The passengers knew Bill, and sat, conservative, patient, and expectant. As yet the cause of the catastrophe was not known.
At last Thatcher's voice came from the box seat:
"What's up, Bill?"
"Not a blank lynch pin in the whole blank coach," was the answer.
There was a dead silence. Yuba Bill executed a wild war dance of helpless rage.
"Blank the blank ENCHANTED thing to blank!"
(I beg here to refer the fastidious and cultivated reader to the only adjective I have dared transcribe of this actual oath which I once had the honor of hearing. He will I trust not fail to recognize the old classic daemon in this wild western objurgation.)
"Who did it?" asked Thatcher.
Yuba Bill did not reply, but dashed up again to the box, unlocked the "boot," and screamed out:
"The man that stole your portmantle,--Wiles!"
Thatcher laughed:
"Don't worry about that, Bill. A 'biled' shirt, an extra collar, and a few papers. Nothing more."
Yuba Bill slowly descended. When he reached the ground, he plucked Thatcher aside by his coat sleeve:
"Ye don't mean to say ye had nothing in that bag ye was trying to get away with?"
"No," said the laughing Thatcher frankly.
"And that Wiles warn't one o' them detectives?"
"Not to my knowledge, certainly."
Yuba Bill sighed sadly, and returned to assist in the replacing of the coach on its wheels again.
"Never mind, Bill," said one of the passengers sympathizingly, "we'll catch that man Wiles at Rawlings sure;" and he looked around at the inchoate vigilance committee, already "rounding into form" about him.
"Ketch him!" returned Yuba Bill, derisively, "why we've got to go back to the station; and afore we're off agin he's pinted fur Clarmont on the relay we lose. Ketch him! H-ll's full of such ketches!"
There was clearly nothing to do but to go back to the station to await the repairing of the coach. While this was being done Yuba Bill again drew Thatcher aside:
"I allers suspected that chap's game eye, but I didn't somehow allow for anything like this. I reckoned it was only the square thing to look arter things gen'rally, and 'specially your traps.
So, to purvent troubil, and keep things about ekal, ez he was goin' away, I sorter lifted this yer bag of hiz outer the tail board of his sleigh. I don't know as it is any exchange or compensation, but it may give ye a chance to spot him agin, or him you. It strikes me as bein' far-minded and squar';" and with these words he deposited at the feet of the astounded Thatcher the black travelling bag of Mr. Wiles.
"But, Bill,--see here! I can't take this!" interrupted Thatcher hastily. "You can't swear that he's taken my bag,--and--and,--blank it all,--this won't do, you know. I've no right to this man's things, even if--"
"Hold your hosses," said Bill gravely; "I ondertook to take charge o' your traps. I didn't--at least that d----d wall-eyed-- Thar's a portmantle! I don't know who's it is. Take it."
Half amused, half embarrassed, yet still protesting, Thatcher took the bag in his hands.
"Ye might open it in my presence," suggested Yuba Bill gravely.
Thatcher, half laughingly, did so. It was full of papers and semi-legal-looking documents. Thatcher's own name on one of them caught his eye; he opened the paper hastily and perused it. The smile faded from his lips.
"Well," said Yuba Bill, "suppose we call it a fair exchange at present."
Thatcher was still examining the papers. Suddenly this cautious, strong-minded man looked up into Yuba Bill's waiting face, and said quietly, in the despicable slang of the epoch and region:
"It's a go! Suppose we do."
