in the distance, and this she guessed was timbered mountain country, whither she was bound.
At noon the train arrived at its terminal stop, San Dimas, a hamlet of flat-roofed houses. Lucy was interested only in the stagecoach that left here for her destination, Cedar Ridge. The young brakeman again came to her assistance and carried her baggage. "Goin' up in the woods, hey?" he queried, curiously.
"Yes, I think they did say woods, backwoods," laughed Lucy. "I go to Cedar Ridge, and farther still."
"All alone—a pretty girl!" he exclaimed, gallantly. "For two cents I'd throw up my job an' go with you."
"Thank you. Do you think I need a—a protector?" replied Lucy.
"Among those bee hunters an' white-mule drinkers! I reckon you do, miss."
"I imagine they will not be any more dangerous than cowboys on the range—or brakemen on trains," replied Lucy, with a smile. "Anyway, I can take care of myself."
"I’ll bet you can," he said, admiringly. "Good luck."
Lucy found herself the sole passenger in the stagecoach and soon bowling along a good road. The driver, a weather- beaten old man, appeared to have a grudge against his horses. Lucy wanted to climb out in front and sit beside him, so that she could see better and have opportunity to ask questions about the country and the people. The driver's language, however, was hardly conducive to nearer acquaintance; therefore Lucy restrained her inquisitive desires and interested herself in the changing nature of the foliage and the occasional vista that opened up between the hills.
It seemed impossible not to wonder about what was going to happen to her; and the clinking of the harness on the horses, the rhythmic beat of their hoofs, and the roll of wheels all augmented her sense of the departure from an old and unsatisfying life toward a new one fraught with endless hopes, dreams, possibilities. Whatever was in store
