"You must, Jack!"

"But you're too ill!"

"That can't be helped. The mail and express must go through on time if I'm
to keep the contract. And I certainly don't want to lose it. I'll manage to
get to the cottage. Once there, I can sit down, and if I get a cup of hot
tea I may feel better. It seems to be acute indigestion, though I don't
remember eating anything that didn't agree with me. But ride on, Jack. And
don't worry. I'll get to the cottage all right and be there when you come
back."

"All right, Dad! I'll do it. But I sure do hate to leave you like this!"

"It's better than having the mail delayed. Ride on. Explain to Jed Monty
how it is. I think Jed takes the stage out to-night."

"Yes, he does. I'll tell him."

Jack quickly transferred to his own saddle the bags of mail and express
matter. Mr. Bailey seemed easier now, though there was still that look of
pain on his face.

"Come on, Sunger," called the lad to his pony. "We've got to make time!"

The intelligent and beautiful animal whinnied as if he understood. Then,
with a fond and anxious look at his father, Jack wheeled about and set off
down the trail at a gallop, Mr. Bailey going on more slowly, for every
motion of his horse gave him pain.