Perhaps I was very
tired, and perhaps I was very cross. At all events I told the driver I
would not get in--that if I was left I would go back to the ranch. So
I stayed outside, taking great care, however, to stand close to the
stage door.
The instant I heard the loosening of the brake I jumped up on the
step, and catching a firm hold each side of the door, was about to
step in when one of those men passengers grabbed my arm and tried to
jerk me back, so he could get in ahead of me! It was a dreadful thing
for anyone to do, for if my hands and arms had not been unusually
strong from riding hard-mouthed horses, I would undoubtedly have been
thrown underneath the big wheels and horribly crushed, for the four
horses were going at a terrific gait, and the jerky was swaying like a
live thing. As it was, anger and indignation gave me extra strength
and I scrambled inside with nothing more serious happening than a
bruised head. But that man! He pushed in back of me and, not knowing
the nice little ways of jerkies, was pitched forward to the floor with
an awful thud. But after a second or so he pulled himself up on his
seat, which was opposite mine, and there we two sat in silence and in
darkness. I noticed the next morning that there was a big bruise on
one side of his face, at the sight of which I rejoiced very much.
It was some distance this side of the hill when the driver stopped his
horses and waited for the two men who had been left.
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