newspapers, the telegraph, electric light, courts and the other
things that go with civilization."

"The old days of romance are going by," sighed Harry Hazelton.

"Do you call murder romantic?" Reade demanded. "Harry, you came
west expecting to find the Colorado of the dime novels. Now we've
traveled hundreds of miles across this state, and Mr. Bad wore
the first revolver that we've seen since we crossed the state
line. My private opinion is that Peter would be afraid to handle
his pistol recklessly for fear it would go off."

"I wouldn't bank on that," advised the young driver, shaking his
head.

"But you don't carry a revolver," retorted Tom Reade.

"Pop would wallop me, if I did," grinned the Colorado boy. "But
then, I don't need firearms. I know enough to carry a civil tongue,
and to be quiet when I ought to."

"I suppose people who don't possess those virtues are the only
people that have excuse for carrying a pistol around with their
keys, loose change and toothbrushes," affirmed Reade. "Harry,
the longer you stay west the more people you'll find who'll tell
you that toting a pistol is a silly, trouble-breeding habit."

They drove along for another hour before a clattering sounded
behind them.