



Produced by Charles Franks, Christopher Lund and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team










JACK OF THE PONY EXPRESS

Or

The Young Rider of the Mountain Trails


By

FRANK V. WEBSTER




CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. JACK IN THE SADDLE

II. POSTMISTRESS JENNIE

III. A NARROW ESCAPE

IV. IMPORTANT LETTERS

V. JUST IN TIME

VI. THE SECRET MINE

VII. THE STRANGERS AGAIN

VIII. A NIGHT ATTACK

IX. IN BONDS

X. A QUEER DISCOVERY

XI. DUMMY LETTERS

XII. A RIDE FOR LIFE

XIII. THE INSPECTOR

XIV. THE CHASE

XV. A CAUTION

XVI. SUNGER GOES LAME

XVII. AN INVITATION DECLINED

XVIII. A QUEER FEELING

XIX A DESPERATE RIDE

XX. AT GOLDEN CROSSING

XXI. THE ARGENT LETTERS

XXII. THE MASKED MAN

XXIII. THE ESCAPE

XXIV. JACK'S IDEA

XXV. JACK'S TRICK--CONCLUSION




CHAPTER I

JACK IN THE SADDLE

"Your father is a little late to-night, isn't he Jack?"

"Yes, Mrs. Watson, he should have been here a half-hour ago, and he would,
too, if he had ridden Sunger instead of his own horse."

"You think a lot of that pony of yours, don't you, Jack?" and a
motherly-looking woman came to the doorway of a small cottage and peered
up the mountain trail, which ran in front of the building. Out on the
trail itself stood a tall, bronzed lad, who was, in fact, about seventeen
years of age, but whose robust frame and athletic build made him appear
several years older.

"Yes, Mrs. Watson," the boy answered with a smile, "I do think a lot of
Sunger, and he's worth it, too."

"Yes, I guess he is. And he can travel swiftly, too. My goodness! The way
you sometimes clatter past my house makes me think you'll sure have an
accident. Sometimes I'm so nervous I can't look at you."

"Sunger is pretty sure-footed, even on worse mountain trails than the one
from Rainbow Ridge to Golden Crossing," answered Jack with a laugh, that
showed his white, even teeth, which formed a strange contrast to his tanned
face.

"Sunger," repeated Mrs. Watson, musingly. "What an odd name. I often wonder
how you came to call him that."

"It isn't his real name," explained Jack, as he gave another look up the
trail over which the rays of the declining sun were shining, and then
walked up to the porch, where he sat down. "The pony was once owned by a
Mexican miner, and he named him something in Spanish which meant that the
little horse could go so fast that he dodged the sun. Sundodger was what
the name would be in English, I suppose, and after I bought him that's what
I called him.

"But Sundodger is too much of a mouthful when one's in a hurry," and Jack
laughed at his idea, "so," he went on, "I shortened it to Sunger, which
does just as well."

"Yes, as long as he knows it," agreed Mrs. Watson. "But I guess, Jack, I
had better be going, I did think I'd wait until your father came, and put
the supper on for you both, but he's so late now--"

"Yes, Mrs. Watson, don't wait," interrupted Jack. "I don't know what to
make of dad's being so late. But we're used to getting our own meals, so
you needn't worry. We'll get along all right."

"Oh, I know you will. For two men--for you are getting so big I shall have
to call you a man," and she smiled at him. "For two men you really get
along very well indeed."

"Yes, I'm getting to be something of a cook myself," admitted the lad. "But
I can't quite equal your biscuits yet, and there's no use saying I can.
However, you baked a pretty good batch this afternoon, and dad sure will be
pleased when he sees 'em. I wish he'd come while they're hot though," and
once more Jack Bailey arose and went out to peer up the trail. He listened
intently, but his sharp senses caught no sound of clattering hoofs, nor
sight of a horseman coming down the <DW72>, a good view of which could be
had from in front of the house that stood on a bend in the road.

"Well, then, I'll be getting along," Mrs. Watson resumed, as she threw a
shawl over her shoulders, for, though the day had been warm, there was a
coolness in the mountain air with the coming of night. "Everything is all
ready to dish-up" went on the motherly-looking woman, as she went out of
the front gate, "The chicken is hot on the back of the stove."

"Oh, we'll make out all right, thank you," called Jack after her, as she
started down the trail. Mrs. Watson lived about a quarter of a mile away.
Her husband was a miner,