Where the stage line stopped in Beaulings the railroad began. Allen, he
knew, intended in the fall to give up the stage for the infinitely
wider world of freight cars; and David wondered whether Priest, the
storekeeper in Crabapple who had charge of the awarding of the
position, could be brought to see that he was as able a driver, almost,
as Allen.
It was probable Priest would call him too young for the charge of the
Government mail. But he wasn't; Allen had to admit that he, David, was
the straighter shot. He wouldn't step aside for any Hatburn alive. And,
he decided, he would smoke nothing but cigars. He considered whether he
might light his small clay pipe, concealed under the stoop, before the
family; but reluctantly concluded that that day had not yet arrived.
Allen passed driving the next morning as usual, leaving a gray wreath
of dust to settle back into the tranquil yellow sunshine; the sun moved
from the east barrier to the west; a cool purple dusk filled the
valley, and the shrilling of the frogs rose to meet the night. The
following day was almost identical--the shadows swept out, shortened
under the groves of trees and drew out again over the sheep on the
western slope. Before Allen reached home he had to feed and bed his
horses, and walk back the two miles over the mountain from Crabapple;
and a full hour before the time for his brother's arrival, David was
surprised to see the stage itself making its way over the precarious
turf road that led up to the Kinemons' dwelling.
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