with his failing health, so he had secured the pony express contract, which
he had carried on now for several years.

"It certainly is a shame to have this fine supper spoil," mused Jack, as he
lifted the cover from a pot of chicken, and glanced at the pile of browned
biscuit in the warming oven.

"I can't understand what makes dad so late," he went on. "Of course, the
mail from the Golden Crossing office might not have been ready for him to
take. It's been pretty heavy of late, and is almost more than Aunt Matilda
can handle. Though I suppose Jennie gives her a hand now and then," and as
he said that Jack looked at the photograph on the mantel of an attractive
girl, who seemed to smile at him. Jack looked cautiously around the room,
and then raised a hand to his lips and threw a kiss from the tips of his
fingers at the picture.

This done he blushed--but you would not have known it, he was so bronzed by
the sun and the wind. Mrs. Matilda Blake was a distant relative of Mr.
Bailey's, and Jack called her "Aunt Matilda," though she really did not
bear that relationship to him. She was a widow, and she and her only
daughter, Jennie, a girl of about sixteen, lived in Golden Crossing, where
Mrs. Blake was postmistress. Jack and Jennie were the best of friends.

"Well, if dad doesn't come pretty soon, I'm going to eat," decided Jack.
"He won't mind, I'm sure. But I would like to know what's keeping him. I
hope he hasn't had any accident. His pony is sure-footed, I know, but I'd
feel better if he had Sunger."

Jack was plainly nervous--that is as nervous as a young, healthy lad can
be. He went outside again, and walked a little way back along the trail