He spoke with an air of honesty, and he looked like a straightforward person. He was about forty years of age, and he rode a horse that Little Snap saw was to all outward appearances the equal of his Jack.
"Do you object to my company?" he asked, as Little Snap hesitated a moment in his reply. "If you have any suspicions of me, I won't object to riding a little in front of you, so you can keep your eye on me all of the time."
"I think I can trust you, sir."
"Thank you. My name is Austin Goings, and I am not ashamed to say that I am a Kentuckian, though it has been several years since I bade adieu to the scenes of my nativity. May I ask your name?"
"It is Dix Lewis, Mr. Goings. I am afraid you will find me to be poor company, as I have been so used to only the companionship of my horse that I must be dull."
"Fine-looking horse, Dix," said the Kentuckian, at once assuming a social companionship. "I should judge he might be fleet of foot. I am rather proud of my own horse here, and if agreeable to you, we will have a little spurt when we come to a suitable road."
"I never race Jack, sir, unless it is a case of necessity. His work is hard enough without my adding to it by any unnecessary hard driving."
"Good on your head, Dix Lewis! I like that kind of talk. We shall get along famously. How long have you been carrying this mail?"
"Two years."
"Must have begun pretty young."