Books: Jack of the Pony Express
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Frank V. Webster >> Jack of the Pony Express
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"Perhaps I do," said Jack with a smile, wiping the perspiration from his
forehead, "but I don't want that kind of a drink. There's a spring just a
few steps on, and it's the coldest and best water for miles around. I'm
going to have some of that, and give the pony some, too. Your horse would
appreciate it, I think."
"Humph! Water may be all right for horses, but I don't care for it," was
the somewhat sneering answer. "Then you won't drink with me, Jack Bailey?"
"No, thank you. I'll join you in a tin dipper of spring water, but that's
all."
"Well, if you won't you won't, I suppose," the man said, slowly. "Everybody
to their notion. I don't take much, but I like a little now and then. So
here goes."
Jack did not stay to see what the man did, but walked on to the spring with
Sunger. The pony showed no trace of lameness, now, for which Jack was glad,
as he had a hard ride ahead of him.
As the lad was getting himself a drink, and letting Sunger get some from a
pool below the spring, Jack heard the sound of a galloping horse, and
looked up in surprise.
CHAPTER XVIII
A QUEER FEELING
Jack's first thought was that Ryan had ridden off in haste after having
helped himself to a drink from the flask, but, somewhat to his surprise, he
saw the man who had removed the stone from the pony's hoofs still standing
beside his horse. The galloping came from another rider who seemed in
haste. He waved his hand to Jack, and cried:
"Hold on! Wait!"
"Well, I wonder what's up now?" mused the pony express lad. "He seems to
want me."
"I was afraid I wouldn't catch you," exclaimed the young fellow who had
ridden up in such haste. Jack recognized him then as Harry Montgomery, an
employee of the stage line that ran out of Golden Crossing to the west.
"Do you want me?" Jack asked.
"Yes. They forgot to give you some important mail stuff when you rode out
to the stage a while ago. The stage has come on into Tuckerton now, and the
driver sent me on to see if I could catch you. He wants you to ride back
into town, if you will, and get the stuff he forgot to give you."
"Why didn't he let you bring it?" asked Jack, not much relishing the ride
back. It would delay him still further, and he had enough valuable mail in
his possession now without wishing for any more.
"The driver said he didn't like to have me carry it, as I'm not supposed to
do that. Besides he wants you to receipt for it. But if I couldn't catch up
to you I guess he intended to hold the stuff over until your next trip."
"Oh well, as long as it's only a case of a mile's ride back to Tuckerton, I
suppose I'd better do it," Jack reasoned. "You wouldn't have caught me,
only my pony went lame and I was delayed getting the stone out," he said to
Harry. This gentleman helped me."
"Oh, it wasn't much," said Ryan, nodding to Harry. The latter did not
appear to know him. The flask which had been in so much evidence a little
while before was not in sight now.
"Yes, I'll ride back and get the stuff," Jack decided. It had come into his
mind that perhaps the forgotten package contained the letters Mr. Argent
was expecting. They might have been sent by special mail, and not be in the
regular sacks. It would be best for Jack to go, though he would be delayed.
"And if it's too late, and if I think they are the letters about the secret
mine, I won't do any night-riding," Jack decided, mentally.
"Well, I'm glad I caught you," Harry said, as he turned his horse about.
"Yes, it would have been too bad if you had had your ride for nothing," the
pony express lad said. "Well, Sunger, old boy, we'll hit the back trail
again for a little while," and Jack swung himself up into the saddle.
Somewhat to Jack's surprise, when Ryan mounted, he, also, turned his
horse's head in the direction of Tuckerton.
"Are you going back, too?" Jack asked him.
"Yes, I guess I might as well."
"But I thought you were going to Golden Crossing."
"So I am. But it just occurred to me that I am hungry, and there's an
eating place in Tuckerton, isn't there?"
"Yes," answered Harry. "But it isn't a very good one."
"Oh, well, when a man's hungry he can't be too particular. I guess I can
stand it."
The three rode back together, and in a short time had reached the small
town. The stage had pulled in, temporary repairs having been made, and the
driver who handed Jack a sealed package expressed regret at having to bring
him back.
"It was all my fault, too," the driver said. "I ought to have remembered
about this special package, for they told me there was some hurry about it.
But I was sort of knocked out by the accident, and it slipped my mind. I'm
glad you've got it now."
Jack looked at it. The packet might contain letters, though it did not look
large enough to hold maps of any size. And, to Jack's surprise, it was
addressed, not to Mr. Argent, but to the postmaster at Rainbow Ridge. He
had been so sure that it was the valuable letters and papers the miner
expected that for the moment Jack almost expressed his astonishment. But
Ryan and some others were standing near-by, and the lad felt it better to
keep still.
Besides, the letters Mr. Argent expected might be in the regular mail bags,
which Jack carried on his saddle, those bags not having been opened since
he received them from the broken-down stage.
"Well, I guess now you're all right," the stage driver went on. "You can
get on your way, Jack. I won't have to call you back again."
"I hope not. I'm late enough as it is."
"I'm sorry, my boy."
"Well, it couldn't be helped, I suppose. I don't want to make a night trip,
If I can help it."
"Do you often do that?" asked Ryan.
"Oh, occasionally. But since I was held up once I don't hanker after it."
"Were you held up?" Ryan seemed much interested.
"Yes," Jack said, but he did not go into details. He had no time.
"I say!" exclaimed Ryan, as Jack was about to ride off again. "It wouldn't
be a bad idea for you to have a blacksmith look at that shoe I fixed. I did
the best I could, but I can't guarantee that it will stay on. There's a
smithy right across the way."
"I believe I will do that," Jack said. "It won't be any joke if Sunger
casts a shoe when I get on the mountain trail. I'll take him over to the
shop."
The smith was busy, but Jack decided to wait.
"I'll have plenty of time if I don't have to make a night ride," he
remarked.
"Say, while you're waiting," suggested Ryan, who had followed Jack over to
the blacksmith shop, "why not come and have a bite to eat with me. You
wouldn't drink with me, but you can't object to eating."
He seemed so much in earnest about it, and so friendly, that Jack did not
like to refuse. After all, Ryan had been very helpful to him, and the
matter of drinking Jack could overlook. It was more or less a settled
custom in the West, anyhow.
"I'm not very hungry," Jack began, "but--"
"Oh, well, come and have a cup of coffee," suggested Ryan. "It won't take
long, and by the time we're through with our little snack your pony will be
ready for you. Come along."
"All right," Jack agreed, and he followed his new acquaintance across the
street to a small restaurant. Jack ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee,
but Ryan called for a more substantial meal.
"And I'll have mine in a hurry, if you don't mind," said Jack to the
waiter. "I've got to get back on the trail."
"Have it right away," was the answer.
Jack sipped some of his coffee, and ate the sandwich. He was waiting for
the beverage to cool somewhat before taking the remainder, when Ryan,
nodding in the direction of the entrance to the restaurant, toward which
Jack had his back, said:
"Is that a friend of yours? He seems to be looking for some one."
Jack turned. A man was standing in the doorway of the eating place, his
eyes roving about as though looking for somebody, but Jack did not know
him, nor did the stranger show any sign of interest in the pony express
rider.
Jack turned back in time to see Ryan setting down the cup of coffee from
which Jack had been drinking.
"Huh! That's one on me!" laughed the man. "I picked up your cup for my own.
Don't worry though. I didn't drink any of your coffee."
"That's all right," Jack said, pleasantly. "I'll finish now, and get
along."
"Well, good luck to you," returned Ryan. "I'll stay and finish my meal," he
added. "Good-bye. Glad to have met you."
"Good-bye," answered Jack. "Much obliged for your help, and for this feed."
"Shucks! I don't call that much of a feed. Leave me the checks, waiter.
Well, I may see you again," he called, with a wave of his hand as Jack went
out.
"Yes, I'm back and forth quite often, though I seldom get to Tuckerton,
unless there's some accident to the stage," the lad said.
He found his pony's shoe had been properly tightened, and the animal was
now ready for him. Jack paid his smithy bill, jumped up to the saddle and
rode on through the town again.
"We'll have to make time," whispered the lad to his pony, making sure that
the mail sacks were securely fastened, and that he had the sealed packet
which he had ridden back to get. "Yes, Sunger, we'll make time, so in case
we do have to make a night ride we won't be delayed too long. Queer chap,
that Ryan," mused Jack. "It was good of him to blow me to coffee. But I
can't say I think much of that eating place. That was about the poorest
coffee I've had in a good while. Whew! The bitterness of it is in my mouth
yet! I'll wash it out with a drink of water when I get to the spring again.
I wonder what Ryan's business is, and where he is headed for? He must be
pretty hungry to order so much eating stuff."
If Jack could have looked back into the restaurant he would have been
surprised to see the same Ryan hastily leave, soon after he himself had
come out. And the same Ryan left most of his dinner untouched.
"What's the matter, don't you like the grub?" asked the waiter, as Ryan
hurried out.
"Sure, it's all right!" and he tossed him a tip. "But I forgot I had an
engagement," and with that he jumped into his saddle and rode off. But not
in the direction Jack had taken.
"My, my!" said Jack, talking to himself as he galloped along, "that coffee
certainly was bitter. It seems to be getting worse--that taste in my mouth.
I believe it's giving me a head ache, too. I certainly do feel queer--sort
of dizzy. Maybe it was the hot sun. I'll cool off at the spring. But I do
feel so queer," and Jack passed his hand across his forehead.
CHAPTER XIX
A DESPERATE RIDE
Nearing the spring, where he had taken a drink before that day, Jack was
about to dismount to get some cooling water. But such a strange feeling of
weakness and dizziness came over him that he had to hold himself in the
saddle.
"I--I'm afraid if I get out I won't be able to get up again," he murmured
weakly. "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. He
drugged my coffee, that time when he made me turn around! I saw him putting
back 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 him
made Jack so angry that he succeeded in fighting off the feeling of
weakness and dizziness. But it was only for a moment. Then it came back
with increasing distress.
"That was the game," he murmured, scarcely able to see now. "He probably
had doped the whiskey in that flask, but I didn't take that. Then he
watched his chance, urged me to take something to eat with him, and put
some drug in my coffee. No wonder it tasted bitter and queer! What a
simpleton I was to take it! But I did not know."
Jack was reeling in the saddle. The pony sensed that something was wrong
with his master, and stopped.
"No, don't stop! Go on! Go on!" urged Jack. "Oh, what am I going to do?" he
murmured. "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 can
come 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's
after! He's drugged me. He's going to give me time to fall in a faint, and
then he's coming along to rob the mail. The Argent letters must be in the
sacks that aren't opened. He must have found that out in some way, and have
been 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 it
died away faintly.
"How can I stop him? How can I foil him?" mused the ill and almost fainting
rider. "I--I've got to do something. But what? I can't stay in the saddle
much 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 dared
not.
"If I leave the saddle I'd not have strength to get up in it again," he
reasoned. "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 numbed
brain like the refrain of some song. Sunger did not know what to make of it
all. He could tell something was wrong, and whinnied once or twice. But
Jack 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 the
mail!" 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 this
trick on him was coming behind him on the trail, for he realized that Ryan
would soon follow, to reap the fruits of his villany. But there was no
sound save the echo of Sunger's hoof-beats. It was getting late in the
afternoon.
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 or
twice, too, the pony stopped, but Jack urged him on. He knew his only hope
lay either in reaching Golden Crossing, or in some one on the trail seeing
his plight and looking after him. But there was not much chance of this
last, 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 a
second time while in his possession, a desperate plan came into Jack's
mind.
"I'll tie myself to the saddle!" he whispered "I've got plenty of rope for
that. I'll lash myself fast. Then if I do get unconscious, which I'm afraid
is going to happen, I won't fall out.
"And when I tie myself fast, Sunger," Jack went on, speaking as loudly as
he could; "when I'm lashed fast, and don't know anything, you've got to go
on and carry the mail--and me. You've got to take the mail safe through to
Jennie at Golden Crossing, and you've got to do it without my guidance. You
know the trail, Sunger! You've got to take the mail through! It's the only
way to save it!"
Jack felt that it was useless longer to try to fight off the effects of the
drug. It was too strong and powerful for him, and he realized that he must
have 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 mail
pouches on the saddle behind him. With hands that trembled, with his head
aching terribly, and his eyes burning, Jack managed to pass about his legs,
and under the saddle girths, several turns of the rope. He made himself
fast in the saddle, so he would not fall off.
Then, when the last knot had been tied and made secure, Jack fell forward
on his pony's neck.
"Go on, Sunger!" he said feebly. "Go on to Jennie and Golden Crossing. It's
my only chance. You've got to run now as you never ran before! You've got
to carry the mail! Go on, Sunger! Don't fail me now, or it will be all up
with dad and me! Don't fail, Sunger! Go on!"
With this last urging Jack's eyes closed, and he felt himself going off
into unconsciousness.
Then the brave and intelligent Sunger sprang forward. Somehow the pony must
have understood. At any rate, he knew that all haste must be made on the
trail. He was carrying the mail, and Jack always urged him to top speed on
such occasions.
With the instinct that characterizes dogs, horses and other animals, Sunger
knew that he must go on to the Post Office. Just what had happened to his
master, of course Sunger did not know. But it was something wrong--the pony
sensed that.
And so with the unconscious form strapped to the saddle, with Jack's head
pillowed on Sunger's neck, the plucky animal started to foil the plans of
the plotters. On and on he galloped over the mountain trail, Jack swaying
from side to side, but remaining safe because of the holding ropes.
It was about this time that Ryan, who, by a roundabout road, had reached
the trail leading from Tuckerton to Golden Crossing, looked at his watch in
a secluded place where he was waiting, and remarked:
"Well, it ought to be working by this time. I guess I'll amble along and
see what's doing. I ought to get the letters without any trouble. I
certainly dosed his coffee good and strong," and he smiled in an evil
fashion.
Springing into the saddle he urged his horse along the trail. He did not
hurry, for he wanted to give the drug time to work its full and stupefying
effect. Ryan was a different sort of worker from the other outlaws. He did
not believe in their rough and ready methods, but, instead, used sneaking
means, such as drugs, that were often no less successful.
"This hold-up work doesn't pay when you can get the same results without
attracting so much attention," he murmured as he rode on. "Now I wonder if
I had better take that last package they gave him. I don't believe the maps
will be in that, though. They must be in the sacks. I hope I have a key
that 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 out
what I want, I can lock the mail pouches again, and he won't know he's been
robbed 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 keys
which 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 he
began to be at all concerned. Up to then he had felt sure of the result of
his 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. He
ought to have fallen off, or have gotten off, and become unconscious before
this. I wonder if I made any mistake."
He went over in his mind the different points of his plot. It seemed
perfect. But where was his victim who should have been lying unconscious
beside the road?
"Something's wrong!" Ryan exclaimed, as he passed the spring. He looked
about. The trail was dusty, but he could sec no signs of Jack's having
dismounted, or indications that the lad had fallen and gotten up to the
saddle again.
"Something's wrong," Ryan repeated. Then he put spurs to his horse and
galloped down the trail toward Golden Crossing.
CHAPTER XX
AT GOLDEN CROSSING
"Jack is late, isn't he, Jennie?" asked Mrs. Blake, as she sat in the
Golden Crossing post office. She had finished her sewing, and had stopped
for a little chat.
"Well, you know he had to ride out and get the mail from the disabled stage
coach," replied the girl, as she made some entries in her books. "And
perhaps he had to go farther than the messenger said. There's plenty of
time, though."
"Well, he's late," Mrs. Blake repeated. "I hope he doesn't have to make a
night trip."
"So do I," her daughter murmured, as she thought of the time Jack had been
held up. "It isn't likely he will, though. You know, Mr. Perkfeld said he
needn't make those night trips any more unless there was something very
important."
"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 window
to peer down the trail in the direction from which Jack would come. "And
isn't he expecting something for Mr. Argent?"
"Yes, and that is the only thing I'm worrying about," confessed Jennie. "If
those letters come in Jack will be sure to want to ride off with them at
once, night or day. And we won't know when the letters do arrive until the
mail sacks come here and I open them."
"Well, it certainly is a risky business, this pony express," sighed her
mother.
"It wouldn't be so risky if it wasn't for those desperate outlaws, and the
other men who want Jack's position," Jennie said, her eyes flashing. "It
makes me so mad when I think what an unfair advantage they take that I wish
I were a man so I could help Jack fight them!"
"My!" laughed Mrs. Blake. "But I guess you're better off inside here, than
out on the mountain trail."
"Yes, I suppose so. That's all we women are good for, anyhow, to sit and
wait and worry!"
"Any one would think you were twice as old as you are," said Mrs. Blake
with 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 not
her 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 Irish
quickness "which way the wind blew."
"Nothing, of course," Jennie went on. "He just rode out to get the mail
because the stage was broken down. Maybe he knows there is nothing
important in it, so he can stay here all night."
"Of course," agreed Mrs. Blake. But to herself she said. "I do wish Jack
would come!"
There was nothing to do, however, save wait, and that is often the hardest
kind of work, as it is certainly the most nervous. Jennie and her mother
busied themselves about the post office, Jennie asking the advice of Mrs.
Blake on certain matters connected with the reports she had to send in to
the officials.
"I suppose there will be a real post office inspector along some day to go
over my accounts," she ventured.
"Perhaps," her mother admitted. "And if any more bogus ones come on the
scene, 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 with
his senseless burden. The pony seemed to know just what to do. He took the
easiest part of the mountain trail, avoiding places where he might stumble
or fall, for he seemed to realize that Jack's guiding and careful hand was
not at the reins now.
On and on galloped the animal, making the best speed he could, though the
trail 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 be
Sunger, of course, did not know. But the little pony had been trained never
to let another horse pass him from behind on the mail route. It was not so
much a matter of necessity as it was of pride, and Jack's pony now
increased his pace.
And then, at a level place on the trail, and one that was straight, where a
good 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 he
it was who was galloping behind the unconscious form of Jack Bailey. "He's
sticking to his horse, but he must be all in. That lad's got grit and
pluck, and I'm almost sorry I had to do him up. But I had to. We simply
must get the information about that mine, and this was the only plan I
thought would work. But he sure has grit and spunk to ride on with that
dose in him."
From where he was, Ryan could not see the device of ropes Jack had used to
prevent falling from the back of his pony during his unconsciousness. The
outlaw merely thought that Jack was only partly under the influence of the
drug, 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 got
to, that's all. I let him get too much the start, but I sure did think I'd
find him senseless beside the road!"
But Ryan reckoned without his host. Sunger was not going to be caught The
going was better now, and the little pony had the advantage of not carrying
as much weight as did the larger horse. Moreover, Sunger was naturally
fleeter.
So, though Ryan urged his own steed as he had seldom urged it before, the
gap between the two animals did not close up. In fact it seemed to widen,
and when Ryan saw that he became desperate.
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