The passengers looked at each other. The stranger spoke with authority,
and Bill had certainly been a little arbitrary!

"I'll go too," said the passenger by the window. "And you'll come, won't
you, Ned?" he added to the express messenger. The young man hesitated;
he was recently appointed, and as yet fresh to the business--but he
was not to be taught his duty by an officious stranger! He resented the
interference youthfully by doing the very thing he would have preferred
NOT to do, and with assumed carelessness--yet feeling in his pocket to
assure himself that the key of the treasure compartment was safe--turned
to follow them.

"Won't YOU come too?" said the journalist, politely addressing the
cynical passenger.

"No, I thank you! I'll take charge of the coach," was the smiling
rejoinder, as he settled himself more comfortably in his seat.

The little procession moved away in silence. Oddly enough, no one,
except the lady, really cared to go, and two--the expressman and
journalist--would have preferred to remain on the coach. But the
national instinct of questioning any purely arbitrary authority probably
was a sufficient impulse. As they neared the opened door of what
appeared to be a four-roomed, unpainted, redwood boarded cabin, the
passenger who had occupied the seat near the window said,--

"I'll go first and sample the shanty."

He was not, however, so far in advance of them but that the others could