CHAPTER XIX
A DESPERATE RIDE
Nearing the spring, where he had taken a drink before that day, Jack wasabout to dismount to get some cooling water. But such a strange feeling ofweakness and dizziness came over him that he had to hold himself in thesaddle.
"I--I'm afraid if I get out I won't be able to get up again," he murmuredweakly. "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. Hedrugged my coffee, that time when he made me turn around! I saw him puttingback 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 himmade Jack so angry that he succeeded in fighting off the feeling ofweakness and dizziness. But it was only for a moment. Then it came backwith increasing distress.
"That was the game," he murmured, scarcely able to see now. "He probablyhad doped the whiskey in that flask, but I didn't take that. Then hewatched his chance, urged me to take something to eat with him, and putsome drug in my coffee. No wonder it tasted bitter and queer! What asimpleton I was to take it! But I did not know."
Jack was reeling in the saddle. The pony sensed that something was wrongwith his master, and stopped.
"No, don't stop! Go on! Go on!" urged Jack. "Oh, what am I going to do?" hemurmured. "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 cancome 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'safter! He's drugged me. He's going to give me time to fall in a faint, andthen he's coming along to rob the mail. The Argent letters must be in thesacks that aren't opened. He must have found that out in some way, and havebeen 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 itdied away faintly.
"How can I stop him? How can I foil him?" mused the ill and almost faintingrider. "I--I've got to do something. But what? I can't stay in the saddlemuch 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 darednot.
"If I leave the saddle I'd not have strength to get up in it again," hereasoned. "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 numbedbrain like the refrain of some song. Sunger did not know what to make of itall. He could tell something was wrong, and whinnied once or twice. ButJack 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 themail!" 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 thistrick on him was coming behind him on the trail, for he realized that Ryanwould soon follow, to reap the fruits of his villany. But there was nosound save the echo of Sunger's hoof-beats. It was getting late in theafternoon.
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 ortwice, too, the pony stopped, but Jack urged him on. He knew his only hopelay either in reaching Golden Crossing, or in some one on the trail seeinghis plight and looking after him. But there was not much chance of thislast, 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 asecond time while in his possession, a desperate plan came into Jack'smind.
"I'll tie myself to the saddle!" he whispered "I've got plenty of rope forthat. I'll lash myself fast. Then if I do get unconscious, which I'm afraidis going to happen, I won't fall out.
"And when I tie myself fast, Sunger," Jack went on, speaking as loudly ashe could; "when I'm lashed fast, and don't know anything, you've got to goon and carry the mail--and me. You've got to take the mail safe through toJennie at Golden Crossing, and you've got to do it without my guidance. Youknow the trail, Sunger! You've got to take the mail through! It's the onlyway to save it!"
Jack felt that it was useless longer to try to fight off the effects of thedrug. It was too strong and powerful for him, and he realized that he musthave 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 mailpouches on the saddle behind him. With hands that trembled, with his headaching terribly, and his eyes burning, Jack managed to pass about his legs,and under the saddle girths, several turns of the rope. He made himselffast in the saddle, so he would not fall off.
Then, when the last knot had been tied and made secure, Jack fell forwardon his pony's neck.
"Go on, Sunger!" he said feebly. "Go on to Jennie and Golden Crossing. It'smy only chance. You've got to run now as you never ran before! You've gotto carry the mail! Go on, Sunger! Don't fail me now, or it will be all upwith dad and me! Don't fail, Sunger! Go on!"
With this last urging Jack's eyes closed, and he felt himself going offinto unconsciousness.
Then the brave and intelligent Sunger sprang forward. Somehow the pony musthave understood. At any rate, he knew that all haste must be made on thetrail. He was carrying the mail, and Jack always urged him to top speed onsuch occasions.
With the instinct that characterizes dogs, horses and other animals, Sungerknew that he must go on to the Post Office. Just what had happened to hismaster, of course Sunger did not know. But it was something wrong--the ponysensed that.
And so with the unconscious form strapped to the saddle, with Jack's headpillowed on Sunger's neck, the plucky animal started to foil the plans ofthe plotters. On and on he galloped over the mountain trail, Jack swayingfrom side to side, but remaining safe because of the holding ropes.
It was about this time that Ryan, who, by a roundabout road, had reachedthe trail leading from Tuckerton to Golden Crossing, looked at his watch ina secluded place where he was waiting, and remarked:
"Well, it ought to be working by this time. I guess I'll amble along andsee what's doing. I ought to get the letters without any trouble. Icertainly dosed his coffee good and strong," and he smiled in an evilfashion.
Springing into the saddle he urged his horse along the trail. He did nothurry, for he wanted to give the drug time to work its full and stupefyingeffect. Ryan was a different sort of worker from the other outlaws. He didnot believe in their rough and ready methods, but, instead, used sneakingmeans, such as drugs, that were often no less successful.
"This hold-up work doesn't pay when you can get the same results withoutattracting so much attention," he murmured as he rode on. "Now I wonder ifI had better take that last package they gave him. I don't believe the mapswill be in that, though. They must be in the sacks. I hope I have a keythat 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 outwhat I want, I can lock the mail pouches again, and he won't know he's beenrobbed 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 keyswhich 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 hebegan to be at all concerned. Up to then he had felt sure of the result ofhis 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. Heought to have fallen off, or have gotten off, and become unconscious beforethis. I wonder if I made any mistake."
He went over in his mind the different points of his plot. It seemedperfect. But where was his victim who should have been lying
unconsciousbeside the road?
"Something's wrong!" Ryan exclaimed, as he passed the spring. He lookedabout. The trail was dusty, but he could sec no signs of Jack's havingdismounted, or indications that the lad had fallen and gotten up to thesaddle again.
"Something's wrong," Ryan repeated. Then he put spurs to his horse andgalloped down the trail toward Golden Crossing.
Jack of the Pony Express; Or, The Young Rider of the Mountain Trails Page 19