doing with the other six?"

"They're out on the line."

"Humph!" grunted the Baron in despair. "Eating their heads off!"

What the Baron said to the Marquis is lost to history. The family in
the new house across the river from Medora had plenty of dignity and
pride. Whatever disagreements they had they kept securely within their
own walls, and there was nothing but a growing querulousness in the
voice of the man who held the purse-strings to reveal to the world
that Baron von Hoffman was beginning to think he was laying away his
money in a hole that had no bottom. Something of that feeling seems to
have been in the Marquis's own mind, for in the interviews he gave to
the newspapers the words "I won't be bled" recur.

On the first of October, Packard was ready for the "dress rehearsal"
of his stage-line. That performance partook of more than the usual
quantity of hazard connected with such occasions. At every station,
for instance, some or all of the six horses had to be roped, thrown,
and blindfolded before they would let themselves be harnessed. To
adjust the harness was itself a ticklish undertaking and had to be
done with minute regard for sensitive nerves, for if any part of it
struck a horse except with the pressure of its own weight, the devil
was loose again, and anything might happen. But even when the harness
was finally on the refractory backs, the work was not half done. Still
blindfolded, the horses had to be driven, pulled, pushed, and hauled
by main force to their appointed places in front of the coach.
Noiselessly, one at a time, the tugs were attached to the single-tree,
and carefully, as though they were dynamite, the reins were handed to
the driver. At the Moreau Station, two thirds of the way to Deadwood,
all six horses, it happened were practically unbroken broncos. The
driver was on his box with Packard at his side, as they prepared to
start, and at the head of each horse stood one of the station-hands.

"Ready?" asked the man at the head of the near leader.

"All set," answered the other helpers.

"Let 'er go!" called the driver.

The helpers jerked the blinds from the horses' eyes. The broncos
jumped into their collars as a unit. As a unit, however, they surged
back, as they became suddenly conscious of the horror that they
dreaded most--restraint. The off leader made a wild swerve to the
right, backing toward the coach, and dragging the near leader and the
near swing-horse from their fe