"I don't believe they opened them!" he exclaimed, half aloud. "They must
have been frightened and thrown them in here, thinking to come back for
them when they had the chance."

Then he had another idea.

"And that must be the robbers coming now!" he reasoned. "They're coming
back to get the pouches. What shall I do?"

There was but one answer to that question--he must hide the mail and
express matter in some other place. He paused a moment to listen. The
galloping hoof-beats were nearer now, but it would still be some time
before the riders would be opposite the old mine hole. The trail wound in
and out at this point, and while sounds came up plainly through the
rarefied mountain air, bodies themselves could not travel so swiftly.

"I've got five minutes, anyhow," reasoned Jack.

He caught up the mail pouches, one in either hand, though his cut fingers
and wrists hurt him cruelly. But he gritted his teeth and kept on. He knew
the ground well. Back of the hole was a slope that extended to a deep patch
of woods. Jack would hide himself and the mail in there.

He was too excited to notice whether or not the locks on the bags had been
tampered with. In fact he could not see in the dark and he had no time for
extended investigation. He just tucked the bags under his arms, and ran
with them. That is he made as good time as was possible under the
circumstances. The ground was rough, and Jack himself was very weak. He had
suffered much that night.