Jack of the Pony Express by Frank V. Webster (ebook reader library txt) 📕

"Do you really mean it?"

"Mean it? Of course I do!" was the answer. "It's a joke on those rascals. They've had all their trouble for their pains. They've gone off with a set of dummy letters, plans and other mining information that will take them several weeks to digest. And they'll waste a lot of time trying to locate the claim. Only they'll be from fifty to a hundred miles from it. Oh, they'll be fooled all right!"

Jack experienced a sudden revulsion of feeling. He swayed and seemed about to fall. Dr. Brown caught him.

"Hold on! This won't do!" the physician exclaimed. "We must get him home.
Why he's hurt!" he cried, as he saw the blood on Jack's hands.

"It's just some cuts—from the glass I sawed the rope on," the lad murmured. Already his strength was coming back to him. He was so glad the robbers had not obtained the real letters. It was a clever ruse on the part of the miner.

There was a spring not far from the place where Jack had recovered the mail bags, and he was given some water from this. His cuts were also washed and attended to by Dr. Brown. Then on a spare horse that had been brought along Jack rode back to Rainbow Ridge, one of the men carrying the mail and express stuff.

There was considerable excitement in town when the cavalcade returned. Already preparations were under way for the organization of a posse to hunt the robbers, and if necessary, scour the country for Jack.

But he had been found, and the mail and express matter, except the decoy letters, recovered. So the only thing left to do was to set out after the unscrupulous men who had attacked Jack.

There was little chance that they would be apprehended, however. They had a start of several hours, and probably had good horses.

"Besides," said Mr. Argent, "they will very likely head for the supposed location of the mine. It will take them out of this immediate neighborhood," he chuckled.

"And for a good while, I hope," said Mr. Perkfeld.

"Oh yes, it will take them a few weeks to find out they've been fooled," the miner said. "But then they may come back again."

"If they do we'll arrest 'em!" declared Jed Monty, cracking his stage whip.

As had been expected, the posse could get little trace of the hold-up men. They had disappeared after having cast aside the rifled mail pouches. It developed, however, that a few pieces of registered matter, and some express stuff had been taken, in addition to the bogus letters. The stolen stuff was jewelry, and there was not much chance that it would be recovered. Those to whom it was consigned would have to stand the loss.

But when it was considered that nearly all the valuable mail had come through safe, or rather, had been recovered, and that Mr. Argent's real letters were still safe, every one said it was a very lucky outcome indeed.

Jack's cuts did not amount to much, and he wanted to ride the route the next day after his experience, but Dr. Brown and his father would not let him. So a substitute was provided, furnishing his own horse, for Jack said Sunger was too tired to be used without some rest. The pony had made the trip alone, over the trail, and it was his appearance at the Watson home which had led to the alarm.

A good rest, and the knowledge that nothing really serious had happened, did much to restore Jack, and on the second day following his experience he was back in the saddle again. His cuts had been well bandaged, so he could use his hands. He was not actually required to ride the express route, but he would not let any one else do it.

"Maybe I'll get a chance to trace those robbers," he said. "I feel sure I would know at least one of them again—the man who sat on his horse all the while. I'm going to be on the watch for him."

The excitement caused by the hold-up of the pony express soon died away. In western communities there is so much going on that interest is soon shifted to newer events.

The posse that went out to seek the robbers had no luck in finding them. All traces seemed to disappear after the bags were found in the old mine-hole. A man was kept in hiding at that place for nearly a week, ready to give the alarm if the hold-up men returned to get the pouches which they had hidden. But they did not come back.

Meanwhile Jack soon became himself again. His father, too, improved slowly, though he was far from well, and would not be able to ride the trail again for a long time.

Of course, Jennie had to hear the whole story of the hold-up from Jack himself, and she sympathized deeply with him.

"Oh, it was just terrible!" she exclaimed, in her impulsive, but sweet and girlish fashion. "I just can't bear to think of your lying out there all alone, in the dark, and tied up with ropes!"

"Well, it wasn't exactly a picnic," Jack admitted.

"And to think of your cutting yourself on the glass!" she went on, as she looked at his hands, one of which she held gently.

"Oh, it might have been worse. If it hadn't been for the glass I might have lain there a while longer, and in that case I probably would not have found the stolen mail bags, for if I had waited there until the rescuers came I'd never have walked down the trail."

"Perhaps it was all for the best," Jennie admitted. "But I do hope nothing like that happens again."

"Same here!" exclaimed Jack. "Now have you the mail ready?"

And then, for a time, it was business.

For two weeks or more Jack rode the trail, back and forth, carrying the mail and the pony express matter. He was not again disturbed, and Mr. Perkfeld gave orders that, except in case of great necessity, he should not make night trips.

Nothing more was seen of the hold-up men, and Mr. Argent heard no news concerning his mining business. Whether or not those who had taken the bogus letters tried to locate the rich claim was not disclosed.

"But the real letters will come along some day—any day now—Jack," the miner said, "And when they do—"

"When they do no one shall get them away from me!" Jack exclaimed, and he was not boasting. He meant it. And you shall see how he kept his promise.

Several more attempts were made on the part of those who wanted Jack's place to supplant him as pony express rider. But he had made himself a favorite with the stage drivers, as well as with Mr. Perkfeld, who said Jack could keep on riding the trail until his father was ready to resume his duties. Several mean little things occurred, which, like the loose planks in the bridge, Jack felt were designed to make trouble for him. But he avoided them, fortunately, and none was as serious as the bridge incident. The author of that remained a mystery, though Jack had his suspicions.

Jake Tantrell continued to sneer at our hero. He made several efforts to get Jack's place, even offering to do the work for less money, but his offer was not accepted.

Then came an unpleasant season, when the fall rains set in. The sun seemed to have forgotten how to shine, and Jack fairly lived in his poncho, or big rubber riding blanket that went over his head, protecting him and the mail bags.

"How's the Ponto river, Jack?" asked his father one day, when the lad had stopped to speak to the invalid. "Is she rising much with all this water that's falling?"

"Yes, she's getting pretty high, Dad."

"Look out for the bridge there. It isn't any too strong, and it may go out with the high water."

"Oh, I'm not worrying about that. They've strengthened it within these last two weeks, and I guess it will hold. Still the water is high in the mountains. There's some talk of the Richfield dam not holding."

"Is that so? Well, if that goes out the folks down below will get a wetting."

"That's what they will! But it may hold until it stops raining."

The Richfield dam was a new one, built above the small settlement of that name on the flats about three miles to the northeast of the Ponto river. The Richfield river was a branch of the latter, and was a turbulent stream, often rising rapidly, for It was confined between steep, high! banks.

Jack had his talk with his father vividly recalled to his mind two nights later. It was the first time since the hold-up that he had been obliged to ride at night, but there was some valuable mail that had been delayed, and that must be put through.

The pony express lad was on his trip toward Rainbow Ridge from Golden Crossing, and it was dark when he reached the point where the Richfield river branched off from the Ponto. And at the sight which met his eyes the lad exclaimed:

"Say, this is certainly high water! I wonder if the dam is holding."

It had rained hard all day. Now it was but drizzling.

"I'm going to take a run down there," Jack decided. "It won't take me ten minutes, and you can easily make that up; can't you Sunger?"

The pony whinnied in answer.

"I've time enough, anyhow," Jack went on. "I'll just go and take a look at the dam. The water must be two feet over it now."

He turned off the main trail, and was soon approaching the dam. Before he reached it he could hear the sullen roar of the pent-up water. And when he had a view of the impounded flood he saw at once that it had approached the danger point.

Jack looked critically at the dam. He knew something about such structures, and about high water.

"I don't believe that dam will last," he argued. "There's too much water pressure on it." Even as Jack spoke a small portion of the dam, near its juncture with the shore, gave way, and a large volume of water rushed out.

"That's the start!" cried the pony rider. "She'll all go in half an hour. I've got to ride down below and warn the Richfield people. Otherwise they'll be swept away. I've got to ride and warn them!"

There was nothing else to do. Jack called to his faithful pony and guided him into the trail that led to Richfield on the flats below. If that volume of water were suddenly to be released through the breaking of the dam, part of the village would be wiped out. If they were warned in time the populace in the danger zone could take to the hills on either side and escape.

"Come on, boy!" called Jack to his pony. "It's a ride for life all right!"

Down the rocky slope, toward the little settlement on the flats below the dam, rode Jack. He thought rapidly. If he could beat the flood, there would be time to warn the sleeping population so they could flee to the hills. There were not many who had their homes in the danger zone, not more than twenty-five families.

"I'll wake some of 'em up," Jack reflected, "and then they can warn the others. I don't imagine they'll have time to save anything. Too bad! But that dam is certainly going."

The rain came pelting down once more, the drops stinging in Jack's face. He tried to listen, to ascertain if he could hear the roar of the waters that would indicate that the dam had already gone out, but all he could catch was the splash of the rain.

Jack's course was along the now turbulent stream that was formed from the overflow of the pent-up waters. In normal times this was but a mere brook, most of the waters being led off through a pipe line to supply a distant irrigation scheme. But now there was so much water that not only was the pipe line filled, but the overflow from the dam had turned the brook into a river.

"The people ought to have seen the danger, and gotten