Let me assure the reader that I have no ulterior design in making this assertion.

A long course of light reading has forewarned me what every experienced intelligence must confidently look for from such a statement.

The storyteller who willfully tempts Fate by such obvious beginnings; who is to the expectant reader in danger of being robbed or half-murdered, or frightened by an escaped lunatic, or introduced to his ladylove for the first time, deserves to be detected.

I am relieved to say that none of these things occurred to me.

The road from Wingdam to Slumgullion knew no other banditti than the regularly licensed hotelkeepers; lunatics had not yet reached such depth of imbecility as to ride of their own free will in California stages; and my Laura, amiable and long-suffering as she always is, could not, I fear, have borne up against these depressing circumstances long enough to have made the slightest impression on me.
I stood with my shawl and carpetbag in hand, gazing doubtingly on the vehicle.