decided to accompany Yuba Bill. These changes took up some
valuable time; and the storm continuing, the stage was run under the
shed, the passengers gathering around the station fire; and not until
after midnight did Yuba Bill put in the relays. "I wish you a good
journey," said Wiles, as he drove from the shed as Bill entered. Bill
vouchsafed no reply, but, addressing himself to the driver, said curtly,
as if giving an order for the delivery of goods, "Shove him out at
Rawlings," and passed contemptuously around to the tail board of the
sled, and returned to the harnessing of his relay.

The moon came out and shone high as Yuba Bill once more took the reins
in his hands. The wind, which instantly attacked them as they reached
the level, seemed to make the driver's theory plausible, and for half a
mile the roadbed was swept clean, and frozen hard. Further on a tongue
of snow, extending from a boulder to the right, reached across their
path to the height of two or three feet. But Yuba Bill dashed through a
part of it, and by skillful maneuvering circumvented the rest. But even
as the obstacle was passed, the coach dropped with an ominous lurch on
one side, and the off fore wheel flew off in the darkness. Bill threw
the horses back on their haunches; but, before their momentum could be
checked, the near hind wheel slipped away, the vehicle rocked violently,
plunged backwards and forwards, and stopped.

Yuba Bill was on the road in an instant with his lantern. Then followed
an outbreak of profanity which I regret, for artistic purposes, exceeds
that generous limit which a sympathizing public has already extended to
me in the explication of character. Let me state, therefore, that in
a very few moments he succeeded in disparaging the characters of his
employers, their male and female relatives, the coach builder, the
station keeper, the road on which he travelled, and the travellers
themselves, with occasional broad expletives addressed to himself and
his own relatives. For the spirit of this and a more cultivated poetry
of expression, I beg to refer the temperate reader to the 3d chapter of
Job.

The passengers knew Bill, and sat, conservative, patient, and expectant.
As yet the cause of the catastrophe was not known. At last Thatcher's
voice came from the box seat:

"What's up, Bill?"

"Not a blank lynch pin in the whole blank coach," was the answer.

There was a dead silence. Yuba Bill executed a wild war dance of