taking his arm, "and we'll find it in that shanty just behind the tree."
To Brice's surprise, a few steps in that direction revealed a fair-sized
cabin, with a slight pretentiousness about it of neatness, comfort, and
picturesque effect, far superior to the Tarbox shanty. A few flowers
were in boxes on the window--signs, as Brice fancied, of feminine taste.
When they reached the threshold, somewhat of this quality was also
visible in the interior. When Brice had partaken of the whiskey,
the stranger, who had kept silence, pointed to a chair, and said
smilingly:--
"I am Henry Dimwood, alias Snapshot Harry, and this is my house."
"I came to speak with you about the robbery of greenbacks from the coach
last night," began Brice hurriedly, with a sudden access of hope at his
reception. "I mean, of course,"--he stopped and hesitated,--"the actual
robbery before YOU stopped us."
"What!" said Harry, springing to his feet, "do you mean to say YOU knew
it?"
Brice's heart sank, but he remained steadfast and truthful. "Yes," he
said, "I knew it when I handed down the box. I saw that the lock had
been forced, but I snapped it together again. It was my fault. Perhaps I
should have warned you, but I am solely to blame."
"Did Yuba Bill know of it?" asked the highwayman, with singular
excitement.
"Not at the time, I give you my word!" replied Brice quickly, thinking
only of loyalty to his old comrade. "I never told him till we reached
the station."
"And he knew it then?" repeated Harry eagerly.
"Yes."
"Did he say anything? Did he do anything? Did he look astonished?"
Brice remembered Bill's uncontrollable merriment, but replied vaguely
and diplomatically, "He was certainly astonished."
A laugh gathered in Snapshot Harry's eyes which at last overspread his
whole face, and finally shook his frame as he sat helplessly down again.
Then, wiping his eyes, he said in a shaky voice:--
"It would have been sure death to have trusted myself near that station,
but I think I'd have risked it just to have seen Bill's face when you
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