the narrow ravine and into the broad trail, which could be followed
without difficulty under the dull gleam of the stars. Horse and rider were
soon at their best, the animal swinging unurged into the long, easy lope
of prairie travel, the fresh air fanning the man's face as he leaned
forward. Once they halted to drink from a narrow stream, and then pushed
on, hour after hour, through the deserted night. Keith had little fear of
Indian raiders in that darkness, and every stride of his horse brought him
closer to the settlements and further removed from danger. Yet eyes and
ears were alert to every shadow and sound. Once, it must have been after
midnight, he drew his pony sharply back into a rock shadow at the noise of
something approaching from the east. The stage to Santa Fe rattled past,
the four mules trotting swiftly, a squad of troopers riding hard behind.
It was merely a lumping shadow sweeping swiftly past; he could perceive
the dim outlines of driver and guard, the soldiers swaying in their
saddles, heard the pounding of hoofs, the creak of axles, and then the
apparition disappeared into the black void. He had not called out--what
was the use? Those people would never pause to hunt down prairie outlaws,
and their guard was sufficient to prevent attack. They acknowledged but
one duty--to get the mail through on time.

The dust of their passing still in the air, Keith rode on, the noise dying
away in his rear. As the hours passed, his horse wearied and had to be
spurred into the swifter stride, but the man seemed tireless. The sun was
an hour high when they climbed the long hill, and loped into Carson City.
The cantonment was to the right, but Keith, having no report to make, rode
directly ahead down the one long street to a livery corral, leaving his
horse there, and sought the nearest restaurant.

Exhausted by a night of high play and deep drinking the border town was
sleeping off its debauch, saloons and gambling dens silent, the streets