But everything was very prosaic. His pony did not even slip and fall, but came through on schedule time, or, rather, a little ahead of it, for Jack urged Sunger on.
"Oh, it's you, is it, Jack!" exclaimed Jennie Blake, as our hero rode up to the post office with the bags. "Why is this? Where's your father?"
"My father is ill. But aren't you glad to see me?"
"Oh, yes, of course!" she answered, and then she seemed obliged to look down very closely at some mail matter she was sorting.
"The in-stage will be five hours late," she said. "A messenger rode in to say that one of the horses died, and he had to take back another. So you'll have to stay over, Jack."
"That's good!" he exclaimed.
"What? Good that a poor horse died?"
"Oh, I don't mean that. But—er—say, what's that big official-looking envelope addressed to you? From Washington, too, and without a stamp," and Jack looked over the girl's shoulder.
"Oh, official letters from the post office department don't require stamps."
"What are you getting official letters for?" Jack wanted to know.