keep them more secure on the slippery cushion, while facing them, and
clinging to his support with both hands, was a pock-marked Mexican,
with rather villainous face and ornate dress, and excessively polite
manners. He had joined the little party at Dodge, smiling happily at
sight of Miss Molly's face when she unveiled, although his small
knowledge of English prevented any extended effort at conversation.
Moylan, however, after careful scrutiny, engaged him shortly in
Spanish, and later explained to the girl, in low tones, that the man
was a Santa Fé gambler known as Gonzales, with a reputation to be
hinted at but not openly discussed.

They were some six miles to the west of Deer Creek, the horses still
moving with spirit, the driver's foot on the brake, when the stage took
a sudden plunge down a sloping bank where the valley perceptibly
narrowed. To the left, beyond a flat expanse of brown, sun-scorched
grass, flowed the widely-spreading waters of the Arkansas, barely
covering the treacherous sandy bottom, and from the other side came the
more distant gleam of alkali plains; to the right arose the bluffs,
here both steep and rugged, completely shutting off the view, barren of
vegetation except for a few scattered patches of grass. Suddenly a man
rode out of a rift in the bank, directly in front, and held up his
hand. Surprised, startled, the driver instantaneously clamped on his
brake, and brought his horses to a quick stop; the conductor, nearly
flung from his seat, yanked his gun forward.

"None of that now," called out the man in saddle quickly, both hands
uplifted to show their emptiness. "This is no hold-up. I 've got
news."

He spurred his pony forward slowly, the animal seemingly barely able to