He'll take care o' you overnight, an' you c'n go t' th' T Up and Down in th' mornin'." "B--but I didn't know I had to walk," Whitey protested.
"Reck'n you do, unless you c'n ketch a jack-rabbit an' ride him," the driver answered.
"I thought the ranch was right on the line of the stage road," Whitey said weakly.

"Bill Jordan didn't say anything about walking." "Well, Bill's a funny cuss, an' mebbe he kept this for you as a sort o' s'prise," the driver allowed, with a grin.

"Good-bye.

Giddap!" And the coach whirled away, in a cloud of dust, leaving Whitey standing in the lonely road, looking off over the lonelier prairie.
But nothing was to be gained by that, and he started along the trail, which really was a little-used wagon track.

And as he walked he thought about Bill Jordan, and his conclusions were none too pleasant.