"Yes," answered Harry. "But it isn't a very good one."
"Oh, well, when a man's hungry he can't be too particular. I guess I can stand it."
The three rode back together, and in a short time had reached the small town. The stage had pulled in, temporary repairs having been made, and the driver who handed Jack a sealed package expressed regret at having to bring him back.
"It was all my fault, too," the driver said. "I ought to have remembered about this special package, for they told me there was some hurry about it. But I was sort of knocked out by the accident, and it slipped my mind. I'm glad you've got it now."
Jack looked at it. The packet might contain letters, though it did not look large enough to hold maps of any size. And, to Jack's surprise, it was addressed, not to Mr. Argent, but to the postmaster at Rainbow Ridge. He had been so sure that it was the valuable letters and papers the miner expected that for the moment Jack almost expressed his astonishment. But Ryan and some others were standing near-by, and the lad felt it better to keep still.
Besides, the letters Mr. Argent expected might be in the regular mail bags, which Jack carried on his saddle, those bags not having been opened since he received them from the broken-down stage.
"Well, I guess now you're all right," the stage driver went on. "You can get on your way, Jack. I won't have to call you back again."
"I hope not. I'm late enough as it is."
"I'm sorry, my boy."
"Well, it couldn't be helped, I suppose. I don't want to make a night trip,
If I can help it."