began to fidget; and, except for Mamie Slocum, the
romantic, the women turned pale.

Down the coach plunged into the deep canon! Little likelihood of a
hold-up when travelling at such a pace. Down, down, safely down to the
river, running clear and cold among the rocks. And then the slow ascent.
Mat Bailey, perched on his high seat as lordly as Ph[oe]bus Apollo, felt
cold shivers run down his spine. From every bush, stump and rock he
expected a masked man to step forth. Could he depend upon Cummins and
the Chinaman? How slowly the horses labored up that fatal hill, haunted
by the ghosts of murdered travelers! Why should he, Mat Bailey, get
mixed up in other men's affairs? What was there in it for him? Of
course, he would try to play a man's part; but he sincerely wished he
were at the top of the hill.

At last they were safely out of the canon, and the horses were allowed
to rest a few minutes. Cummins replaced his pistol and buttoned up his
duster; and the passengers fell to talking. The store-keeper from North
Bloomfield began to tell a humorous story of a lone highwayman who, with
a double-barrelled shot gun waylaid the Wells Fargo Express near
Downieville. As he waited, with gun pointed down the road, he heard a
wagon approach behind him. Coolly facing about, he levelled his gun at
the approaching travellers, three workmen, and remarked,

"Gentlemen, you have surprised me. Please deliver your guns, and stand
upon that log," indicating a prostrate pine four feet in diameter.
Needless to say, the men mounted the log and held up their hands. Then a
load of hay approached, and the driver mounted the log with the others.
Then came another wagon, with two men and a ten-year old boy, George
Williams. The robber ordered these to stand upon the log, whereupon
little George, in great trepidation, exclaimed,

"Good Mr. Robber, don't shoot, and I will do anything you tell me!"

About this time one barrel of the robber's gun was accidentally
discharged into the log, and he remarked:

"That was damned careless," and immediately reloaded with buckshot.

At length the stage came along; and promptly holding it up, he tossed
the driver a sack, directing him to put his gold dust therein. This
done, he sent each separate vehicle upon its way as cool as a marshal on
dress parade.

With Nevada City only four miles away, the canon of the South Yuba
safely passed, and the stage bowling along over an easy road, it seemed
a good sto