one will know." He could not resist adding,
"Most people go a good length before fighting with
me."

"I have heard that you are awfully--" she hesitated,
then, "brave."

"It was 'ugly' you heard," he quickly supplied
the pause. "But that's not true; I don't fight like
some men, just for a good time. Why, in the towns
over the West Virginia line they fight all night;
they'll fight -- kill each other -- for two bits, or a
drink of liquor... There's Buckley now, coming
in above."

Buckley Simmons entered the road from a narrow
trail a number of yards ahead of the stage. He
tramped heavily, holding a hickory switch in one
hand, cutting savagely at the underbrush. The
stage leisurely caught up to him until the horses'
heads were opposite his thickset form. Gordon,
from the other side of the team, swung himself into
his seat. He grasped the whip, and, leaning out,
swept the heavy leather thong in a vicious circle.
It whistled above the horses, causing them to plunge,
and the lash, stopped suddenly, drew across Buckley
Simmons' face. For an instant his startled countenance
was white, and then it was wet, gleaming
and scarlet. He pressed his hands to his mouth, and
stumbled confused into the ditch.

Gordon stopped the stage. Merlier gave vent to

[[28]]

p027 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p028w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p029

v?