He drew from his pocket a still damp copy of "The Red Dog Clarion" and
pointed to a paragraph.

"Wot's that?" she said querulously, feeling for her spectacles.

"Shall I read it?"

"Go on."

He read it slowly aloud. I grieve to say it had been jointly concocted
the night before at the office of the "Clarion" by himself and the young
journalist--the latter's assistance being his own personal tribute to
the graces of Miss Flo. It read as follows:--

"The greatest assistance was rendered by Hiram Tarbox, Esq., a resident
of the vicinity, in removing the obstruction, which was, no doubt,
the preliminary work of some of the robber gang, and in providing
hospitality for the delayed passengers. In fact, but for the timely
warning of Yuba Bill by Mr. Tarbox, the coach might have crashed into
the tree at that dangerous point, and an accident ensued more disastrous
to life and limb than the robbery itself."

The sudden and unmistakable delight that expanded the old woman's mouth
was so convincing that it might have given Brice a tinge of remorse over
the success of his stratagem, had he not been utterly absorbed in his
purpose. "Hiram!" she shouted suddenly.

The old man appeared from some back door with a promptness that proved
his near proximity, and glanced angrily at Brice until he caught sight
of his wife's face. Then his anger changed to wonder.