“Ha! my deah fellah, now we will ’ave a fine ride this hafternoon,” said one of them.

“By Jove! those are the kind of ’orses they hought to ’ave on hall the teams,” remarked another.

“Are you the lad who is going to drive to-day?” asked another of Bob.

“Yes, gentlemen,” answered Bob, “I’ll show you how we stage it in this country.”

Bob mounted the box, gathered the lines, and pulling the horses strongly by the bits, he sang out to the Englishmen, “All aboard!” Bob’s companion on the box was Capt.  Cricket; a little fellow who was the messenger of the coach.  After everybody was seated, Bob told the stock-tenders to “turn ’em loose.”

We, who were standing around to see the stage start out, expected it would go off at a lively rate.  We were considerably surprised, therefore, when, after the horses had made a few lively jumps, Bob put on the big California brakes and brought them down to a walk.  The road, for a distance of four miles, gradually rose to the top of a hill, and all the way up this ascent, Bob held the impatient team in check.

“Blarst your heyes, driver, why don’t you let them go?” exclaimed one of the passengers, who had all along been expecting a very brisk ride.  Every once in a while they would ask him some such question, but he paid no attention to them.  At last he reached the top of the hill, and then he suddenly flung three of the lines on the left side of the team, and the other three on the right side.  He then began “playing the silk to them,”—­that is to say, he began to lash them unmercifully.  The team started off like a streak of lightning, so to speak, without a single rein being held by the driver.  Bob cried out to the Englishmen, saying, “Hold on, gentlemen, and I’ll give you a lively ride, and show you how to stage it in the Rocky Mountains.”

[Illustration:  BOB SCOTT’S FAMOUS COACH RIDE.]

His next movement was to pull the lamps out of the sockets and throw them at the leaders.  The glass broke upon their backs and nearly set them wild, but being so accustomed to running the road, they never once left the track, and went flying on down the grade towards the next station, eight miles distant, the coach bouncing over the loose stones and small obstacles, and surging from side to side, as an eggshell would in the rapids of Niagara.  Not satisfied with the break-neck rate at which they were traveling, Bob pulled out his revolver and fired in rapid succession, at the same time yelling in a demoniacal manner.

By this time the Englishmen had become thoroughly frightened, as they saw the lines flying wildly in every direction and the team running away.  They did not know whether to jump out or remain in the coach.  Bob would occasionally look down from his seat, and, seeing their frightened faces, would ask, “Well, how do you like staging in this country now?” The Englishmen stuck to the coach, probably thinking it would be better to do so than to take the chances of breaking their necks by jumping.