Jack was soon out of sight around a bend of the trail. He flashed past his
cottage, and thought with satisfaction that there was hot water on the
range, so his father could make himself a cup of tea.

Jack paused long enough at Mrs. Watson's cabin to tell her what was the
matter, and to inform her that he was taking the mail over the last mile of
the route into town.

"Your father ill!" exclaimed Mrs. Watson. "I'll go right over there, Jack,
and look after him."

"I wish you would. It will he awful good of you."

"Of course I'll go. Mary can look after things here," and she hurried into
the house to get ready for her second trip that day to the Bailey cottage.

Jack galloped on, trusting to the sure-footedness of his pony to avoid the
dangers of the rough mountain trail. And Sunger justified the confidence
reposed in him.

"Hello! We've been wondering what kept you! Why, it's Jack!" exclaimed Jed
Monty, the grizzled stage driver, as the lad galloped up to the Mansion
Hotel, whence the start for the east was made.

"Sorry to be late, but dad's taken sick!" cried Jack, as he flung the bags
to the driver.

"Sick, eh? That's too bad. Well, I guess I can make up the lost time.
Haven't much of a load on to-night."