Suddenly she lifted her head, and looked sharply into the shadow of the trees. Her ears were raised as if she had heard some strange, suspicious sound.
Kiddie, preparing to re-mount, listened also. He heard the breaking of a twig far in among the thickly-growing trees. At the same instant something like the buzz-z of a mosquito passed by his ear. An arrow flashed across the trail between him and the dog, striking against a stout tree trunk on the farther side. Then a second arrow, aimed higher, rattled among the upper branches.
Now, Kiddie had his mail bags to think of. He had already lost several precious moments dealing with the hound, and he could not afford to waste time in trying to discover what possible enemy was lurking in the woods with the evident purpose of taking his life.
Drawing his revolver, he fired two shots in the direction from which the arrows had come. Then he turned to Sheila.
"Seek him, Sheila—seek him! After him—quick!" he ordered, pointing out the way; and as the deerhound plunged into the woodland he snatched up the nearer arrow, ran to his pony, and, re-mounting, renewed his broken journey.
At Three Crossings, which was his next relay station, he showed the arrow to the man who met him with the fresh pony.
"Say, Hoskin, how's that?" he questioned. "Some skunk hidin' in the timber this side of Medicine Creek, figured ter do me in with it. Poisoned, ain't it?"
Hoskin took the weapon and critically examined its barbed point.
"Yep," he nodded meaningly, handing it back. "It's sure poisoned. A scratch with it would kill you right away. Got any partic'lar enemy among them Injuns hangin' out along your way? What about the lot as was at Birkenshaw's t'other morning? You was thar, I hear. What about Broken Feather?"
"Broken Feather could hardly know that I'm takin' this trip with the Pony Express," Kiddie demurred.