Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

In a quick manner Herbert made the change, taking care not to look significantly at Melville, as some boys might have done, and thus excited suspicion.

For the first mile there was very little conversation.

Then Col. Warner spoke.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “we are fairly on our way. Let us hope nothing will mar our pleasure.”

“Do you anticipate anything?” asked George Melville.

“I! Why should I? We have a skillful driver, and I guarantee he won’t tip us over.”

“Mr. Melville was, perhaps, referring to the chance of the stage being stopped by some enterprising road agent,” suggested Parker.

“Oho! Sits the wind in that quarter?” said the Colonel, laughing lightly. “Not the least chance of that—that is, the chance is very slight.”

“You spoke differently yesterday,” said the German capitalist.

“Did I? I didn’t mean it, I assure you. We are as safe here as if we were riding in the interior of New York. I suppose I was only whiling away a few idle minutes.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said the German. “I shouldn’t like to meet any of these gentlemen.”

“Nor I,” answered Melville; “but I am prepared to give him or them a warm reception.”

As he spoke he drew a revolver from his pocket. He sat next to the door, and in an exposed situation.

“Put up your shooting iron, Mr. Melville,” said Col. Warner, exhibiting a slight shade of annoyance. “Let me exchange places with you. I should prefer the post of danger, if’ there is any.”

“You are very kind, Colonel,” said Melville, quietly, “but I don’t care to change. I am quite satisfied with my seat.”

“But, my dear sir, I insist—” said the Colonel, making a motion to rise.

“Keep your seat, Colonel! I insist upon staying where I am,” answered Melville.

He was physically far from formidable, this young man, but there was a resolute ring in his voice that showed he was in earnest.

“Really, my dear sir,” said the Colonel, trying to conceal his annoyance, “you have been quite misled by my foolish talk. I did not suppose you were so nervous.”

“Possibly I may have a special reason for being so,” returned George Melville.

“What do you mean?” demanded the Colonel, quickly. “If you have, we are all interested, and ought to know it.”

“The Colonel is right,” said the German. “If you know of any danger, it is only fair to inform us all.”

“I am disposed to agree with you, gentlemen,” said Melville. “Briefly, then, I have good reason to think that this company of passengers has been marked for plunder.”

Col. Warner started, but, quickly recovering himself, he laughed uneasily.

“Tush!” he said, “I put no faith in it. Some one has been deceiving you, my friend.”

But the other passengers took it more seriously.

“You evidently know something that we do not,” said Parker.

“I do,” answered Melville.

Col. Warner looked at him searchingly, but did not speak.

Now was the time to test George Melville’s nerve. He was about to take a bold step.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I regret to say that I have every reason to believe there is a man in this stage who is in league with the road agents.”

This statement naturally made a sensation.

There were seven passengers, and each regarded the rest with new-born suspicion. There seemed, on the whole, about as much reason to suspect one man as another, and each, with the exception of Melville, found himself looked upon with distrust.

“Pooh, Melville! You must have had bad dreams!” said Col. Warner, who was the first to recover his self-possession. “Really, I give you credit for a first-class sensation. As for you, gentlemen, you may take stock in this cock-and-bull story, if you like; I shall not. I, for one, have no fear of my fellow passengers. I regard them all as gentlemen, and shall not allow myself to be disturbed by any silly fears.”

The air of calm composure with which the Colonel spoke served to tranquilize the rest of the passengers, who wished to put credit in his assurance.

“The Colonel speaks sensibly,” said Mr. Parker, “and unless Mr. Melville assigns a reason for his remarkable belief, I am disposed to think we have taken alarm too quick.”

“Of course, of course; all sensible men will think so,” said the Colonel. “My friend, we shall be tempted to laugh at you if you insist on entertaining us with such hobgoblin fancies. My advice is, to put up that weapon of yours, and turn your attention to the scenery, which I can assure you, gentlemen, is well worthy of your admiration. Just observe the walls of yonder canyon, and the trees growing on the points.”

“Gentlemen,” said Melville, “I should be glad to take the view of the last speaker, if I had not positive proof that he is the man who has agreed to deliver us into the hands of a road agent within the space of half an I hour!”

“Sir, you shall answer for this!” exclaimed the Colonel, furiously, as he struggled to secure the weapon, his face livid with passion.

But two passengers, one the German, who, though short, was very powerful, forcibly prevented him.

CHAPTER XXVI. A COUNCIL OF WAR

“Are you sure of what you say?” asked a passenger, turning with a puzzled look from George Melville, who, in the midst of the general excitement produced by his revelation, sat, not unmoved indeed, but comparatively calm. Courage and physical strength are by no means inseparable, and this frail young man, whose strength probably was not equal to Herbert’s, was fearless in the face of peril which would daunt many a stalwart six-footer.

In reply to this very natural question, George Melville repeated the essential parts of the conversation which had taken place between Col. Warner and the landlord.

Col. Warner’s countenance changed, and he inwardly execrated the imprudence that had made his secret plan known to one of the intended victims.

“Is this true, Col. Warner?” asked Parker.

“No, it’s a lie!” returned the colonel, with an oath.

“Gentlemen!” said George Melville, calmly, “you can choose which you will believe. I will only suggest that this man managed very adroitly to find out where each one of us kept his money. You can also consider whether I have any cause to invent this story.”

It was clear that the passengers were inclined to put faith in Melville’s story.

“Gentlemen!” said the Colonel, angrily, “I never was so insulted in my life. I am a man of wealth, traveling on business; I am worth a quarter of a million at least. To associate me with road agents, whom I have as much reason to fear as you, is most ridiculous. This young man may be well-meaning, but he is under a most extraordinary hallucination. It is my belief that he dreamed the nonsense he has been retailing to you.”

“Ask the driver to stop the stage,” said Mr. Benson, a gentleman from Philadelphia. “If Mr. Melville’s story is trustworthy, we may at any time reach the spot where the highwayman is lurking. We must have a general consultation, and decide what is to be done.”