"It was not I; it was the horses."

"Then you did not start them up?"

"No; I should not have dared to do it. They were frightened by the
revolver and took the matter into their own hands."

"Dick Hawley was foolhardy. Had he ever stopped a stage at this point
before?"

"Yes, he did so last year."

"And succeeded?"

"Yes; he made a big haul. This time he has met his deserts."

There were no further incidents that deserve recording in Andy's
journey. It is needless to say that he enjoyed it. The scenes through
which he passed were new and strange to him. It was a country he had
never expected to see, and for this reason, perhaps, he enjoyed it the
more.

At last he reached Tacoma. It was irregularly built on a hillside. There
were no buildings of any pretensions. All its importance was to come.

He put up at the Tacoma House, a hotel of moderate size, and after
dinner he went out to see the town. He sought out the plot of lots owned
jointly by Mr. Crawford and himself, and found that they were located
not far from the center of the business portion of the town.