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The driver shrieked at his companion. "Then, he's doubled back," he cried. "He's gone to New Haven." He stooped and threw in the clutch. The car lurched forward. A cold terror swept young Van Vorst. "What do you want with him?" he called "Who are you?" Over one shoulder the masked face glared at him. Above the roar of the car the words of the driver were flung back.
The driver said that he was looking for the Brigade! So he got a lift. The mail arrived while we were resting in this shaded road; so I got your letter of June 12 and the enclosed letters, and read them there.... "When we marched off again it was much cooler. The majority of the Battalion had been collected during the five hours, and we marched happily on the band playing.
It was the providential fly coming back, and for a moment I wondered whether the doctor had been mad enough to revisit his practice. "Get away; you're drunk," said the driver. "I'm not," said the navvy. "I've been waitin' 'ere hours and hours. Come out, you beggar inside there!" "Go on, driver," said a voice I did not know a crisp, clear, English voice. "All right," said the navvy.
One night, for example, after lecturing in a town in Ohio, it was necessary to drive eight miles across country to a tiny railroad station at which a train, passing about two o'clock in the morning, was to be flagged for me. When we reached the station it was closed, but my driver deposited me on the platform and drove away, leaving me alone. The night was cold and very dark.
She whistled shrilly, and then a big roan stallion trotted out from behind. He jumped as if he had been struck, and taking the lead swung to Pan's left, manifestly to get by him. But they had to run up hill while Pan had only to keep to a level. He turned them before they got halfway to a point even with the next driver.
"And I've something more to tell you," he whispered, as he put her in and closed the door. "The Chateau!" he said to the driver then stepping back, he doffed his hat and waved his hand. "Yes, I like you, Mr. Davidson," she smiled, as the taxi sped away, "but I'll like you better when the present business is completed and I'm in Paris without you."
Early in the morning a brace of ranchmen, still a-tremble from their experiences of the night, made their way into the post and told gruesome stories of the doings of the Indians at Eagle's Nest and beyond. The Cheyenne stage, they said, was "jumped," the driver killed, and the load of passengers burned alive in the vehicle itself.
"How valiant you are, Pedro!" said the nut-brown maid, advancing to meet him. "How lucky you are!" said the matron, with a grave shake of the head. "How rash you are!" mumbled the grandfather; "you were always so." I envied that driver, for the nut-brown maid kissed him, as she had the right to do, for she was his affianced, and had not seen him for five days.
Without losing a minute of his precious time, he took a carriage, and left the city under the pretence of having to catch a friend, who had departed for the chase on the previous day. The big tip he gave the driver spurred the latter on, and at the end of an hour Benedetto found himself at Loures, where he discharged his driver, saying that he would spend the night there.
It was not long before the rumbling of a heavy vehicle was heard, and but a few minutes more when an antiquated stage with four scrubby horses emerged from the shadow of a giant oak into the open moonlight, scarce fifty yards away. Mr. Henley hailed the driver, who stopped, and looked at him as if frightened.
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