Jack of the Pony Express; Or, The Young Rider of the Mountain Trails

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER XX

  AT GOLDEN CROSSING

  "Jack is late, isn't he, Jennie?" asked Mrs. Blake, as she sat in theGolden Crossing post office. She had finished her sewing, and had stoppedfor a little chat.

  "Well, you know he had to ride out and get the mail from the disabled stagecoach," replied the girl, as she made some entries in her books. "Andperhaps he had to go farther than the messenger said. There's plenty oftime, though."

  "Well, he's late," Mrs. Blake repeated. "I hope he doesn't have to make anight trip."

  "So do I," her daughter murmured, as she thought of the time Jack had beenheld up. "It isn't likely he will, though. You know, Mr. Perkfeld said heneedn't make those night trips any more unless there was something veryimportant."

  "You never can tell when some important matter will come in though,"resumed Mrs. Blake, after a pause, during which she had gone to the windowto peer down the trail in the direction from which Jack would come. "Andisn't he expecting something for Mr. Argent?"

  "Yes, and that is the only thing I'm worrying about," confessed Jennie. "Ifthose letters come in Jack will be sure to want to ride off with them atonce, night or day. And we won't know when the letters do arrive until themail sacks come here and I open them."

  "Well, it certainly is a risky business, this pony express," sighed hermother.

  "It wouldn't be so risky if it wasn't for those desperate outlaws, and theother men who want Jack's position," Jennie said, her eyes flashing. "Itmakes me so mad when I think what an unfair advantage they take that I wishI were a man so I could help Jack fight them!"

  "My!" laughed Mrs. Blake. "But I guess you're better off inside here, thanout on the mountain trail."

  "Yes, I suppose so. That's all we women are good for, anyhow, to sit andwait and worry!"

  "Any one would think you were twice as old as you are," said Mrs. Blakewith a smile at her daughter. "Hark! Is that he coming?"

  They both started toward the door, but, with a sigh of disappointment,Jennie said:

  "No, it's only Tim Mullane."

  The red-haired, genial Irish lad entered with a grin.

  "Jack not here yet?" he asked, with some surprise.

  "Oh, I wish you wouldn't say that!" Jennie exclaimed, and her voice was nother usual one.

  "Why, what's the matter?" her mother asked, in some surprise.

  "Oh, it makes me nervous when any one speaks about Jack's not being back.It--it's just as if--as if something had happened to him!" she faltered.

  "Oh sure, miss, what could happen to him?" asked Tim, seeing with his Irishquickness "which way the wind blew."

  "Nothing, of course," Jennie went on. "He just rode out to get the mailbecause the stage was broken down. Maybe he knows there is nothingimportant in it, so he can stay here all night."

  "Of course," agreed Mrs. Blake. But to herself she said. "I do wish Jackwould come!"

  There was nothing to do, however, save wait, and that is often the hardestkind of work, as it is certainly the most nervous. Jennie and her motherbusied themselves about the post office, Jennie asking the advice of Mrs.Blake on certain matters connected with the reports she had to send in tothe officials.

  "I suppose there will be a real post office inspector along some day to goover my accounts," she ventured.

  "Perhaps," her mother admitted. "And if any more bogus ones come on thescene, I hope I'm here--or that Jack is."

  "Yes, Jack routed that other chap finely," said Jennie.

  And so they waited for the return of the pony express rider.

  Meanwhile, what of Jack? Brave and intelligent Sunger was galloping on withhis senseless burden. The pony seemed to know just what to do. He took theeasiest part of the mountain trail, avoiding places where he might stumbleor fall, for he seemed to realize that Jack's guiding and careful hand wasnot at the reins now.

  On and on galloped the animal, making the best speed he could, though thetrail was hard and steep in places.

  Suddenly, from the road back of him, Sunger heard the sound of galloping.The pony pricked up his ears. Another rider was coming. Who it might beSunger, of course, did not know. But the little pony had been trained neverto let another horse pass him from behind on the mail route. It was not somuch a matter of necessity as it was of pride, and Jack's pony nowincreased his pace.

  And then, at a level place on the trail, and one that was straight, where agood view could be had ahead, there swung into view behind Sunger a horse,carrying a man who was urging his mount on with whip, spur and voice.

  "So that's why I didn't find him as I expected to!" exclaimed Ryan, for heit was who was galloping behind the unconscious form of Jack Bailey. "He'ssticking to his horse, but he must be all in. That lad's got grit andpluck, and I'm almost sorry I had to do him up. But I had to. We simplymust get the information about that mine, and this was the only plan Ithought would work. But he sure has grit and spunk to ride on with thatdose in him."

  From where he was, Ryan could not see the device of ropes Jack had used toprevent falling from the back of his pony during his unconsciousness. Theoutlaw merely thought that Jack was only partly under the influence of thedrug, and that the youth was clinging with his arms about Sunger's neck.

  "I wonder if I can ride him down?" mused the desperate man. "I've just gotto, that's all. I let him get too much the start, but I sure did think I'dfind him senseless beside the road!"

  But Ryan reckoned without his host. Sunger was not going to be caught Thegoing was better now, and the little pony had the advantage of not carryingas much weight as did the larger horse. Moreover, Sunger was naturallyfleeter.

  So, though Ryan urged his own steed as he had seldom urged it before, thegap between the two animals did not close up. In fact it seemed to widen,and when Ryan saw that he became desperate.

  "Who'd think he could beat me this way?" he asked himself. "No human being,I thought, could keep his senses after that dose I put in his coffee. Itwon't do him any permanent harm, that's one thing I'm glad of, for after alad has made the plucky fight he has I don't wish him harm, even if we haveto take desperate measures against him. He'll be all right again in acouple of hours. But why doesn't he fall off?"

  It was not until some time later that Ryan learned why, and then hisadmiration for Jack increased. For, bad and unscrupulous as he was, Ryanhad once been a good man, and he could admire grit and fine qualities inothers, though he could not exercise them himself.

  "I've got to get him soon, or we'll be plump into Golden Crossing, and thenthe jig will be up, I fear," Ryan said fiercely. "They'll say I bungled thejob, and they'll try another hold-up, I suppose. For those letters are inthat mail, and we must have them!"

  But as he galloped on for another quarter of a mile, it became increasinglyevident that Sunger was not to be overtaken. The louder the hoof-beats ofthe other horse sounded, the faster the plucky little pony ran, though hewas now tiring. But he was game, all the way through, and never would giveup while he had an ounce of strength left in him.

  "Well, there's only one way to end it," said Ryan aloud. He drew hisrevolver. "I hate to shoot a fine little pony like that," the man went on,"but I've got to stop him somehow, and I can't ride him down. It's the onlyway!"

  Carefully he took aim, and was about to pull the trigger. Then he hesitatedand lowered the weapon.

  "No, I haven't the nerve," he muttered. "If I kill the pony he'll go over,and the boy may be killed too. I can't do it. It goes against me. I'm badenough all the way through, but I'm not going to do anything like that, andI'll tell the gang so. If I can't ride him down he'll have to get away, asfar as I'm concerned. I can't do that!"

  He shoved the weapon back into the holster, and exclaimed:

  "Now, you brute, I'm going to make you run!"

  He whipped his own horse cruelly, and the animal, in terror, did respondwith a burst of speed. It came too late, however, for a few minutes laterthe trail turned, and Ryan knew he was near Golden Crossing--too near forsafety.

>   "No use!" he muttered! "I've got to give up. I'll go and tell the gang.Maybe they can get the letters some other way. They aren't in Rainbow Ridgeyet, and lots of things can happen on the road. I'll tell the gang andwe'll think up something new."

  He reined in his nearly exhausted horse, and swung back down the trail,riding slowly. Sunger, with his unconscious burden, kept on. The race wasalmost run, and it was high time, for the pony was all but fagged out.

  And then into the very streets of the mountain town went the little horse.Straight through the streets, bearing unconscious Jack. And those who sawwondered, though some may have guessed what had happened.

  Several raced after Sunger, who was now abating some of his speed. For hesaw, just ahead of him, the post office. That was the goal for which he hadstriven, and he seemed to realize that the race was won.

  No one attempted to stop Sunger. They knew where he would go. And reachingthe rail where Jack always tied him at one side of the Golden Crossing postoffice, the pony stopped. He spread his legs far apart, for he wastrembling from weariness.

  "Oh, it's Jack!" cried Jennie, looking from the window to see the meaningof the galloping, and of the strange cries. "It's Jack! Something hashappened!" she faltered, as she saw the unconscious form in the saddle."Oh, Mother! He--he's dead!"

  Tim Mullane was at the side of the unconscious pony rider.

  "No, he isn't dead!" he shouted, "but he's in a bad way. Here, some of yezgive me a hand and we'll loosen him up, and take him inside. Poor lad! He'shad a hard time!"