A dozen of the firm-faced men and resolute girls made a dash for the
box seat. With no malice in their eyes, they fought and wrestled with each
other; and it was a case of the best man wins. Those worsted in the
struggle with the utmost good-nature contented themselves with the next
best places; and so on to the back seat, into which the weakest fell,
almost before the driver had brought his horses to a full stop. Away tore
the stage with its laughing load, and another vehicle whirled up to the
hotel steps, to be filled in a breathless instant.
As Angela stood watching, fascinated yet appalled, Nick came out to her,
with the air of a general who has lost a battle.
"How glad I am," she whispered, "that we haven't got to fight for our
lives like that. I simply couldn't do it."
"Mrs. May, we _have_ got to!" he groaned. "I've failed, after all my
boastings of what I could do for you in the Yosemite. A private carriage
can't be had, and they've made a rule that no one's allowed to book a seat
in advance. When the stage for the Sentinel Hotel comes along, I shall
swing you on to the box seat, if I kill ten men."
Angela rebelled. She pitied herself so intensely that she had no
compassion left for Nick. "What--dash people away, and push ahead of them?
I'd rather--yes, I'd rather turn back to San Francisco.
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