"Then you haven't lost anything, Jack, and nothing has been taken from
you?"

"No, Dad. Not a thing."

"And the contents of no important letters have leaked out?"

"Not yet. But I know what you're thinking of, Dad. It's about that
Harrington letter."

"Yes, Jack, I am. I wish I could prove that it wasn't my fault."

"Don't worry, Dad! Your friends know it wasn't your fault, and some day we
may be able to prove to your enemies that it wasn't."

"I hope so, Jack, but I've about given up," was the weary answer.

Jack had carefully kept from his father all the little worries that had
occurred since the change in the pony express business had been made. He
had said nothing about the misplaced planks of the bridge, nor about the
two strangers.

"What's the use of worrying dad?" reflected our hero. "He has troubles
enough of his own. I'll keep mine to myself."

That afternoon, late, as Jack was waiting at the Golden Crossing post
office for the mail, a messenger rode in to say that the stage would be
delayed because of a slight accident.

"But the driver wants you to wait," the messenger told Jack, "as there are