Jack of the Pony Express Part 23

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.

"Who'd think he could beat me this way?" he asked himself. "No human being, I thought, could keep his senses after that dose I put in his coffee. It won't do him any permanent harm, that's one thing I'm glad of, for after a lad has made the plucky fight he has I don't wish him harm, even if we have to take desperate measures against him. He'll be all right again in a couple of hours. But why doesn't he fall off?"

It was not until some time later that Ryan learned why, and then his admiration for Jack increased. For, bad and unscrupulous as he was, Ryan had once been a good man, and he could admire grit and fine qualities in others, though he could not exercise them himself.

"I've got to get him soon, or we'll be plump into Golden Crossing, and then the jig will be up, I fear," Ryan said fiercely. "They'll say I bungled the job, and they'll try another hold-up, I suppose. For those letters are in that mail, and we must have them!"

But as he galloped on for another quarter of a mile, it became increasingly evident that Sunger was not to be overtaken. The louder the hoof-beats of the other horse sounded, the faster the plucky little pony ran, though he was now tiring. But he was game, all the way through, and never would give up while he had an ounce of strength left in him.

"Well, there's only one way to end it," said Ryan aloud. He drew his revolver. "I hate to shoot a fine little pony like that," the man went on, "but I've got to stop him somehow, and I can't ride him down. It's the only way!"

Carefully he took aim, and was about to pull the trigger. Then he hesitated and lowered the weapon.

"No, I haven't the nerve," he muttered. "If I kill the pony he'll go over, and the boy may be killed too. I can't do it. It goes against me. I'm bad enough all the way through, but I'm not going to do anything like that, and I'll tell the gang so. If I can't ride him down he'll have to get away, as far as I'm concerned. I can't do that!"

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 f.a.gged 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!"

CHAPTER XXI

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."

"Well, Jack came through all right, or, rather, that smart pony of his brought him," another voice said. "And he brought the mail safe!"

"That's what he did!" cried several.

Meanwhile inside the little cottage, part of which was given over to the Golden Crossing post office, Jennie and her mother were working hard over the unconscious form of Jack.

"I guess we'll have to send for the doctor, Jennie," finally said Mrs.

Blake. "I've tried ammonia and camphor, and he doesn't come to. He may be badly hurt, thought it doesn't show."

"Oh, mother!" faltered the girl. "Poor Jack!"

"Eh? What's the matter? Who's calling me?" asked Jack himself in a faint voice. It was as though he had murmured in his sleep. He slowly opened his eyes.

"Oh, mother! It's all right! He's waking up!" Jennie exclaimed. "We won't need a doctor right away. Oh, Jack, what happened you?"

Jack's senses were slowly but surely clearing. His head hurt him very much, but that terrible, sick feeling was pa.s.sing away. He was in a daze yet, and the voices of Jennie and her mother seemed far away, indeed.

"Why I'm here--in the post office!" Jack suddenly exclaimed, with more energy than before. His eyes were wide open now, and he looked about the familiar room.

"Of course you're in the post office, or, rather, in our sitting room that opens from it," said Jennie.

"But the mail! The mail!" Jack suddenly cried, trying to sit up. The motion sent such a rush of blood to his head that he had to fall limply back.

"I--I'll be all right in a minute," Jack said, after a pause. "But what about the mail? Tell me that! Did I bring it through safely?"

"That's what you did!" exclaimed Mrs. Blake. "It was safe on your saddle, and you were tied fast to your pony. Who did that."

"I did it myself," Jack answered. "But I'm glad I brought the mail in safely. I was afraid I couldn't do it, but I did."

"Do you mean to say you roped yourself fast that way?" demanded Jennie, somewhat incredulously.

"I did," Jack replied.

"Why, the idea! We thought the hold-up men did."

"I did it to fool the hold-up rascals," said Jack. He was feeling better every minute now, and when he had taken some of the spirits of ammonia Mrs.

Blake held out to him, his head cleared very much.

"One of them, named Ryan, put up a game on me," Jack explained. "He tried to get me to take a drugged drink, and, when I refused, though of course I didn't know it was drugged, he put some stuff in my coffee. Queer stuff it must be. For it certainly knocked me out, but I don't feel nearly so bad now."