"Come on, Sunger," called the lad to his pony. "We've got to make time!"
The intelligent and beautiful animal whinnied as if he understood. Then, with a fond and anxious look at his father, Jack wheeled about and set off down the trail at a gallop, Mr. Bailey going on more slowly, for every motion of his horse gave him pain.
Jack was soon out of sight around a bend of the trail. He flashed past his cottage, and thought with satisfaction that there was hot water on the range, so his father could make himself a cup of tea.
Jack paused long enough at Mrs. Watson's cabin to tell her what was the matter, and to inform her that he was taking the mail over the last mile of the route into town.
"Your father ill!" exclaimed Mrs. Watson. "I'll go right over there, Jack, and look after him."
"I wish you would. It will be awful good of you."
"Of course I'll go. Mary can look after things here," and she hurried into the house to get ready for her second trip that day to the Bailey cottage.
Jack galloped on, trusting to the sure-footedness of his pony to avoid the dangers of the rough mountain trail. And Sunger justified the confidence reposed in him.
"Hello! We've been wondering what kept you! Why, it's Jack!" exclaimed Jed
Monty, the grizzled stage driver, as the lad galloped up to the Mansion
Hotel, whence the start for the east was made.
"Sorry to be late, but dad's taken sick!" cried Jack, as he flung the bags to the driver.