settled round his heart flying back into his face.

"I was looking for--for--for Jim, ma'am," he said at last, boldly.

He saw a look of disgust pass over Mrs. Peyton's face, and felt a
malicious satisfaction as he turned and ran back to the stage. But here,
to his surprise, he actually found Jim, whom he really hadn't thought
of, darkly watching the last strapping of luggage. With a manner
calculated to convey the impression to the other passengers that he was
parting from a brother criminal, probably on his way to a state prison,
Jim shook hands gloomily with Clarence, and eyed the other passengers
furtively between his mated locks.

"Ef ye hear o' anythin' happenin', ye'll know what's up," he said, in a
low, hoarse, but perfectly audible whisper. "Me and them's bound to part
company afore long. Tell the fellows at Deadman's Gulch to look out for
me at any time."

Although Clarence was not going to Deadman's Gulch, knew nothing of it,
and had a faint suspicion that Jim was equally ignorant, yet as one or
two of the passengers glanced anxiously at the demure, gray-eyed boy
who seemed booked for such a baleful destination, he really felt the
half-delighted, half-frightened consciousness that he was starting in
life under fascinating immoral pretenses. But the forward spring of the
fine-spirited horses, the quickened motion, the glittering sunlight, and
the thought that he really was leaving behind him all the shackles of
dependence and custom, and plunging into a life of freedom, drove
all else from his mind. He turned at last from this hopeful, blissful
future, and began to examine his fellow passengers with boyish
curiosity. Wedged in between two silent men on the front seat, one of