“They won’t think of looking there, hey?” laughed Stiefel.

“I should say not.”

“You may think what you like, Mr. Stiefel,” said a tall, thin passenger, who looked like a book peddler, “but I contend that my money is in a safer place than yours.”

“Indeed, Mr. Parker, I should like to know where you keep it,” said Col.  Warner, pleasantly.

“You can’t get at it without taking off my stockings,” said the tall man, looking about him in a self-satisfied manner.

“Very good, ’pon my soul!” said the colonel.  “I really don’t know but I shall adopt your hiding place.  I am an old traveler, but not too old to adopt new ideas when I meet with good ones.”

“I think you would find it to your interest, Colonel,” said Parker, looking flattered.

“Well, well,” said the colonel, genially, “suppose we change the subject.  There isn’t much chance of our being called upon to produce our money, or part with it.  Still, as I said a while since, it’s best to be cautious, and I see that you all are so.  I begin to feel hungry, gentlemen.  How is it with you?”

“Are we anywhere near the place for supper?” asked Stiefel.  “I wish I could step into a good Broadway restaurant; I feel empty.”

“Only a mile hence, gentlemen, we shall reach Echo Gulch, where we halt for the night.  There’s a rude cabin there, where they will provide us with supper and shelter.”

This announcement gave general satisfaction.  The colonel proved to be right.  The stage soon drew up in front of a long one-story building, which bore the pretentious name of the Echo Gulch Hotel.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A startling revelation.

A stout, black-bearded man stood in front of the hotel to welcome the stage passengers.  He took a clay pipe from his lips and nodded a welcome.

“Glad to see you, strangers,” he said.  “Here, Peter, you black rascal, help the gentlemen with their baggage.”

The door was thrown open, and the party filed into a comfortless looking apartment, at one end of which was a rude bar.

One of the passengers, at least, seemed to know the landlord, for Col.  Warner advanced to greet him, his face beaming with cordiality.

“How are you, John?” he said.  “How does the world use you?”

The landlord growled something inaudible.

“Have a drink, colonel?” was the first audible remark.

“Don’t care if I do.  It’s confounded dry traveling over these mountain roads.  Walk up, gentlemen.  Col.  Warner doesn’t drink alone.”

With the exception of Herbert and George Melville, the passengers seemed inclined to accept the offer.

“Come along, Melville,” said the colonel; “you and your friend must join us.”

“Please excuse me, colonel,” answered Melville.  “I would prefer not to drink.”