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 respond with a burst of speed.
It came too late, however, for a few minutes later
the trail turned, and Ryan knew he was near Golden
Crossing—too near for safety.
“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 Ridge yet, and lots of
things can happen on the road. I’ll tell
the gang and we’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 was
almost 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 saw wondered,
though some may have guessed what had happened.
Several raced after Sunger, who was now abating some
of his speed. For he saw, just ahead of him,
the post office. That was the goal for which he
had striven, and he seemed to realize that the race
was won.
No one attempted to stop Sunger. They knew where
he would go. And reaching the rail where Jack
always tied him at one side of the Golden Crossing
post office, the pony stopped. He spread his
legs far apart, for he was trembling from weariness.
“Oh, it’s Jack!” cried Jennie, looking
from the window to see the meaning of the galloping,
and of the strange cries. “It’s Jack!
Something has happened!” 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 yez give me a hand and we’ll loosen him up,
and take him inside. Poor lad! He’s
had a hard time!”
THE ARGENT LETTERS
They carried Jack inside, and laid him on a couch.
Jennie and her mother used what simple remedies they
had at hand to rouse him from his unconscious state.
Tim took the exhausted pony to the stable, for Sunger
was much in need of rest.
“What was it? What happened to the pony
Express?” asked several of the crowd that had
gathered outside when they had seen the animal canter
up with Jack on his back.
“I don’t know what happened,” replied
the red-haired helper. “But maybe it was
Indians tied him that way, and was going to make his
pony jump over a cliff. Them Indians is fierce!”
“Indians! There aren’t any around
here!” said some one, laughing at Tim’s
notion. Tim had not been out West long.
“More likely it was some of those hold-up fellows,”
suggested a man in the throng. “Though
why they should tie him to his horse Is more than I
can figure out.”
