the greenbacks to the company, but only as much of your story as I think they’ll stand.  You’re all right as it is.  Yuba Bill has already set you up in his report to the company, and the recovery of this money will put you higher!  Only, the public need know nothing about it.”

“But,” asked Brice amazedly, “how can it be prevented?  The shippers who lost the money will have to know that it has been recovered.”

“Why should they?  The company will assume the risk, and repay them just the same.  It’s a great deal better to have the reputation for accepting the responsibility than for the shippers to think that they only get their money through the accident of its recovery.”

Brice gasped at this large business truth.  Besides, it occurred to him that it kept the secret, and Flora’s participation in it, from Snapshot Harry and the gang.  He had not thought of that before.

“Come,” continued the manager, with official curtness.  “What do you say?  Are you willing to leave it to me?”

Brice hesitated a moment.  It was not what his impulsive truthful nature had suggested.  It was not what his youthful fancy had imagined.  He had not worked upon the sympathies of the company on behalf of Snapshot Harry as he believed he would do.  He had not even impressed the manager.  His story, far from exciting a chivalrous sentiment, had been pronounced improbable.  Yet he reflected he had so far protected her, and he consented with a sigh.

Nevertheless, the result ought to have satisfied him.  A dazzling check, inclosed in a letter of thanks from the company the next day, and his promotion from “the road” to the San Francisco office, would have been quite enough for any one but Edward Brice.  Yet he was grateful, albeit a little frightened and remorseful over his luck.  He could not help thinking of the kindly tolerance of the highwayman, the miserable death of the actual thief, which had proved his own salvation, and above all the generous, high-spirited girl who had aided his escape.  While on his way to San Francisco, and yet in the first glow of his success, he had written her a few lines from Marysville, inclosed in a letter to Mr. Tarbox.  He had received no reply.