“What are you going to do with the mail?”
“I shall be on road in ten minutes,” replied one of the three, a man of slight figure, bright eyes and alert manner.
“Won’t you let me take it?”
They looked at one another in astonishment. Then the eldest, who had done most of the talking for his friends, said with a smile:
“You haven’t any pony.”
“But you have.”
“You have never been over the route and don’t know the way.”
“The pony does; I brought the mail here and this is the first time I was ever so far west.”
“But you are worn out.”