Jack of the Pony Express Part 22

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 pa.s.sed 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 p.r.i.c.ked 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 pa.s.s 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 s.p.u.n.k 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!"