"But is there no place where we can wait?" asked the lady anxiously. "I
see a light in that house yonder."

"Ye might try it, though the kempany, as a rule, ain't in the habit
o' makin' social calls there," returned Bill, with a certain grim
significance. Then, turning to some outside passengers, he added, "Now,
then! them ez is goin' to help me tackle that tree, trot down! I
reckon that blitherin' idiot" (the stranger with the lantern, who had
disappeared) "will have sense enough to fetch us some ropes with his
darned axe."

The passengers thus addressed, apparently miners and workingmen, good
humoredly descended, all except one, who seemed disinclined to leave the
much coveted seat on the box beside the driver.

"I'll look after your places and keep my own," he said, with a laugh,
as the others followed Bill through the dripping rain. When they had
disappeared, the young journalist turned to the lady.

"If you would really like to go to that house, I will gladly accompany
you." It was possible that in addition to his youthful chivalry there
was a little youthful resentment of Yuba Bill's domineering prejudices
in his attitude. However, the quiet, observant passenger lifted a look
of approval to him, and added, in his previous level, half contemptuous
tone:--

"You'll be quite as well there as here, madam, and there is certainly no
reason for your stopping in the coach when the driver chooses to leave
it."