lpiece and on them desks and little
boxes, and took him down again, and kinder wiped the floor with him
gin'rally, until the first thing I knowed he was outside the winder on
the sidewalk. On'y blamed if I didn't forget to open the winder. Ef it
hadn't been for that, it would hev been all quiet and peaceful-like,
and nobody hev knowed it. But the sash being in the way, it sorter
created a disturbance and unpleasantness OUTSIDE."

"But what was it all about?" I repeated. "What had he done to you?"

"Ye'll find it in that paper," he said, indicating a copy of the
"Guardian" that lay on my table with a lazy nod of his head. "P'r'aps
you don't read it? No more do I. But Joe Bilson sez to me yesterday:
'Bill,' sez he, 'they're goin' for ye in the "Guardian."' 'Wot's
that?' sez I. 'Hark to this,' sez he, and reads out that bit that
you'll find there."

I had opened the paper, and he pointed to a paragraph. "There it is.
Pooty, ain't it?" I read with amazement as follows:--

"If the Pioneer Stage Company want to keep up with the times, and not
degenerate into the old style 'one hoss' road-wagon business, they'd
better make some reform on the line. They might begin by shipping off
some of the old-time whiskey-guzzling drivers who are too high and
mighty to do anything but handle the ribbons, and are above speaking to
a passenger unless he's a favorite or one of their set. Over-praise
for an occasional scrimmage with road agents, and flattery from Eastern
greenhorns, have given them the big head. If the fool-killer were let
loose on the line with a big club, and knocked a little civility into
their heads, it wouldn't be a bad thing, and would be a particular
relief to the passengers for Gilead who have to take the stage from
Simpson's Bar."

"That's my stage," said Yuba Bill quietly, when I had ended; "and
that's ME."

"But it's impossible," I said eagerly. "That insult was never written
by Captain Jim."

"Captain Jim," repeated Yuba Bill reflectively. "Captain Jim,--yes,
that was the name o' the man I was playin' with. Shortish hairy
feller, suthin' between a big coyote and the old-style hair-trunk.
Fought pretty well for a hay-footed man from Gil-e-ad."

"But you've whipped the wrong man, Bill," I said. "Think again! Have
you had any quarrel lately?--run against any newspaper man?" The
recollection had flashed upon me that Lacy Bassett had lately returned
from a visit to Stockton.

Yuba Bill reg