"Of course you will," returned Poindexter, pleasantly; "only, as it's
a big contract to take, suppose we see how you can fill it. It's forty
miles to Los Cuervos, and you can't trust yourself to steamboat or
stage-coach. The steamboat left an hour ago."

"If I had only known this then!" ejaculated Mrs. Tucker.

"I knew it, but you had company then," said Poindexter, with ironical
gallantry, "and I wouldn't disturb you." Without saying how he knew it,
he continued, "In the stage-coach you might be recognized. You must go
in a private conveyance and alone; even I can not go with you, for I
must go on before and meet you there. Can you drive forty miles?"

Mrs. Tucker lifted up her abstracted pretty lids. "I once drove
fifty--at home," she returned simply.

"Good! and I dare say you did it then for fun. Do it now for something
real and personal, as we lawyers say. You will have relays and a plan of
the road. It's rough weather for a pasear, but all the better for that.
You'll have less company on the road."

"How soon can I go?" she asked.

"The sooner the better. I've arranged everything for you already," he
continued with a laugh. "Come now, that's a compliment to you, isn't
it?" He smiled a moment in her steadfast, earnest face, and then said,
more gravely, "You'll do. Now listen."

He then carefully detailed his plan. There was so little of excitement
or mystery in their manner that the servant, who returned to light the