"Hello, Cleve! You're late," said another man, evidently the agent.
"Climb aboard. When'll you be back?"

"I hardly know," replied Cleve, with hesitation.

"All right. Good luck to you." He closed the coach door after Joan
and Jim. "Let 'em go, Bill."

The stage started with a jerk. To Joan what an unearthly creak and
rumble it made, disturbing the silent dawn! Jim squeezed her hand
with joy. They were on the way!

Joan and Jim had a seat to themselves. Opposite sat three men--the
guard with his head half out of the window, a bearded miner who
appeared stolid or drowsy, and a young man who did not look rough
and robust enough for a prospector. None of the three paid any
particular attention to Joan and Jim.

The road had a decided slope down-hill, and Bill, the driver, had
the four horses on a trot. The rickety old stage appeared to be
rattling to pieces. It lurched and swayed, and sometimes jolted over
rocks and roots. Joan was hard put to it to keep from being bumped
off the seat. She held to a brace on one side and to Jim on the
other. And when the stage rolled down into the creek and thumped
over boulders Joan made sure that every bone in her body would be
broken. This crossing marked the mouth of the gulch, and on the
other side the road was smooth.