cided
that we should wait until Jack's return, when we would all take the
stage to Pleasanton, where an Episcopal minister lived. My heart sank
at this, for it meant a delay of two days, and I stood up and stoutly
protested. But now that the excitement of our flight had abated, my own
Esther innocently sided with her sister, and I was at my wit's end. To
all my appeals, the sisters replied with the argument that there was no
hurry--that while the hunt lasted at the Vaux ranch Tony Hunter could be
depended upon to follow the hounds; Esther would never be missed until
his return; her mother would suppose she was with the Vaux girls, and
would be busy preparing a lecture against her return.

Of course the argument of the sisters won the hour. Though dreading some
unforeseen danger, I temporarily yielded. I knew the motive of the hunt
well enough to know that the moment we had an ample start it would be
abandoned, and the Las Palomas contingent would return to the ranch. Yet
I dare not tell, even my betrothed, that there were ulterior motives
in my employer's hunting on the Frio, one of which was to afford an
opportunity for our elopement. Full of apprehension and alarm, I took a
room at the village hostelry, for I had our horses to look after,
and secured a much-needed sleep during the afternoon. That evening I
returned to the Martin cottage, to urge again that we carry out our
original programme by taking the south-bound stage at midnight. But all
I could say was of no avail. Mrs. Martin was equal to every suggestion.
She had all the plans outlined, and there was no occasion for me to
do any thinking at all. Corpus Christi was not to be considered for a
single moment, compared to Pleasanton and an Episcopalian service. What
could I do?

At an early hour Mrs. Martin withdrew. The reaction from our escapade
had left a pallor on my sweetheart's countenance, almost alarming.
Noticing this, I took my leave early, hoping that a good night's rest
would restore her color and her spirits. Returning to the hostelry, I
resignedly sought my room, since there was nothing I could do but wait.
Tossing and pitching on my bed, I upbraided myself for having returned
to Oakville, where any interference with our plans could possibly
develop.

The next morning at breakfast, I noticed that I was the object of
particular attention, and of no very kindly sort. No one even gave me
a friendly nod, while several avoided my glances. Supposing tha