She noted the rifle-stock projecting from the scabbard, and
a vision of a stage hold-up flashed across her mind. Ah, yes, of
course--the express messenger's weapon, no doubt! And further to
clinch her instant assumption that here was the Sequoia motor-stage,
there was the pennant adorning the wind-shield!
Dismissing the baggage-smasher with a gracious smile, the Highest
Living Authority approached George Sea Otter, noting, the while,
further evidence that this car was a public conveyance, for the young
man who had been her fellow-passenger was heading toward the
automobile also. She heard him say:
"Hello, George, you radiant red rascal! I'm mighty glad to see you,
boy. Shake!"
They shook, George Sea Otter's dark eyes and white teeth flashing
pleasurably. Bryce tossed his bag into the tonneau; the half-breed
opened the front door; and the young master had his foot on the
running-board and was about to enter the car when a soft voice spoke
at his elbow:
"Driver, this is the stage for Sequoia, is it not?"
George Sea Otter could scarcely credit his auditory nerves. "This
car?" he demanded bluntly, "this--the Sequoia stage! Take a look,
lady. This here's a Napier imported English automobile. It's a
private car and belongs to my boss here."
"I'm so sorry I slandered your car," she replied demurely.
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