by Zane Grey
Breathless with haste and agitation, Brite reached the stage office.
“Waitin’ for yu, boss,” drawled Texas Joe from inside the big stage-coach. “Wal, yu’re all winded. Yu needn’t have rustled. I’d kept this stage-drive heah.”
“Oh, Dad, I was afraid,” cried Reddie, leaning out with fair face flushed.
“Dog-gone! Heah’s Pan Handle, too,” exclaimed Texas. “Shore was fine of yu to come down to say good-by.”
Pan Handle coolly lighted a cigarette with fingers as steady as a rock. He smiled up at Reddie.
“Lass, I shore had to wish yu all the joy an’ happiness there is in this hard old West.”
“Thank yu, Pan,” she replied, shyly. “I wish——”
“All aboard thet’s goin’,” yelled the stage-driver from his seat.
Brite threw his bag in and followed, tripping as he entered. The strong hand that had assisted him belonged to Pan Handle, who stepped in after him. Then the stage-coach lurched and rolled away.
“Wal now, Pan, where’s yore baggage?” drawled Texas Joe, his falcon eyes narrowing.
“Tex, I reckon all I’ve got is on my hip,” replied Pan Handle, his glance meeting that of Texas Joe.
“Ahuh. …Wal, I’m darn glad yu’re travelin’ with us.”
“Oh, Dad, yu didn’t forget to say good-by to the boys for me, especially to Deuce, who’ll never come back to Texas?”
“No, Reddie, I didn’t forget,” replied Brite.
“I hope Ann can coax Deuce never again to be a trail driver,” concluded Reddie, happily, as she smiled up at Texas Joe. “I’d shore like to tell her how.”
THE END