stage; and Mat Bailey
took in charge a small leather valise, smuggled out of the back door of
the bank and handed to him carelessly. Mat received it without the
flicker of an eyelash. Nevertheless, he scrutinized the eight new
passengers, with apparent indifference but with unerring judgment. All
except two, a man and a woman, were personally known to him. And these
excited less suspicion than two well-known gamblers, who greeted Mat
cordially.

"It hurts business, Mat, to ship so much dust out of the country," said
one.

"Damn shame," said the other.

Mat paid no attention to these remarks, pretending to be busy with the
baggage. Quite accidentally he lifted an old valise belonging to Will
Cummins, who, dressed in a long linen duster, had just boarded the
stage. Cummins exchanged glances with the driver, and luckily, as Mat
thought, the gamblers seemed to take no notice.

Will Cummins had been in the gold regions twenty-five years. He had
already made and lost one small fortune, and now at the age of
forty-five, with all his available worldly goods, some seven thousand
dollars in bullion, he was homeward bound to Reedsville, Pennsylvania.
In the full vigor of manhood, he was a Californian of the highest type.
He had always stood for law and order, and was much beloved by decent
people. By the other sort it was well understood that Will Cummins was a
good shot, and would fight to a finish. He was a man of medium height,
possessed of clear gray eyes and an open countenance. The outlines of a
six-shooter were clearly discernible under his duster.

In a cloud of dust, to the clink of horse-shoes, the stage rolled out of
Moore's Flat, and was soon in the dark woods of Bloody Run.

"Good morning, Mr. Cummins."

It was the school-teacher who spoke; and Cummins, susceptible to
feminine charms, bowed graciously.

"Do you know, Mr. Cummins, it always gives me the shivers to pass
through these woods. So many dreadful things have happened here."

"Why, yes," answered Cummins, good-naturedly. "It was along here
somewhere, I think, that the darkey, George Washington, was captured."

"Tell me about it," said Mamie.

"Oh, George was violently opposed to Chinese cheap labor; so he made it
his business to rob Chinamen. But the Chinamen caught him, tied his
hands and feet, slung him on a pole like so much pork and started him
for Moore's Flat, taking pains to bump him against every stump and
boulder _en route_."

Charley