Yuba Bill sighed sadly, and returned to assist in the replacing of the coach on its wheels again.

“Never mind, Bill,” said one of the passengers sympathizingly, “we’ll catch that man Wiles at Rawlings sure;” and he looked around at the inchoate vigilance committee, already “rounding into form” about him.

“Ketch him!” returned Yuba Bill, derisively, “why we’ve got to go back to the station; and afore we’re off agin he’s pinted fur Clarmont on the relay we lose.  Ketch him!  H-ll’s full of such ketches!”

There was clearly nothing to do but to go back to the station to await the repairing of the coach.  While this was being done Yuba Bill again drew Thatcher aside: 

“I allers suspected that chap’s game eye, but I didn’t somehow allow for anything like this.  I reckoned it was only the square thing to look arter things gen’rally, and ’specially your traps.  So, to purvent troubil, and keep things about ekal, ez he was goin’ away, I sorter lifted this yer bag of hiz outer the tail board of his sleigh.  I don’t know as it is any exchange or compensation, but it may give ye a chance to spot him agin, or him you.  It strikes me as bein’ far-minded and squar’;” and with these words he deposited at the feet of the astounded Thatcher the black travelling bag of Mr. Wiles.

“But, Bill,—­see here!  I can’t take this!” interrupted Thatcher hastily.  “You can’t swear that he’s taken my bag,—­and—­and,—­blank it all,—­this won’t do, you know.  I’ve no right to this man’s things, even if—­”

“Hold your hosses,” said Bill gravely; “I ondertook to take charge o’ your traps.  I didn’t—­at least that d——­d wall-eyed—­Thar’s a portmantle!  I don’t know who’s it is.  Take it.”

Half amused, half embarrassed, yet still protesting, Thatcher took the bag in his hands.

“Ye might open it in my presence,” suggested Yuba Bill gravely.

Thatcher, half laughingly, did so.  It was full of papers and semi-legal-looking documents.  Thatcher’s own name on one of them caught his eye; he opened the paper hastily and perused it.  The smile faded from his lips.

“Well,” said Yuba Bill, “suppose we call it a fair exchange at present.”

Thatcher was still examining the papers.  Suddenly this cautious, strong-minded man looked up into Yuba Bill’s waiting face, and said quietly, in the despicable slang of the epoch and region: 

“It’s a go!  Suppose we do.”

CHAPTER XIII

HOW IT BECAME FAMOUS

Yuba Bill was right in believing that Wiles would lose no time at Rawlings.  He left there on a fleet horse before Bill had returned with the broken-down coach to the last station, and distanced the telegram sent to detain him two hours.  Leaving the stage road and its dangerous telegraphic stations, he pushed southward to Denver over the army trail, in company with a half-breed packer, crossing the Missouri before