POSTMISTRESS JENNIE
For a moment Jack Bailey did not know what to do. He looked at his father,
who was evidently quite ill and suffering much pain. Then the lad glanced
at the bags of mail and small express matter which lay over the saddle in
front of Mr. Bailey.
"Take the mail, Jack, my boy!" the pony express rider exclaimed, with an
effort. "Take the mail, so the stage can get off. I'm late now, but I
couldn't make the trail any faster. Get the mail through, and then stop and
bring a doctor back with you if he'll come."
"But I can't go away and leave you like this, Dad!"
"You must, Jack!"
"But you're too ill!"
"That can't be helped. The mail and express must go through on time if I'm
to keep the contract. And I certainly don't want to lose it. I'll manage to
get to the cottage. Once there, I can sit down, and if I get a cup of hot
tea I may feel better. It seems to be acute indigestion, though I don't
remember eating anything that didn't agree with me. But ride on, Jack. And
don't worry. I'll get to the cottage all right and be there when you come
back."
"All right, Dad! I'll do it. But I sure do hate to leave you like this!"
"It's better than having the mail delayed. Ride on. Explain to Jed Monty
how it is. I think Jed takes the stage out to-night."
"Yes, he does. I'll tell him."
Jack quickly transferred to his own saddle the bags of mail and express
matter. Mr. Bailey seemed easier now, though there was still that look of
pain on his face.
"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.
"Sick, eh? That's too bad. Well, I guess I can make up the lost time.
Haven't much of a load on to-night."
The stage was all ready to start, the few passengers having been
impatiently waiting.
"Pile in!" cried Jed, and with a crack of his long whip he sent the four
horses off at a gallop.
Jack did not linger, but, wheeling his pony, set off for the doctor's
office, hoping he would find the physician in. He was fortunate in this
respect, and Dr. Brown promised to come at once. Jack did not wait for him,
however, but hastened back to the cottage.
There he found that Mrs. Watson had made his father some hot tea, which had
relieved him somewhat. The look of pain was not so apparent now.
"The doctor will be here right away," Jack reported. "Now tell me how it
happened, Dad. We were quite worried about you."
"Indeed we were, when you didn't come in on time, as you nearly always do,"
said Mrs. Watson.
"I can't tell just how it did happen," said the pony express rider, "but I
was taken with a sharp and sudden pain soon after leaving Golden Crossing.
I'd have turned back then, and gotten some one else to ride the route for
me, but I knew there were important letters in the mail, and it had to come
through. So I kept on, hoping I would get better. But I grew worse, and I
had to slow up. I thought I'd never get here! But I did." And he shut his
lips grimly.
Pony express riders have to be made of stern stuff and they have to keep on
their routes in rain or shine, calm or storm; and often when it is torture
to sit in the saddle on a galloping horse.
"You'd better get your supper, Jack," advised Mrs. Watson.
"No, I don't feel like eating," the lad objected.
"Yes, you'd better, son," said his father. "There's no telling what you may
have to do tonight, and it is possible you will have to ride for me
to-morrow, though I hope I'll be able. But eat, and keep up your strength."
This was good advice, and Jack realized it. So he sat down to the meal
which Mrs. Watson had prepared as a finish to her housekeeping work earlier
that day. Jack had scarcely finished when Dr. Brown came in, and spent some
time ministering to Mr. Bailey.
The pony express rider felt much relieved after he had been given some
quieting medicine, and as Dr. Brown was about to leave Mr. Bailey asked:
"Shall I be able to ride the route to-morrow?"
The physician shook his head.
"No, indeed!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry to have to tell you that you have a
severe illness. I'm afraid you're going to be laid up for several weeks, if
not longer. You have been neglecting yourself too long, and you've been
worrying haven't you?"
"Well, yes, I have," admitted Mr. Bailey.
"Oh, Dad! worrying?" cried Jack. "Is it about that old Harrington matter?"
"Yes, Jack, it is. I can't get that off my mind."
"Why, every one knows that wasn't your fault!" exclaimed Dr. Brown.
"Of course," chimed in Mrs. Watson.
"Well I can't help thinking that the Harrington crowd believes I was to
blame," went on the pony express rider. "But I never let that letter get
away from me. It never left my bag from the time it was put in until I
delivered it. But I can't prove that, and I can't help worrying over what
people think of me."
"You're foolish to let a thing like that annoy you," said Dr. Brown.
"That's what has helped to make you ill. Now you must take a good rest.
I'll be in to see you to-morrow."
"But what about the trail, Doctor? Some one will have to carry the mail."
"You can't!" exclaimed the physician, with decision. "That's certain!"
"I will, Dad, of course!" cried Jack. "Who has a better right than I?"
"Well, I'd like to see you do it, Jack, for I'd be sure the mail and
express would be safe with you and Sunger," said the man. "But I don't know
that the company will consent. You're not of age--"
"I couldn't ride any better if I were twenty-one than I can now,"
interrupted Jack. "I'll go to see Mr. Perkfeld the first thing in the
morning. I'll meet the early stage and make the trip to Golden Crossing.
Are they all well there?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound
indifferent.
"Pretty well," answered his father. "Aunt Matilda is ailing a little, but
Jennie is a big help. She handles all the mail alone now. Well, Jack, I
guess it's the only thing to do. You see Perkfeld in the morning, and
explain things. The only thing I'm afraid of is that he may make the
Harrington matter an excuse to take the contract away from me. There are
several who want to ride the trail in my place. But do the best you can."
Amos Perkfeld was the president, as well as general manager of several
stage and pony express lines. He controlled the one between Golden Crossing
and Rainbow Ridge, and it was he who had engaged Mr. Bailey.
The "Harrington matter" had taken place some time before. Tyler Harrington
was an influential mine owner, and an important letter had been sent to him
by one of his agents. This letter was carried by Mr. Bailey, and, in some
manner, the contents of it became known to interests opposed to Mr.
Harrington and his associates. In this way they lost in a mining deal.
While there were no open accusations, there had been hints on the part of
the Harrington interests that the pony express rider might have been bribed
to let some one open and read the letter on the journey over the mountains.
Of course, Mr. Bailey had done nothing of the kind, and he had no idea how
the contents of the letter became known. He felt distressed because he was
suspected, and worried greatly over the matter. But he could not disprove
the unfounded suspicion against him.
As he had admitted, he had been worrying more than usual lately over the
affair, and this, with a general run-down condition, and the hardships of
his calling, had made him ill.
Mrs. Watson offered to stay all night and help look after Mr. Bailey, and
Jack was glad to have her do so. The sick man was a little better in the
morning, but far from being able to ride the mail route.
So Jack saddled Sunger and went into town to meet the early morning stage
which arrived every other day with mail and express matter to be taken to
Golden Crossing and points beyond. The pony express was a connecting line
between the two settlements.
To Jack's relief Mr. Perkfeld made no objection to the young man's taking
his father's place.
"I can't say just how long it will last," went on the manager, "but we'll
make it a temporary arrangement, anyhow. You've ridden the route before,
you say?"
"Yes, twice, when father was laid up with slight ailments."
"Well, do the best you can. And another matter. There are some valuable
letters--But never mind. I'll speak about them later," and Mr. Perkfeld
turned away. Jack wondered what he had been about to say.
"If there are any valuable letters to be carried," mused the young rider,
"I hope none of them gets lost, or that the contents become known. I'll
have to be careful."
He was given the bags of mail and light express matter from the stage as
soon as it rumbled in, and then Jack set off over the mountain trail to go
to Golden Crossing. The trip would take about four hours, and if the other
mail matter was ready he would come back with it, making the round trip in
about eight or nine hours.
But sometimes there were delays at one end or the other, for accidents
happened to the stages once in a while. There had been hold-ups, too, but
not since Mr. Bailey had taken charge.
If the stage at Golden Crossing was not on time the pony express rider had
to wait for it, sometimes all night. On such occasions Mr. Bailey had
stayed with his relative, Mrs. Blake, and Jack reasoned that he could do
the same thing. He caught himself almost wishing that the stage might be
late this time, as it would give him a chance for a long visit with his
"cousin" Jennie.
On his way past his cottage Jack stopped to see how his father was, and
also to report that he had been commissioned, at least temporarily, to
carry the mail.
Jack found his father better. Mrs. Watson said she thought it would be best
if he could be moved down to her house, and both Jack and Mr. Bailey agreed
to this, Dr. Brown sanctioning the suggestion.
"I can look after him better then," said the housekeeper, "and my daughter
can help me. And then, too, Jack, if you're delayed and have to be away all
night, you'll know that he's being well cared for."
"Yes, it will be best," Jack agreed. And so, as he rode off, preparations
were made to transfer Mr. Bailey to the other place.
"Now, Sunger, we'll show 'em what we can do when we carry the mail!"
exclaimed Jack, as his faithful pony started off along the mountain trail
again.
Nothing of moment occurred on that ride. Jack half-wished that he might be
called upon to defend the mail and express from bandits. He was armed, and
he dwelt on the thought of what a hero he might prove himself to be.
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.
"Why, didn't I tell you?" Jennie asked with a teasing laugh. "I'm going to
be postmistress at Golden Crossing from now on. That's my official
appointment! Aren't you going to congratulate me?" and she looked archly at
Jack and smiled.