“You are about the weight of Lightfoot and have much his appearance.”
“Umph! I ought to; I’m his brother.”
He snatched out a small watch and glanced at it.
“I’ll be hanged! I’ve lost six minutes; I must be off; bye-bye.”
He touched the flanks of his pony with his spurs, and the animal bounded away at full speed. Almost immediately he disappeared.
To put it mildly, Alden Payne was surprised. Here was a man who received the news of his brother’s death without a sign of emotion, and yet doubtless he felt it deeply. But it was all a part of the game. The living brother might pass over the Great Divide in a brief while and join the other. Such was the life of the Pony Express Rider.
Alden would have liked to ask the man more questions, had time permitted. He would have turned over the possessions taken from the fallen man, had he thought of it. He wished to ask him about that signal smoke which still stained the sky in front and the rider could have given him valuable suggestions.
It was too late now. The opportunity was gone and the youth must think for himself. Six or eight miles remained to be traversed through a dangerous country and he was on foot. The pony had fled and he doubted whether he could be recovered.
“He has the mail with him and may take it into his head to go to the station without me,” was the thought of Alden, as he turned back over the trail. The hoof prints left by the animal showed clearly in the ground and it was easy to follow them.
A little way and he came to where the open space broadened. His vision widened and the first survey showed him Dick quietly cropping the grass, as if nothing unusual had happened to him. His side was toward Alden, who whistled.