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JACK OF THE PONY EXPRESS
Or
The Young Rider of the Mountain Trails
By
FRANK V. WEBSTER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. JACK IN THE SADDLE
II. POSTMISTRESS JENNIE
III. A NARROW ESCAPE
IV. IMPORTANT LETTERS
V. JUST IN TIME
VI. THE SECRET MINE
VII. THE STRANGERS AGAIN
VIII. A NIGHT ATTACK
IX. IN BONDS
X. A QUEER DISCOVERY
XI. DUMMY LETTERS
XII. A RIDE FOR LIFE
XIII. THE INSPECTOR
XIV. THE CHASE
XV. A CAUTION
XVI. SUNGER GOES LAME
XVII. AN INVITATION DECLINED
XVIII. A QUEER FEELING
XIX A DESPERATE RIDE
XX. AT GOLDEN CROSSING
XXI. THE ARGENT LETTERS
XXII. THE MASKED MAN
XXIII. THE ESCAPE
XXIV. JACK'S IDEA
XXV. JACK'S TRICK--CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
JACK IN THE SADDLE
"Your father is a little late to-night, isn't he Jack?"
"Yes, Mrs. Watson, he should have been here a half-hour ago, and he would,too, if he had ridden Sunger instead of his own horse."
"You think a lot of that pony of yours, don't you, Jack?" and amotherly-looking woman came to the doorway of a small cottage and peeredup the mountain trail, which ran in front of the building. Out on thetrail itself stood a tall, bronzed lad, who was, in fact, about seventeenyears of age, but whose robust frame and athletic build made him appearseveral years older.
"Yes, Mrs. Watson," the boy answered with a smile, "I do think a lot ofSunger, and he's worth it, too."
"Yes, I guess he is. And he can travel swiftly, too. My goodness! The wayyou sometimes clatter past my house makes me think you'll sure have anaccident. Sometimes I'm so nervous I can't look at you."
"Sunger is pretty sure-footed, even on worse mountain trails than the onefrom Rainbow Ridge to Golden Crossing," answered Jack with a laugh, thatshowed his white, even teeth, which formed a strange contrast to his tannedface.
"Sunger," repeated Mrs. Watson, musingly. "What an odd name. I often wonderhow you came to call him that."
"It isn't his real name," explained Jack, as he gave another look up thetrail over which the rays of the declining sun were shining, and thenwalked up to the porch, where he sat down. "The pony was once owned by aMexican miner, and he named him something in Spanish which meant that thelittle horse could go so fast that he dodged the sun. Sundodger was whatthe name would be in English, I suppose, and after I bought him that's whatI called him.
"But Sundodger is too much of a mouthful when one's in a hurry," and Jacklaughed at his idea, "so," he went on, "I shortened it to Sunger, whichdoes just as well."
"Yes, as long as he knows it," agreed Mrs. Watson. "But I guess, Jack, Ihad better be going, I did think I'd wait until your father came, and putthe supper on for you both, but he's so late now--"
"Yes, Mrs. Watson, don't wait," interrupted Jack. "I don't know what tomake of dad's being so late. But we're used to getting our own meals, soyou needn't worry. We'll get along all right."
"Oh, I know you will. For two men--for you are getting so big I shall haveto call you a man," and she smiled at him. "For two men you really getalong very well indeed."
"Yes, I'm getting to be something of a cook myself," admitted the lad. "ButI can't quite equal your biscuits yet, and there's no use saying I can.However, you baked a pretty good batch this afternoon, and dad sure will bepleased when he sees 'em. I wish he'd come while they're hot though," andonce more Jack Bailey arose and went out to peer up the trail. He listenedintently, but his sharp senses caught no sound of clattering hoofs, norsight of a horseman coming down the slope, a good view of which could behad from in front of the house that stood on a bend in the road.
"Well, then, I'll be getting along," Mrs. Watson resumed, as she threw ashawl over her shoulders, for, though the day had been warm, there was acoolness in the mountain air with the coming of night. "Everything is allready to dish-up" went on the motherly-looking woman, as she went out ofthe front gate, "The chicken is hot on the back of the stove."
"Oh, we'll make out all right, thank you," called Jack after her, as shestarted down the trail. Mrs. Watson lived about a quarter of a mile away.Her husband was a miner, and she had a grown daughter, so it was quiteconvenient for Mrs. Watson to come over twice a week, or oftener onoccasions, and do the housework in the cottage where Mr. Peter Bailey andhis son Jack lived. Mrs. Watson would do the sweeping, dusting and as muchcooking as she had time for, and then go back to her own home.
Jack's mother was dead, and he and his father had managed for some yearswithout the services of a housekeeper. Mr. Bailey was a pony express rider,carrying the mail and small express packages between the settlements ofRainbow Ridge and Golden Crossing. Mr. Bailey and Jack lived on theoutskirts of Rainbow Ridge.
This was in the Rocky Mountain country of one of our western states, andthe trails were so wild and winding, and, for that matter, so unsafe, thatit was out of the question to use a mail or stage coach between the twoplaces.
From Rainbow Ridge, however, there was a stage route going east, which tookthe mail and express matter as it was brought in by Mr. Bailey. And fromGolden Crossing going west the same arrangement was made. Golden Crossingwas a settlement on the banks of the Ponto River, a small enough stream inordinary times, but which was wild and dangerous during heavy rains orfreshets.
So the pony express, as run by Mr. Bailey, was the only regular means ofcommunication between Golden Crossing and Rainbow Ridge. It was ofimportance, too, for often valuable mail and packages went through, theroute being shorter and quicker than by a roundabout stage line.
When Mrs. Watson was out of sight around a bend in the trail, Jack wentinto the cottage. It really was a cottage, though when Mr. Bailey firstbrought his family to the West it had been but a cabin, or shack. But Mr.Bailey and his wife had labored hard to make it more of a "home," and theyhad succeeded very well. Then came the sad occasion of Mrs. Bailey'sillness and death, and for a time life had seemed very hard to Jack and hisfather.
The latter had been interested in mines, but found the work too difficultwith his failing health, so he had secured the pony express contract, whichhe had carried on now for several years.
"It certainly is a shame to have this fine supper spoil," mused Jack, as helifted the cover from a pot of chicken, and glanced at the pile of brownedbiscuit in the warming oven.
"I can't understand what makes dad so late," he went on. "Of course, themail from the Golden Crossing office might not have been ready for him totake. It's been pretty heavy of late, and is almost more than Aunt Matildacan handle. Though I suppose Jennie gives her a hand now and then," and ashe said that Jack looked at the photograph on the mantel of an attractivegirl, who seemed to smile at him. Jack looked cautiously around the room,and then raised a hand to his lips and threw a kiss from the tips of hisfingers at the picture.
This done he blushed--but you would not have known it, he was so bronzed bythe sun and the wind. Mrs. Matilda Blake was a distant relative of Mr.Bailey's, and Jack called her "Aunt Matilda," though she really did notbear that relationship to him. She was a widow, and she and her onlydaughter, Jennie, a girl of about sixteen, lived in Golden Crossing, wh
ereMrs. Blake was postmistress. Jack and Jennie were the best of friends.
"Well, if dad doesn't come pretty soon, I'm going to eat," decided Jack."He won't mind, I'm sure. But I would like to know what's keeping him. Ihope he hasn't had any accident. His pony is sure-footed, I know, but I'dfeel better if he had Sunger."
Jack was plainly nervous--that is as nervous as a young, healthy lad canbe. He went outside again, and walked a little way back along the trailover which his father would come. But the trail seemed deserted. The Baileycottage was in a rather lonely location, there being no other habitation insight.
There were other houses not far away, and a number in the town, but becauseof the winding nature of the trail, and the ruggedness of the mountains,they could not be seen from where Jack stood.
As the lad was about to turn back and again enter the cottage with thedetermination to eat his supper, he heard something which caused him tostart.
"Here he comes!" he exclaimed. "But he's walking his horse! That's queer!Something must have happened!"
Speed was one of the prime requisites of the pony express. The men who rodethe routes over plains and mountain trails secured the speediest horses orponies possible. Their life, when in the saddle, was a continual rush, forthe mail and express matter must go through as quickly as possible, andwhere no steam and railroads were available recourse was had to horseflesh.And knowing the value of speed Jack wondered when he heard the approach ofa horse at a walking pace.
Mr. Bailey was supposed to arrive at Rainbow Ridge in time to deliver hisexpress and mail matter to the night stage coach going east, and the hourfor its leaving had passed some time since. Of course, the stage would waitfor the pony express, but this meant a delay all along the rest of theroute.
"Something sure must have happened!" said Jack to himself. "I'll go to meetdad."
He set off on foot, but came running back.
"I'll get Sunger," he told himself, speaking aloud, a habit engendered bythe loneliness of the mountains. "He's quite a way off yet, but Sunger willmake short work of the distance."
Though the sound of the approaching footsteps of the horse of the ponyexpress rider could be plainly heard by Jack, so clear and resonant was themountain air, he realized that his father had yet nearly half a mile totravel.
Leaping to the saddle of his pony, and patting the animal lovingly on theneck, Jack set off once more. He went quickly, for Sunger was fresh andeager.
In a few minutes Jack turned at a place where the trail followed a greatrocky ledge, and in front of him, almost collapsed in the saddle was a man.He seemed to sit on his horse only by a great effort, and on his face was adrawn look of pain.
"Why, Dad!" cried Jack. "What's the matter? Has anything happened? Did theyhold up the mail?"
"No, the mail and other stuff is all right," was the answer, broken by anexclamation of pain. "But I'm all in, Jack. I'm afraid I'm going to bequite ill. It was all I could do to ride the last few miles, but I wouldn'tgive in."
Jack was at his father's side in an instant.
"Get on Sunger," he urged. "He's easier for you to ride. Let me help you.What is the trouble? How did it happen?"
"I don't know, Jack, my boy. But I won't change horses. I can keep on untilI get to the cabin. Here, you take the mail and express and ride on with itto the stage. I'll keep on toward home. Come back as soon as you can, andyou--you'd better bring the doctor with you!" he faltered.
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