The driver
testified that the would-be robber had leaped out of a clump of
manzanita, just as the heavy, lumbering coach was beginning to roll
down the steep hill in front of it. To pull up at such a moment was
difficult. The driver saw his chance and took it. He lashed the
leaders and charged straight at the highwayman, who jumped aside to
avoid being run over, and then, being a-foot, abandoned his
enterprise. He was wearing a mask fashioned out of a gunny-sack, new
overalls, and _brown_ shoes! That same night, at Los Olivos, a
man wearing brown shoes was arrested by a deputy sheriff because he
refused to give a proper account of himself; but, on being searched, a
letter to the cashier of the San Lorenzo bank, signed (so ran the
paragraph) by a well-known and responsible Englishman, was found in
the pocket of his coat. Whereupon he was allowed to go his ways, with
many apologies from the over-zealous official.
"Johnson!" said Ajax.
"Did he hold up the stage?" I asked.
"Of course he did" replied my brother contemptuously.
After this incident, Johnson, who for a brief time had loomed so large
in our imaginations, faded into a sort of wraith.
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