The intelligent beast appeared to know what was said
to him, and increased his pace. Jack thundered
over the bridge where once he had so nearly had an
accident. He thought of the loosened planks, which
had been fixed, and again he wondered who had misplaced
them—if it had been done by design.
On and on he rode over the trail, until he swung into
Golden Crossing. He was ahead of time, and the
crowd that usually congregated about the post office
to wait for the sorting of the mail was not there.
The road about the little office was thick with dust,
and the feet of Jack’s pony made scarcely a
sound as he rode up. As he leaped to the ground
he heard through the open windows of the place voices
in loud conversation. One voice was that of a
man, and said:
“Well, now, miss, you’d better tell us
what we want to know. We’ll find out somehow,
and the more trouble you give us, the more trouble
we’ll give you. If you don’t—”
“There’s no use asking me!” broke
in the voice of Postmistress Jennie herself.
“You’re not going to get that information,
and the sooner you understand that the better!”
“Say!” exclaimed the third voice—that
of a man—if you don’t tell us, we’ll—”
“Mail!” cried Jack, in a loud voice, as
he sprang into the place through the window.
“I thought I was too early, but I guess I’m
just in time,” he grimly added, as he swung
around and faced two men who stood in front of Jennie
Blake.
THE SECRET MINE
Whether the young postmistress, or the two strange
men, was the more surprised could not be told.
Both Jennie and her annoyers started at the sudden
appearance of the young pony rider. Then looks
of anger and annoyance came over the faces of the
two men, while Jennie appeared relieved.
“What’s the trouble?” asked Jack,
and with a seemingly careless motion he threw open
his coat. In his belt was a revolver, which he
carried more because the regulations compelled him
to than because he really thought he would ever need
it.
“Trouble? There’s no trouble,”
said one of the men in surly tones. “Who
are you, anyhow, to come butting in?”
“Oh, Jack!” exclaimed Jennie. “They
want—”
“I’m the pony express rider on this route,”
interrupted Jack, with a nod at Jennie, as if to beg
her pardon for not letting her finish. “I
just came in with the mail. It’s outside,
but I thought I heard some trouble in here, so I just
jumped in—just in time, perhaps, too,”
he added, significantly.
“If you’re looking for trouble,”
began one of the men, “I guess we can accommodate
you.”
“That’s enough,” his companion said.
“Come on out. Don’t you know when
to quit?”
“Oh, Jack, they were so annoying!” cried
Jennie. “They came in here when I was all
alone, and insisted on knowing the times when all the
mails and express shipments went out and came in.
I said I wasn’t supposed to tell strangers that
unless there was a particular reason why they should
know. Ought I to have told them? They said
if I didn’t they would make trouble for me.”
