CHAPTER XIII
THE INSPECTOR
Down the rocky slope, toward the little settlement on the flats below the dam, rode Jack. He thought rapidly. If he could beat the flood, there would be time to warn the sleeping population so they could flee to the hills. There were not many who had their homes in the danger zone, not more than twenty-five families.
"I'll wake some of 'em up," Jack reflected, "and then they can warn the others. I don't imagine they'll have time to save anything. Too bad! But that dam is certainly going."
The rain came pelting down once more, the drops stinging in Jack's face. He tried to listen, to ascertain if he could hear the roar of the waters that would indicate that the dam had already gone out, but all he could catch was the splash of the rain.
Jack's course was along the now turbulent stream that was formed from the overflow of the pent-up waters. In normal times this was but a mere brook, most of the waters being led off through a pipe line to supply a distant irrigation scheme. But now there was so much water that not only was the pipe line filled, but the overflow from the dam had turned the brook into a river.
"The people ought to have seen the danger, and gotten out before this," reflected Jack, "but perhaps they haven't. Well, I'll do my best to save 'em!"
On galloped the faithful pony. Jack wished he could put the mail and express stuff somewhere until he could conclude his ride for life, but it would not be safe to leave it anywhere. Fortunately, he had not much of a load that night.
To Jack it seemed that he never would reach the little town, nor see the lights of the first cabin loom into sight.
"That is there'll be lights if the folks are up," mused Jack, "and I hope some of them are. There'll be some tall scrambling if I have to get 'em all up out of bed."
The rain was a perfect torrent now, and the lad realized that, with all this additional water falling into the reservoir, and with what it would receive from the swollen mountain streams flowing into it, the dam would be further endangered.
The pony slipped and almost fell as he went around a bad turn, where the trail was filled with rocks.
"Look out there, Sunger!" Jack cautioned him, as he pulled up the faithful animal "This is no time to fall!"
But Sunger recovered himself, and galloped on.
Suddenly a light flashed into view, then another.
"A house!" exclaimed Jack. "The first one. Now for the alarm!"
He rode up to the door, glad in his heart that the light was burning.
"Though that doesn't indicate that they're awake," the lad mused.
He pounded on the door, not getting out of the saddle.
"Get up! Get up!" he cried. "The dam will give way in a moment! Get up, and help give the alarm!"
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the patter of the rain.
"Hurry! Hurry!" Jack cried, again pounding on the portal.
This time he heard, after a wait of a few seconds, some one moving in the house, then a sleepy voice demanded:
"What is it? What's the matter? Who's there?"
"Never mind who I am!" Jack replied. "It's the pony express rider, between Golden Crossing and Rainbow Ridge, if you have to know. But the dam is giving way! It may have gone out now! There'll be the biggest kind of flood on these flats in half an hour! Get up! Take to the hills!"
The door was thrown open, revealing a man wrapped in a blanket He seemed just to have gotten up out of bed.
"What's that?" he inquired, sleepily.
Jack repeated his warning. The man understood now. He rushed back in to the room.
"Come on, 'Mandy!" he yelled. "Git the children! Hustle into what clothes you can! We've got to skip! The dam is going out! Quick now!"
"Warn the others nearest you!" Jack cried, as he turned Sunger away from the house. "I'm going to ride on down below and give the alarm."
"I will!" the man answered. "You've probably saved our lives!"
A woman could be heard crying, and children were screaming in fear within the house, but Jack could not stay for that. There were others to warn.
On he rode, going past without pause the few houses near that of the man he had first called. Jack depended on him to give the alarm to his neighbors.
But the lad called at other cabins, repeating his warning. Some folk he had difficulty in arousing, but the news soon spread, and in a short time the whole settlement was on the alert.
As Jack knocked on the door of the last house, farthest removed from the upper end of the settlement, he heard far off a dull boom like the reverberation of an explosion.
"There goes the dam!" cried Jack. "Now the flood will come!"
But the people had been warned in time. They had no chance to save anything save their most easily-carried belongings, and with these they fled to high ground.
The noise Jack had heard was the breaking of the dam, and a little later a great wall of water swept down the narrow valley. It carried everything before it, sweeping away the frail cabins in its path. But there was no loss of human life, thanks to the brave pony rider.
Jack wished he could stay and help the unfortunates, but he had other duties. And, anyway, the residents on the higher ground, who were in no danger, came to the relief of their neighbors. Houses were thrown open to those whose homes had been swept away, and the refugees were given clothing, food and shelter.
The flood did not last long, for the reservoir was soon emptied. But in that short time it did great damage; that is comparatively great, for the cabins were mostly those of poor persons.
The mass of water gradually subsided, though the heavy rains had made a river of the mountain brook, and it was several days before it went back to its normal level. Then the work of repairing the damage of the flood was taken up.
When Jack saw, that night, that he had done all he could, he turned back on the trail, for the mail must not be delayed longer than could be helped, and already nearly three hours had been lost.
It was almost morning when he rode into Rainbow Ridge with the first news of the burst dam. He made light of his own part in the affair, but that came out later, and much honor was paid the lad. He bore his honors modestly, however, and the greatest praise—or what he considered such—was when his father said:
"I'm proud of you, Jack, my boy!"
Relief for the unfortunate flood victims was sent both from Rainbow Ridge and Golden Crossing, and when Jennie heard of the disaster she insisted on doing up some of her own clothing and forwarding it to some of the girls who had lost theirs.
Every one helped, as is always the case at a time like that, and though many families lost everything, still there was no mourning for lives that never could be given back. Jack had provided against that by his brave ride.
It was two weeks after the flood, and now the mountains were calm and peaceful again. The long season of rain had passed, and the weather was glorious. Jack enjoyed every moment of it as he rode the trail.
"It certainly is a great life!" he reflected. "I'm glad the way is so rough, otherwise they'd be wanting me to use a motor-cycle or an automobile. But none of them for me, while I have you, Sunger!"
The pony whinnied his answer, as Jack patted him on the neck.
"Well, anything big to-day, Jennie?" he asked, as he rode up to the Golden Crossing office one afternoon. "Anything important? Why, what's the matter?" he asked in some concern. "You look worried."
"I am, Jack," she said, and she did not answer his smile.
"What about? Your mother isn't ill; is she? You haven't lost any registered letters?"
"No, it isn't that, but a post office inspector has been here, asking me a lot of questions. He intimated that things weren't being done right, and he's coming back in an hour to check up my accounts."
"Well, I suppose they have to do what they're hired for. Was he mean or ugly?"
"No, but he seemed terribly in earnest. And suppose my accounts aren't exactly right? I may have made little mistakes. Then he'll report me and I'll lose my office. Oh, Jack, I couldn't bear that!"
"Don't worry," Jack soothed her. "I'll stay and have a talk with this inspector. Maybe I can help straighten matters out, if they're a bit wrong. You say he is coming back in an hour?"
"Yes, and the time is nearly up. There he is now."
Jack looked out, and a strange feeling came over him as he saw a large man, on an unusually high horse riding up to the post office.
"Is he the inspector?" asked the pony rider.
"Yes," Jennie answered.
Jack shut his teeth grimly, and a strange look came over his face.
CHAPTER XIV
THE CHASE
"On, Jack, what shall I do?" asked Jennie. She was trembling, and seemed much alarmed.
"Do? Why you don't have to do anything," the pony express rider answered. "Let this inspector ask his questions, and then we'll see what course to take."
"Oh, but suppose he finds something wrong—not the proper amount of stamps on hand—I can't be sure I counted them right."
"Say, little girl, don't you worry!" Jack went on. "I don't believe this fellow will do much questioning."
"Why, Jack, what makes you talk that way? He's a government inspector. He told me so! Do you know him?"
"I rather think I do, but I'm not sure," Jack answered. Again there was a grim shutting of his lips, and a determined look came into his eyes. "I want to hear him speak first," the lad said "Then I can tell better."
The inspector, if such he were, had stopped outside the post office to light a cigar. He sat easily on his big horse, and Jack could not help admiring the noble animal. The man himself was a fine physical specimen, but he had a hard, cruel face, and shifty eyes. There was no one in the immediate vicinity of the post office at that time, for Jack had delivered the mail an hour before, and he had sauntered back to the office, after doing some errands about town, to have a talk with Jennie. The other mail would not arrive for another hour, so there was no excuse for the gathering of the crowd which always awaited the incoming mail.
Having lighted his cigar, the man again advanced slowly. He looked all about, Jack thought, to see if he was likely to be interfered with, but this may not have been so.
He dismounted with easy grace, and tied his horse to a post in front of the office. Then he sauntered in. Jack sat down in a chair behind a door, out of sight. He did not want the inspector to see him until the right moment.
"Well, Miss—er—Blake, I believe you said your name was," began the man, and his tone was insolent, "I suppose you are ready to have me go over your accounts now?"
Jack started at the sound of his voice.
"That's the fellow—I'm positive of it!" he thought "Now I've got him—got one of them, anyhow! Oh, this is luck!"
Jack's eyes gleamed.
Jennie hardly knew what to make of the situation. She half expected Jack to do something, or say something, to help her.
Still she was postmistress, and only she was qualified to answer the official questions. But if something was wrong?
"Well, then maybe Jack will help me out," she thought. She was trembling and was much upset. It was the first time an inspector had called at her little office.
"Now, I want to see the records of the registered mail, going and coming, Miss Blake. I also must check over your stamps and cash. Have you had in, lately, any special delivery stuff?"
"Why, yes—that is—Oh, I hardly know where to begin," said the flustered girl, wishing Jack would say something, "You see I've never been inspected before."
"Humph!" sneered the man. "You act as though something was wrong. Most offices where I go don't have such nervous persons in charge. If everything is all right you have nothing to fear. Perhaps you had better step outside and let me go over matters myself. That would be better, and you wouldn't be so nervous.
"If everything is all right you have nothing to fear, and if there is something wrong, well, I'll be as easy in my report to Washington as I can. I won't make it too hard for you. Yes, I think that will be best. Just leave the office to me for a little while."
Jennie flashed, over the man's head, a look at Jack in the corner behind the door. The young pony express rider had arisen, and, to her alarm, Jennie saw his hand go toward the pocket where she knew he carried his revolver—a new one since the robbers had taken his first one.
Jennie wanted to scream.
"Just run along, little girl, and let me have the place to myself," the man urged.
It was time for Jack to act.
He fairly sprang out from behind the door and confronted the man.
"Are you sure," Jack asked, "that if she left the post office to you that you wouldn't run off with it?"
The man started back. He turned a little pale, and then a flood of red surged into his face. He seemed to recover himself with an effort.
"I—I don't know what you mean. Who are you?" he demanded, curtly.
"Never mind who I am, but who are you?" and Jack fairly shot out the words.
"Why, I'm the post office inspector for this district," was the answer, and again the man's tone was sneering. "Are you connected with the department, if I may ask?"
"I am," said Jack, grimly.
"In what capacity?"
"Pony express rider!" shot out Jack. "The same pony express rider that you and your gang of outlaws held up not long ago! I know you now. I was sure of you the minute I set eyes on you on that big horse, and when I heard your voice I was doubly sure. Wearing your mask didn't help any. I know you! You're no more a post office inspector than I am. You're a post office robber, that's what you are!"
The man started to speak, but stopped suddenly. As Jack was about to draw his weapon to order the man to submit, the fellow with a sudden leap was out of the place. In another instant he had jumped to the back of his horse, yanking loose the tie rope as he leaned over the saddle. Then with a clatter of hoofs he was off.
Jennie screamed, but Jack, flashing past her to get outside, yelled:
"Stop him! Get after him! He's one of the fellows who held up the mail, and robbed me! Stop him!"
Jack fired in the air to attract attention, for the neighborhood was deserted. He could not bring himself to fire at the man, nor even at the splendid horse. Though the provocation was great, and though Jack would have been justified, he could not do it.
"Stop him! He's a post office robber!" Jack yelled, again firing a shot Then, leaping on the back of his pony which was waiting for him outside the building, Jack gave chase after the escaping outlaw.
"We've got to get him, Sunger!" he cried. "We've got to get him!"
CHAPTER XV
A CAUTION
Shots always attract attention, especially in a western community where they usually mean something. In cities there are so many noises constantly being heard, and back-fires and tire blow-outs from automobiles so nearly resemble the discharge of firearms, that if a revolver actually were to be fired in a crowded street it is hardly likely that it would attract notice.
But in the quiet little western town of Golden Crossing shots were rather a novelty. The place was peaceful and law-abiding, and, as was said, when pistol reports were heard, there usually was some good reason for them.
In consequence, when Jack shot off his revolver, it was not long before the main street in front of the post office was thronged.
Men came rushing out of stores and houses, and there appeared also not a few women and children. Jack, racing down the street after the escaping outlaw, looked back and saw that he was able to call for reinforcements. One man had already jumped on his horse and was joining in the chase.
"What's the row?"
"It's one of the men who held me up!" exclaimed Jack in answer.
"We'll get him!" was yelled back, and several more men hurried to loosen the tie-straps of their horses to lend their aid.
"I don't know whether we'll get him or not," Jack mused, as he urged his pony on. "He's got a good start of us, and that horse of his can go some, or I miss my guess. Besides, he's a regular ox, and can keep going for hours at a time.
"You're all right, Sunger, and there isn't a better pony living," Jack went on, "but it's like putting a little runabout auto up against a big racing car. It isn't equal. Still we'll do our best."
Several men were now taking part in the chase. The first one who had heard what Jack said had passed the word to the others, and the posse, so hastily organized, understood what sort of man they were after.
Some of the men were miners, and others were rough characters—that is rough in the sense that they lived in the open and were ready for whatever came along. Some of them began firing their "guns," as they called their revolvers, but there was no chance of hitting the fleeing man, as he was now out of sight beyond a turn in the trail. Realizing this the men fired in the air, hoping, perhaps, that the sound of the shots would intimidate the fellow, and cause him to stop.
But the man ahead was made of as stern and as desperate stuff as were the majority of his pursuers. He must have known that Jack had recognized him, and he realized the penalty if he were caught. So he made up his mind that he would not be taken.
Jack was the nearest to him, and as the pony express rider caught occasional glimpses of the fellow, he saw him beating his horse to urge the magnificent animal to still greater speed.
"There's no use trying to catch him," thought Jack, "he's got too much of a start, and his horse can beat anything around here. I guess he knows that."
Still Jack would not have given up had not something occurred that made it absolutely certain that the chase was useless.
Coming to a bit of soft ground Sunger stumbled and fell, throwing Jack cleanly over his head. Fortunately the lad landed on a bank of thick ferns, so that his fall only jarred him. The pony was not hurt, and soon scrambled to his feet and looked at his owner, Jack imagined, with a sort of apologetic expression.
"I know you couldn't help it, Sunger, old boy," the lad said. "It wasn't your fault."
He limped toward his steed and patted him. Then Jack saw that one of his saddle girths had broken. With that unmended it would be useless to try to continue the pursuit. The saddle would slip from under him, and bareback riding on the mountain trail is out of the question.
Jack realized this, and when the first of the posse came up it was decided to abandon the pursuit for the time being.
"We can't get him now, but maybe we can trail him later," said Jack.
"There's no use in my going on."
"No. And you'll be needed to carry the mail," a man replied. "The stage will be in soon. You'd better get back. Some of us will plan to follow the fellow. We can ask along the way, and maybe get trace of him. If so, we'll let you know."
One or two of the pursuers who had no special duties to take them back to the town agreed to follow the trail of the pursued one for some distance further. The others went back with Jack, temporary mending having been done to the saddle girth.
"Well, he got away, Jennie," said Jack, regretfully, as he entered the post office again.
"I'm glad of it!" she exclaimed impulsively.
"What!" he cried
"I mean for your sake," she added. "He might have shot you, Jack!"
"Oh, thanks for your care," he laughed, "But I wish we could have gotten him. It would be a big feather in my cap."
"I don't care for caps with feathers," Jennie retorted. "But what in the world do you suppose he wanted, Jack? And why did he pass himself off as a post office inspector?"
"So he could have a chance to look over your records And he may have thought there was something of value in the waiting mail that he could take away with him, if he got you out of the place.
"That was his game. You see the gang of outlaws didn't even make what might be called expenses out of their hold-up of me. They had their trouble for their pains, and I suppose they were wild when they found out the valuable letters they took were only dummies.
"Probably the fellow thought the real letters might be coming along soon now, and he wanted to get them. I guess he must be the head one of the crowd that is trying to get control of the secret mine Mr. Argent is going to work. Those fellows are desperate. But this one didn't get anything."
"He came near it, though," Jennie said. "Only for you I suppose I would have been foolish enough to go out and leave him in the office alone. There wasn't much he could take, however. But I did get a new supply of stamps yesterday, nearly fifty dollars' worth. If he had taken them—"
"He wasn't looking for any such small change as stamps," said Jack. "I know what he was after—it was the real Argent letters. Well, he got away from us, more's the pity, though the men may overhaul him later. Now I've got to get ready for the back trip."
But Jack did not have to make it that night. The incoming mail was late and as there was nothing of importance to go through, Jack followed the previous instructions he had received and remained in Golden Crossing.
He was glad he did not have to take the night Tide. His pony was quite shaken up by the fall, and a little lame. Jack himself felt sore and stiff, and it was much pleasanter to remain with his relatives, spending the evening in Jennie's company, than to ride the lonely mountain trail after dark.
Late that night the men who had kept on with the pursuit came back to report that they had lost the trail of the man they were after. He had made good his escape, at least for the time being.
"But we'll get him yet!" some of them boasted.
"They won't if he gets a start on that horse of his," thought Jack.
When Jack made his appearance at the Mansion Hotel the next morning to deliver the mail, and take that which was to go back to Golden Crossing, the pony express rider was met by Mr. Argent.
"Just a word with you, Jack," said the miner. "You remember the bogus letters that were taken away from you, I suppose?"
"I should say I did!" Jack exclaimed. "Why, have they found them?"
"No. But it doesn't matter about them. I want to tell you now that the real papers and letters—the ones that contain the information about the mine—may be along any day or night now. And I want to ask you to be specially careful about them."
"I will, Mr. Argent."
"I know you will, Jack, but I want to caution you, not only about them, but about your own safety. There are a number of desperate men who would go almost any length to get possession of that package of documents. So be on your guard."
Mr. Argent suddenly ceased speaking and looked around. They were out in front of the hotel, near a clump of bushes. Without saying anything further Mr. Argent suddenly made a leap behind the shrubbery.
CHAPTER XVI
SUNGER GOES LAME
Jack was on the alert, ready to follow, but there was no need. Mr. Argent came back with a grim smile on his bronzed face.
"I thought I heard a movement there, as if some one were listening," he said, "but it was a false alarm."
"Are they trailing you as closely as that?"
"Yes, and more so," was the answer. "There's a big fight on to get this mine away from me and my friends, but we're going to beat our enemies. They'd give anything to get the information that is to come to me through the mail, and that's why I'm always on the lookout, fearing some one may overhear what I say."
"But I thought you knew where the mine is," said Jack.
"So I do, and I'm one of the very few men who do know the exact location."
"Then why are you expecting information through the mail that will disclose the place where it is?"
"You don't exactly understand," was the reply. "You see, after the man who first located the mine came back with some rich samples of gold from it, he died, and the place where he had made the strike was lost for some time. Then the documents giving the location were found by those entitled to share the wealth, and I came in on the deal.
"Now, in order to have everything perfectly legal it was necessary, in this particular case, to send to the authorities to have our titles made good. To do that we had to describe exactly where the mine was located. We had to send this information to the government officials in San Francisco. But of course our secret is safe with them.
"The trouble is, however, that they are now sending back to us our original documents, which give the location of the mine, and with them come our proofs to the claim, our legal title so to speak. Of course all these papers contain the written description of the location of the mine. If these papers fall into the hands of the men who are working against us they may jump our claim, as they call it, for it is not yet legally secured to us.
"That is why I am so anxious not to have the expected letters lost. So if you get them, Jack, take good care of them."
"You can make sure I will!" exclaimed the pony rider.
"Oh, I'm not worrying about you, Jack. I mean I know I can trust you, just as I could have trusted your father were he on the express route. It's the other fellows I'm worrying about. They held you up once, Jack, and—"
"They won't get a second chance!" exclaimed the lad, with flashing eyes.
"I'll be on the watch."
"Well, they're pretty foxy and cunning," went on the miner. "It's treachery more than anything else you have to fear now; treachery and guile. They'll try them now they've found out their hold-up methods didn't work!"
"Well, they may try them again," said Jack, "but they won't catch me napping again."
"Oh, I guess you weren't napping, Jack."
"No, not exactly. It all happened so suddenly they didn't give me a chance.
Though I suppose that was their game. Well, I'll do my best."
"I know you will, Jack. Now, as I said, I don't know just when the documents will come. If I did I'd be there myself, and bring 'em through. I wouldn't ask you to take the risk."
"Oh, the risk is part of the game," Jack said.
"I know it is, but I don't believe in anybody—man or boy—taking too many. But, not knowing when they'll arrive, I'll have to trust the regular mail service. Only one thing, Jack. Don't bring them through at night. I mean by that, don't make a night trip just for my papers. Of course, if you have to make a night ride anyhow, and the documents arrive at Golden Crossing, bring them along with you. But don't make a special trip on their account, as there is no rush about them. I suppose you can depend on the people at the other end of the line—I mean in the Golden Crossing office?"
"Well, I should say I could!" declared Jack, energetically. "Jennie Blake is postmistress there and—"
"Oh, I forgot. She's a relative of yours, isn't she?"
"Yes," answered Jack, and he blushed under his coat of tan.
"Well then of course it's all right. I am not greatly worried about the transportation from San Francisco to Golden Crossing. It's from there to here the documents will be taken, if at all."
"They won't be taken at all!" declared Jack. Of course, he was boyishly enthusiastic. For that one can not blame him. He was deeply interested in his work. To him it meant everything. He wanted to bring the mail through safe, and on time every trip. And, so far, he had more than made good.
That one hold-up did not count against him, especially as he had so soon recovered the bulk of the stuff.
"Well, I guess that's all I have to say to you, Jack," concluded the miner. "As I remarked, I can't say just when the papers will arrive. And when they do—well, take the best care of them you can."
"I wonder how it would do to try another ruse, and hide them, say in a loosely tied package, that looked as if it didn't contain anything more valuable than a pair of old shoes?"
"That might answer. But as you tried that game once, and it didn't work, it would hardly deceive the outlaws a second time. But use your own judgment, Jack. I leave it all to you. Only bring me the papers, and don't let the other fellows get them."
"I won't!"
"Shake!" exclaimed the miner, and their hands met in a firm clasp.
Jack rode the trail that day, reaching Golden Crossing with the packages and letters.
"Well, Jennie," he remarked, "the game is on."
"What game?" she asked. "I hope you don't mean any more bogus inspectors are coming here."
"No. I mean that any time now that package of mine documents may reach here. When it does, put it in the safe if I'm not here."
"And what are you going to do with it?"
"Carry it to Rainbow Ridge, of course."
"Oh, Jack! Suppose something happens?" half whispered Jennie.
"Well, I hope it doesn't. And I'm going to do my best to see that something doesn't happen. But if it does, well, I'll have to put up with it, I suppose," Jack said, with a shrug of his shoulders.
"I almost hope the old package doesn't come," murmured Jennie, with a pout of her pretty lips.
"Oh, that wouldn't do," said Jack. "It's very valuable and important. And that's what the pony express is for—to transport speedily valuable and important packages and letters. I'll make out all right, I guess."
"I—I hope so," she faltered.
For several days after that Jack watched the mails anxiously for a sight of the package of documents relating to the mine. But it did not come, and as he made each trip he planned what to do at certain points of the road, where he might possibly be held up again.
"Though it's a question, just as Mr. Argent says, whether they would try the same tactics twice," Jack reasoned. "They may try some other game. I'll have to be on the watch for both."
Mr. Argent himself was getting anxious now. Each time Jack came into Rainbow Ridge from his trip, the miner asked if the letters had come. Each time Jack answered in the negative.
"Well, they'll be along any day now," Mr. Argent would say. "Be on the lookout."
Jack was idling about the Golden Crossing post office about a week after he had received the caution to be on his guard. He was waiting for the stage to come in with the western mail, with which he expected to make the ride back to Rainbow Ridge.
A dusty messenger rode up on a tired and lather-covered horse, and called to Postmistress Jennie:
"Is the pony express rider here?"
"Yes," answered Jack, coming forward. "What's wanted?"
"Stage has had a bust-up a little way out," the messenger said. "I come in to get help, and to say that the driver wants to see you."
"Wants to see me?"
"Yes, he's got a bundle of mail that's marked 'Rush,' and he wants to know if you can ride out there, get it and take it on to Rainbow Ridge."
"Well, I suppose I can," Jack said, "though it isn't regular."
"No, he told me to tell you he knowed that. And he said he'd have sent the mail in by me, only there's some valuable stuff in it, and he wants a regular man to take it. So will you go out?"
"I think I'd better, yes. How far out is the stage?"
"About five miles. Half way between Bosford and Tuckerton," was the answer.
"All right, I'll ride out and get the mail," decided Jack, and in due time he arrived at the place where the stage had been delayed because of a broken wheel. The mail was transferred to Jack, and he started back with it.
"I wonder if the important letters can be in this bag," mused Jack, as he urged Sunger onward. There was no way of telling.
The stage, as the messenger had said, had broken down half way between Bosford and Tuckerton. These were two small settlements, the last one being about three miles from Golden Crossing.
As Jack was passing through the eastern outskirts of Tuckerton he noticed that Sunger was limping slightly.
"Hello! What's this? Got a stone under your shoe?" he exclaimed, as he got off. He made an examination and found that such was the case. Sunger had gone lame, though not so badly but that, with the removal of the stone, the animal could be ridden.
"I'll fix you up," Jack said, as he guided the pony to a shady spot on the trail, and proceeded to get out a simple kit he carried with him for emergencies.
CHAPTER XVII
AN INVITATION DECLINED
Jack's first idea was that he could soon and easily remove from between the hoof and shoe the small stone that was making his pony lame. But when he got to work at it, with a peculiarly shaped hook, such as is used for that purpose, the lad found the work was going to take longer than he had anticipated.
"But it's got to be done, old boy," he said, addressing the little horse. "It's got to be done, and I've got to do it. I can't very well walk you to the blacksmith shop back in town, for you'd be lamer than ever, and I'd probably have to stable you; and I can't leave you with the mail and go and get the smith to come out here. So I've got to do the work myself. I'll be a little late with the mail, but it can't be helped."
Jack realized that he would have a good excuse to offer for not getting back to Rainbow Ridge on time, as he had had to go out of his usual route to bring in the mail to Golden Crossing, which was still some miles away.
"They can't expect me to do two men's work in the time of one, and especially when my pony goes lame," Jack murmured, as he worked over the stone, which persisted in staying where it had become wedged.
"Well, old boy, I don't seem to be coming along very fast," Jack went on, as he sat down to rest, for the day was hot, and, in spite of being in the shade, he felt the heat very much.
"I don't want to loosen your shoe too much, or it will come off, and then I'd be in a worse pickle than ever," he continued, talking aloud, as he frequently did when on the trail. "And yet if I don't, I can't see how I'm going to get at that stone. Well, we'll have another try in a minute."
Sunger did not seem to mind the rest. He began quietly cropping grass by the wayside when Jack let down the hoof in which the stone was imbedded. As long as the pony rested no weight on that foot he was all right. It was when he walked or galloped with Jack and the sacks of mail on his back, bringing pressure to bear, that the lameness was noticeable.
Again the young express rider busied himself with the task. He shook his head over the work, for it seemed more and more impossible to get the stone out without taking off the shoe, and that would mean going back to the blacksmith's shop to have it nailed on again.
"Regular nuisance, having this happen," said Jack. "But of course I know it isn't your fault, Sunger."
The sound of hoof-beats on the trail caused Jack to look up as he was bending over the shoe. He saw riding toward him a stranger. The latter drew up his horse, nodded in friendly fashion, and remarked:
"You seem to be having some trouble there."
"Yes," Jack admitted. "Pony's gone lame. Got a stone under his shoe, and I don't seem to get it out."
"A bad thing in your business, I should judge," the man went on. "Pony express rider, aren't you?"
That could be told by a glance at the mail sacks.
"Yes," Jack answered, for the man seemed anxious to be friendly. "I ride between Golden Crossing and Rainbow Ridge."
"Sort of out of your way here, aren't you?"
"Yes. I had to ride out to get the mail. Stage broke down again. I'm going in to Golden Crossing now, and then on to the Ridge. That is, I am if I can get this stone out."
"Say, if you don't mind, let me have a chance at it," suggested the man, getting off his horse with an ease that showed he was accustomed to the saddle. "I used to know something about smithy work, and I've got a better hook than the one you're using."
"Well, if you don't mind, I wish you would have a try," said Jack, straightening up his bent and aching back. "It seems to have gotten the best of me."
The stranger patted Sunger, who sniffed at him and seemed satisfied. The pony rubbed his velvet nose against the man's coat. This was his way of making friends. Sunger did not do this with every one, either, and Jack felt more interest in the newcomer on that account.
"Now, let's see what we have here," the man went on, as he lifted the pony's lame foot. "Oh, my name's Ryan," he added, as an afterthought.
"And mine's Jack Bailey," said our hero, completing the introduction.
"Glad to meet you. I'm riding your way, and I'll go on with you after I get you fixed up, or, rather, your pony.
"Think you can do it?" Jack asked.
"Oh yes, I'll soon have this out. You almost had it yourself, but you were working at it the wrong way."
He proved that he knew what he was talking about a few minutes later, by exclaiming:
"There it is!"
He held up the stone that had caused all the trouble. It was of peculiar shape, which accounted for the manner in which it had become wedged fast.
"Thanks!" Jack exclaimed. "Now the question is about the shoe. Is it so loose that I can't go on?"
"It is a bit loose," the man said. "But I can fix that for you. I carry a spare shoe or two myself. They wouldn't fit your pony, for they are too large. But I've got a hammer and nails in my saddle bags. I ride about a good bit, and my nag often casts a shoe, so I go prepared. I'll have this one tightened up in a jiffy."
Jack watched Ryan interestedly. The man seemed very capable, and it is often the custom of cowboys or range riders to carry with them spare shoes, nails and a hammer, to reset a shoe of their mounts when far from a blacksmith shop.
In a few minutes the shoe was as tight as necessary, and Jack could again mount his pony and ride on.
"I'm a thousand times obliged to you," he said to Ryan. "It was quite a job, wasn't it?"
"Well, yes. Not so hard as some I've tackled, though. But it's a warm day, and I think after that we're entitled to a little refreshment. What do you say?"
For a moment Jack did not understand.
"Refreshment," he repeated. "There's no place around here where you can get anything to eat. No places short of going back to Tuckerton. And I'm not hungry enough for that."
"Hungry? Shucks, no! I'm not myself. I wasn't talking about anything to eat. I meant something to drink."
"Oh," said Jack, and a queer sort of feeling came over him. "Well, there's no ice cream soda place around here, either," and he smiled.
"Ice cream soda? Shucks! I'm talking about a man's drink! And I don't need any one to wait on me, either. I carry it with me. It's safer in case of emergency," and he laughed in what he evidently meant to be taken as a friendly fashion.
"Here, have a smile with me," he went on, producing a pocket flask. "It's stuff I can recommend," he added. "It'll do you good after working over that shoe. Come on, help yourself, and then I'll take what you leave, though there's plenty in that bottle, and more where that came from."
He held out a dark flask to Jack.
Jack backed away and shook his head.
"No, thank you," he said, firmly.
"What!" the man exclaimed in seeming surprise. "You don't drink?"
"No," Jack replied. "It wouldn't do in my business, you know. Besides, I wouldn't drink anyhow."
"Oh, shucks! Just one wouldn't hurt you, and there's no one to know. Your boss won't find it out, for I won't tell. After going through what you have you need a drink."
"Perhaps I do," said Jack with a smile, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "but I don't want that kind of a drink. There's a spring just a few steps on, and it's the coldest and best water for miles around. I'm going to have some of that, and give the pony some, too. Your horse would appreciate it, I think."
"Humph! Water may be all right for horses, but I don't care for it," was the somewhat sneering answer. "Then you won't drink with me, Jack Bailey?"
"No, thank you. I'll join you in a tin dipper of spring water, but that's all."
"Well, if you won't you won't, I suppose," the man said, slowly. "Everybody to their notion. I don't take much, but I like a little now and then. So here goes."
Jack did not stay to see what the man did, but walked on to the spring with Sunger. The pony showed no trace of lameness, now, for which Jack was glad, as he had a hard ride ahead of him.
As the lad was getting himself a drink, and letting Sunger get some from a pool below the spring, Jack heard the sound of a galloping horse, and looked up in surprise.
CHAPTER XVIII
A QUEER FEELING
Jack's first thought was that Ryan had ridden off in haste after having helped himself to a drink from the flask, but, somewhat to his surprise, he saw the man who had removed the stone from the pony's hoofs still standing beside his horse. The galloping came from another rider who seemed in haste. He waved his hand to Jack, and cried:
"Hold on! Wait!"
"Well, I wonder what's up now?" mused the pony express lad. "He seems to want me."
"I was afraid I wouldn't catch you," exclaimed the young fellow who had ridden up in such haste. Jack recognized him then as Harry Montgomery, an employee of the stage line that ran out of Golden Crossing to the west.
"Do you want me?" Jack asked.
"Yes. They forgot to give you some important mail stuff when you rode out to the stage a while ago. The stage has come on into Tuckerton now, and the driver sent me on to see if I could catch you. He wants you to ride back into town, if you will, and get the stuff he forgot to give you."
"Why didn't he let you bring it?" asked Jack, not much relishing the ride back. It would delay him still further, and he had enough valuable mail in his possession now without wishing for any more.
"The driver said he didn't like to have me carry it, as I'm not supposed to do that. Besides he wants you to receipt for it. But if I couldn't catch up to you I guess he intended to hold the stuff over until your next trip."
"Oh well, as long as it's only a case of a mile's ride back to Tuckerton, I suppose I'd better do it," Jack reasoned. "You wouldn't have caught me, only my pony went lame and I was delayed getting the stone out," he said to Harry. "This gentleman helped me."
"Oh, it wasn't much," said Ryan, nodding to Harry. The latter did not appear to know him. The flask which had been in so much evidence a little while before was not in sight now.
"Yes, I'll ride back and get the stuff," Jack decided. It had come into his mind that perhaps the forgotten package contained the letters Mr. Argent was expecting. They might have been sent by special mail, and not be in the regular sacks. It would be best for Jack to go, though he would be delayed.
"And if it's too late, and if I think they are the letters about the secret mine, I won't do any night-riding," Jack decided, mentally.
"Well, I'm glad I caught you," Harry said, as he turned his horse about.
"Yes, it would have been too bad if you had had your ride for nothing," the pony express lad said. "Well, Sunger, old boy, we'll hit the back trail again for a little while," and Jack swung himself up into the saddle.
Somewhat to Jack's surprise, when Ryan mounted, he, also, turned his horse's head in the direction of Tuckerton.
"Are you going back, too?" Jack asked him.
"Yes, I guess I might as well."
"But I thought you were going to Golden Crossing."
"So I am. But it just occurred to me that I am hungry, and there's an eating place in Tuckerton, isn't there?"
"Yes," answered Harry. "But it isn't a very good one."
"Oh, well, when a man's hungry he can't be too particular. I guess I can stand it."
The three rode back together, and in a short time had reached the small town. The stage had pulled in, temporary repairs having been made, and the driver who handed Jack a sealed package expressed regret at having to bring him back.
"It was all my fault, too," the driver said. "I ought to have remembered about this special package, for they told me there was some hurry about it. But I was sort of knocked out by the accident, and it slipped my mind. I'm glad you've got it now."
Jack looked at it. The packet might contain letters, though it did not look large enough to hold maps of any size. And, to Jack's surprise, it was addressed, not to Mr. Argent, but to the postmaster at Rainbow Ridge. He had been so sure that it was the valuable letters and papers the miner expected that for the moment Jack almost expressed his astonishment. But Ryan and some others were standing near-by, and the lad felt it better to keep still.
Besides, the letters Mr. Argent expected might be in the regular mail bags, which Jack carried on his saddle, those bags not having been opened since he received them from the broken-down stage.
"Well, I guess now you're all right," the stage driver went on. "You can get on your way, Jack. I won't have to call you back again."
"I hope not. I'm late enough as it is."
"I'm sorry, my boy."
"Well, it couldn't be helped, I suppose. I don't want to make a night trip,
If I can help it."
"Do you often do that?" asked Ryan.
"Oh, occasionally. But since I was held up once I don't hanker after it."
"Were you held up?" Ryan seemed much interested.
"Yes," Jack said, but he did not go into details. He had no time.
"I say!" exclaimed Ryan, as Jack was about to ride off again. "It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to have a blacksmith look at that shoe I fixed. I did the best I could, but I can't guarantee that it will stay on. There's a smithy right across the way."
"I believe I will do that," Jack said. "It won't be any joke if Sunger casts a shoe when I get on the mountain trail. I'll take him over to the shop."
The smith was busy, but Jack decided to wait.
"I'll have plenty of time if I don't have to make a night ride," he remarked.
"Say, while you're waiting," suggested Ryan, who had followed Jack over to the blacksmith shop, "why not come and have a bite to eat with me. You wouldn't drink with me, but you can't object to eating."
He seemed so much in earnest about it, and so friendly, that Jack did not like to refuse. After all, Ryan had been very helpful to him, and the matter of drinking Jack could overlook. It was more or less a settled custom in the West, anyhow.
"I'm not very hungry," Jack began, "but—"
"Oh, well, come and have a cup of coffee," suggested Ryan. "It won't take long, and by the time we're through with our little snack your pony will be ready for you. Come along."
"All right," Jack agreed, and he followed his new acquaintance across the street to a small restaurant. Jack ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee, but Ryan called for a more substantial meal.
"And I'll have mine in a hurry, if you don't mind," said Jack to the waiter. "I've got to get back on the trail."
"Have it right away," was the answer.
Jack sipped some of his coffee, and ate the sandwich. He was waiting for the beverage to cool somewhat before taking the remainder, when Ryan, nodding in the direction of the entrance to the restaurant, toward which Jack had his back, said:
"Is that a friend of yours? He seems to be looking for some one."
Jack turned. A man was standing in the doorway of the eating place, his eyes roving about as though looking for somebody, but Jack did not know him, nor did the stranger show any sign of interest in the pony express rider.
Jack turned back in time to see Ryan setting down the cup of coffee from which Jack had been drinking.
"Huh! That's one on me!" laughed the man. "I picked up your cup for my own.
Don't worry though. I didn't drink any of your coffee."
"That's all right," Jack said, pleasantly. "I'll finish now, and get along."
"Well, good luck to you," returned Ryan. "I'll stay and finish my meal," he added. "Good-bye. Glad to have met you."
"Good-bye," answered Jack. "Much obliged for your help, and for this feed."
"Shucks! I don't call that much of a feed. Leave me the checks, waiter. Well, I may see you again," he called, with a wave of his hand as Jack went out.
"Yes, I'm back and forth quite often, though I seldom get to Tuckerton, unless there's some accident to the stage," the lad said.
He found his pony's shoe had been properly tightened, and the animal was now ready for him. Jack paid his smithy bill, jumped up to the saddle and rode on through the town again.
"We'll have to make time," whispered the lad to his pony, making sure that the mail sacks were securely fastened, and that he had the sealed packet which he had ridden back to get. "Yes, Sunger, we'll make time, so in case we do have to make a night ride we won't be delayed too long. Queer chap, that Ryan," mused Jack. "It was good of him to blow me to coffee. But I can't say I think much of that eating place. That was about the poorest coffee I've had in a good while. Whew! The bitterness of it is in my mouth yet! I'll wash it out with a drink of water when I get to the spring again. I wonder what Ryan's business is, and where he is headed for? He must be pretty hungry to order so much eating stuff."
If Jack could have looked back into the restaurant he would have been surprised to see the same Ryan hastily leave, soon after he himself had come out. And the same Ryan left most of his dinner untouched.
"What's the matter, don't you like the grub?" asked the waiter, as Ryan hurried out.
"Sure, it's all right!" and he tossed him a tip. "But I forgot I had an engagement," and with that he jumped into his saddle and rode off. But not in the direction Jack had taken.
"My, my!" said Jack, talking to himself as he galloped along, "that coffee certainly was bitter. It seems to be getting worse—that taste in my mouth. I believe it's giving me a head ache, too. I certainly do feel queer—sort of dizzy. Maybe it was the hot sun. I'll cool off at the spring. But I do feel so queer," and Jack passed his hand across his forehead.
CHAPTER XIX
A DESPERATE RIDE
Nearing the spring, where he had taken a drink before that day, Jack was about to dismount to get some cooling water. But such a strange feeling of weakness and dizziness came over him that he had to hold himself in the saddle.
"I—I'm afraid if I get out I won't be able to get up again," he murmured weakly. "Sunger, what's the matter with me, I wonder?"
Then, ill as he felt himself becoming, like a flash an idea came to Jack.
The meaning of it all came to him instantly.
"I've been drugged!" he said, hoarsely. "That Ryan! That was his game. He drugged my coffee, that time when he made me turn around! I saw him putting back my cup! He put some drug in my coffee to make me unconscious!"
For a moment the thought of the desperate trick that had been played on him made Jack so angry that he succeeded in fighting off the feeling of weakness and dizziness. But it was only for a moment. Then it came back with increasing distress.
"That was the game," he murmured, scarcely able to see now. "He probably had doped the whiskey in that flask, but I didn't take that. Then he watched his chance, urged me to take something to eat with him, and put some drug in my coffee. No wonder it tasted bitter and queer! What a simpleton I was to take it! But I did not know."
Jack was reeling in the saddle. The pony sensed that something was wrong with his master, and stopped.
"No, don't stop! Go on! Go on!" urged Jack. "Oh, what am I going to do?" he murmured. "I'm on a lonely trail, with the valuable mail and express. That's what Ryan counts on. He thinks I'll fall by the wayside and he can come up and get what he wants when I'm unconscious.
"But what is it he wants? The Argent letters, of course. That's what he's after! He's drugged me. He's going to give me time to fall in a faint, and then he's coming along to rob the mail. The Argent letters must be in the sacks that aren't opened. He must have found that out in some way, and have been on the watch for me.
"But he won't get them. I'll not let him roll the mail!" cried Jack, speaking aloud, and trying to put some fierce energy into his voice. But it died away faintly.
"How can I stop him? How can I foil him?" mused the ill and almost fainting rider. "I—I've got to do something. But what? I can't stay in the saddle much longer. Go on, Sunger! Go on!"
For the pony had stopped again.
Jack wanted desperately to get a drink from the cold spring, but he dared not.
"If I leave the saddle I'd not have strength to get up in it again," he reasoned. "But I've got to do something! I've got to do something!"
He repeated the words over and over again, until they rang in his numbed brain like the refrain of some song. Sunger did not know what to make of it all. He could tell something was wrong, and whinnied once or twice. But Jack was too ill to answer him, or pat him caressingly as he always did.
"Sunger, we've got to do something! We've got to do something to save the mail!" whispered the poor lad. He was too weak to do more than whisper.
Jack tried to listen, and to ascertain if the outlaw who had played this trick on him was coming behind him on the trail, for he realized that Ryan would soon follow, to reap the fruits of his villany. But there was no sound save the echo of Sunger's hoof-beats. It was getting late in the afternoon.
Jack was reeling in the saddle now. He could hardly hold himself upright. Once or twice he nearly fell out, but clutched the pommel in time. Once or twice, too, the pony stopped, but Jack urged him on. He knew his only hope lay either in reaching Golden Crossing, or in some one on the trail seeing his plight and looking after him. But there was not much chance of this last, for the disabled stage would not be along for some hours yet.
Then, as he thought of what it would mean to him to have the mail robbed a second time while in his possession, a desperate plan came into Jack's mind.
"I'll tie myself to the saddle!" he whispered "I've got plenty of rope for that. I'll lash myself fast. Then if I do get unconscious, which I'm afraid is going to happen, I won't fall out.
"And when I tie myself fast, Sunger," Jack went on, speaking as loudly as he could; "when I'm lashed fast, and don't know anything, you've got to go on and carry the mail—and me. You've got to take the mail safe through to Jennie at Golden Crossing, and you've got to do it without my guidance. You know the trail, Sunger! You've got to take the mail through! It's the only way to save it!"
Jack felt that it was useless longer to try to fight off the effects of the drug. It was too strong and powerful for him, and he realized that he must have been given a heavy dose. He could hardly see now.
Jack carried with him a light but strong rope for often he had to tie mail pouches on the saddle behind him. With hands that trembled, with his head aching terribly, and his eyes burning, Jack managed to pass about his legs, and under the saddle girths, several turns of the rope. He made himself fast in the saddle, so he would not fall off.
Then, when the last knot had been tied and made secure, Jack fell forward on his pony's neck.
"Go on, Sunger!" he said feebly. "Go on to Jennie and Golden Crossing. It's my only chance. You've got to run now as you never ran before! You've got to carry the mail! Go on, Sunger! Don't fail me now, or it will be all up with dad and me! Don't fail, Sunger! Go on!"
With this last urging Jack's eyes closed, and he felt himself going off into unconsciousness.
Then the brave and intelligent Sunger sprang forward. Somehow the pony must have understood. At any rate, he knew that all haste must be made on the trail. He was carrying the mail, and Jack always urged him to top speed on such occasions.
With the instinct that characterizes dogs, horses and other animals, Sunger knew that he must go on to the Post Office. Just what had happened to his master, of course Sunger did not know. But it was something wrong—the pony sensed that.
And so with the unconscious form strapped to the saddle, with Jack's head pillowed on Sunger's neck, the plucky animal started to foil the plans of the plotters. On and on he galloped over the mountain trail, Jack swaying from side to side, but remaining safe because of the holding ropes.
It was about this time that Ryan, who, by a roundabout road, had reached the trail leading from Tuckerton to Golden Crossing, looked at his watch in a secluded place where he was waiting, and remarked:
"Well, it ought to be working by this time. I guess I'll amble along and see what's doing. I ought to get the letters without any trouble. I certainly dosed his coffee good and strong," and he smiled in an evil fashion.
Springing into the saddle he urged his horse along the trail. He did not hurry, for he wanted to give the drug time to work its full and stupefying effect. Ryan was a different sort of worker from the other outlaws. He did not believe in their rough and ready methods, but, instead, used sneaking means, such as drugs, that were often no less successful.
"This hold-up work doesn't pay when you can get the same results without attracting so much attention," he murmured as he rode on. "Now I wonder if I had better take that last package they gave him. I don't believe the maps will be in that, though. They must be in the sacks. I hope I have a key that will fit the lock. I don't want to cut the bags if I can help it.
"If I can come up when he's lying unconscious, pick the locks, and get out what I want, I can lock the mail pouches again, and he won't know he's been robbed for some hours. That will give me that much more time to get away. Yes, that's my best plan," and as Ryan rode along he examined several keys which he took from a pocket. He had made his plans carefully.
It was not until the outlaw had reached a point near the spring that he began to be at all concerned. Up to then he had felt sure of the result of his desperate work.
"Why, I ought to have come upon him before this," he reasoned, wonderingly. "That stuff would knock out a strong man, let alone a lad like him. He ought to have fallen off, or have gotten off, and become unconscious before this. I wonder if I made any mistake."
He went over in his mind the different points of his plot. It seemed perfect. But where was his victim who should have been lying unconscious beside the road?
"Something's wrong!" Ryan exclaimed, as he passed the spring. He looked about. The trail was dusty, but he could sec no signs of Jack's having dismounted, or indications that the lad had fallen and gotten up to the saddle again.
"Something's wrong," Ryan repeated. Then he put spurs to his horse and galloped down the trail toward Golden Crossing.