He looked slightly affronted. “Of course I have a pistol. A very fine derringer.”

“May I borrow it?”

He blinked again. “Do you know how to fire a pistol?”

“I haven’t the slightest notion how to do so, but at least I can threaten those bandits with it.” She straightened briskly and held out her small, gloved hand. “Please.”

Clearly astonished at what she wished to do, he blustered, “I do not think-”

His sentence was interrupted by a string of curses shouted by the driver of the stage.

Elspeth frowned. She’d overheard her father and his students using some of the milder oaths on occasion, but many of the curses the driver spouted now were utterly incomprehensible to her. She cocked her head, listening carefully as the man called Ben Travis went on.

“I could have blown you to kingdom come with my shotgun, you young jackass. It would have served you right.”

“Now, Ben, where’s your sense of humor? My horse threw a shoe and I needed a ride into town.”

The deep voice of the bandit, no longer low and ominous but jocular, confounded Elspeth for a moment.

“You’re always telling us what a boring run it is from Tucson to Hell’s Bluff, Ben, so I decided to liven things up a little for you.”

“By holding up the stage?” Ben Travis’s voice dripped sarcasm. “What do you think your granddad will have to say about this?”

“How else could I get you to stop? You always go flat out the last few miles into Hell’s Bluff. I had to find a way to get your attention.”

Elspeth’s tension ebbed. Apparently there was no threat here after all. That young man had played some sort of bizarre practical joke.

“My attention?” the driver thundered before loosing a fresh string of curses that mingled with the younger man’s rich laughter. “You’ve got feet,” Ben said. “You could have walked to town, you know.”

“When did you ever know a cowboy who would walk when he could ride? Even this rattlebone coach of yours is better than walking.”