"Now, Sunger, we'll show 'em what we can do when we carry the mail!"
exclaimed Jack, as his faithful pony started off along the mountain trail
again.

Nothing of moment occurred on that ride. Jack half-wished that he might be
called upon to defend the mail and express from bandits. He was armed, and
he dwelt on the thought of what a hero he might prove himself to be.

But everything was very prosaic. His pony did not even slip and fall, but
came through on schedule time, or, rather, a little ahead of it, for Jack
urged Sunger on.

"Oh, it's you, is it, Jack!" exclaimed Jennie Blake, as our hero rode up to
the post office with the bags. "Why is this? Where's your father?"

"My father is ill. But aren't you glad to see me?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" she answered, and then she seemed obliged to look
down very closely at some mail matter she was sorting.

"The in-stage will be five hours late," she said. "A messenger rode in to
say that one of the horses died, and he had to take back another. So you'll
have to stay over, Jack."

"That's good!" he exclaimed.

"What? Good that a poor horse died?"

"Oh, I don't mean that. But--er--say, what's that big official-looking
envelope addressed to you? From Washington, too, and without a stamp," and