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Hans Felder, he bawled to the postilion, 'I charge you not to move; the horses may be led back to the stable: the gracious gentleman has called me a rogue. Stiefel, run for the police: the gracious gentleman says I am a rogue. I will cite him before the council. It was in vain that I put my head out of the window, and bawled to the postilion to proceed. He was evidently afraid to move.
Of course I have another wallet, just for show, and I give that up when I have to." There was a stout, florid gentleman present, who listened to the above conversation with ill-disguised nervousness. He was a New York capitalist, of German birth, going out to inspect a mine in which he proposed purchasing an interest. His name was Conrad Stiefel.
"You heard me, sir," said the colonel, loftily. "You owe your rescue from this ruffian to me. Now, you can understand how much you have misjudged me." Conrad Stiefel was not so easily satisfied of this. "I heard what you said in Mexican, or whatever lingo it is, but I didn't understand it." "Nor I," said Benson. "Very well, gentlemen; I am ready to explain.
"Oh, he's the fat, red-faced German. From his talk, I reckon he's come out to buy mines somewhere in Colorado." "We'll save him the trouble." "So we will good joke, John. Oh, about this Stiefel, he carries his money in a belt round his waist. I infer that it is gold." "Good! What about the others?"
I told this man that if he ever attempted to molest me I should shoot him in his track." "Why didn't you speak to him in English?" asked Stiefel. "Because I had a suspicion that the fellow was the same I met once in Mexico, and I spoke to him in Spanish to make sure. As he understood, I am convinced I was right." "Who is it, then?" asked Benson.
"Well, well," said the colonel, genially, "suppose we change the subject. There isn't much chance of our being called upon to produce our money, or part with it. Still, as I said a while since, it's best to be cautious, and I see that you all are so. I begin to feel hungry, gentlemen. How is it with you?" "Are we anywhere near the place for supper?" asked Stiefel.
"The big one, with the epaulets, is Major von Schnabel; the little one, with the pale face, is Stiefel von Klingenspohr." "And the big blue woman?" "The Grand-Ducal Pumpernickelian-court-architectress and Upper-Palace-and-building-inspectress Von Speck, born V. Eyer," replied the guide. "Your well-born honor has seen the pump in the market-place; that is the work of the great Von Speck."
In the present instance, however, the passengers had been warned of their danger and were ready to meet it. Brown for, of course, the masked man was the landlord saw four revolvers leveled at him from inside the stage. "Let go that horse, my friend, or you are a dead man!" said Conrad Stiefel, calmly. "Two can play at your game."
"They won't think of looking there, hey?" laughed Stiefel. "I should say not." "You may think what you like, Mr. Stiefel," said a tall, thin passenger, who looked like a book peddler, "but I contend that my money is in a safer place than yours." "Indeed, Mr. Parker, I should like to know where you keep it," said Col. Warner, pleasantly.
In spite of his plausible representations, he was regarded with general suspicion. "I wish I knew the meaning of that Spanish lingo," said the German, Conrad Stiefel. "I can interpret it for you, Mr. Stiefel," said George Melville, quietly. "I have some knowledge of Spanish." "What did he say?" asked more than one, eagerly. "He said: 'You fool! Don't you see the plot has been discovered?
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