Part 20 (2/2)

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.”

”Do you often do that?” asked Ryan.

”Oh, occasionally. But since I was held up once I don't hanker after it.”

”Were you held up?” Ryan seemed much interested.

”Yes,” Jack said, but he did not go into details. He had no time.

”I say!” exclaimed Ryan, as Jack was about to ride off again. ”It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to have a blacksmith look at that shoe I fixed. I did the best I could, but I can't guarantee that it will stay on. There's a smithy right across the way.”

”I believe I will do that,” Jack said. ”It won't be any joke if Sunger casts a shoe when I get on the mountain trail. I'll take him over to the shop.”

The smith was busy, but Jack decided to wait.

”I'll have plenty of time if I don't have to make a night ride,” he remarked.

”Say, while you're waiting,” suggested Ryan, who had followed Jack over to the blacksmith shop, ”why not come and have a bite to eat with me. You wouldn't drink with me, but you can't object to eating.”

He seemed so much in earnest about it, and so friendly, that Jack did not like to refuse. After all, Ryan had been very helpful to him, and the matter of drinking Jack could overlook. It was more or less a settled custom in the West, anyhow.

”I'm not very hungry,” Jack began, ”but--”

”Oh, well, come and have a cup of coffee,” suggested Ryan. ”It won't take long, and by the time we're through with our little snack your pony will be ready for you. Come along.”

”All right,” Jack agreed, and he followed his new acquaintance across the street to a small restaurant. Jack ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee, but Ryan called for a more substantial meal.

”And I'll have mine in a hurry, if you don't mind,” said Jack to the waiter. ”I've got to get back on the trail.”

”Have it right away,” was the answer.

Jack sipped some of his coffee, and ate the sandwich. He was waiting for the beverage to cool somewhat before taking the remainder, when Ryan, nodding in the direction of the entrance to the restaurant, toward which Jack had his back, said:

”Is that a friend of yours? He seems to be looking for some one.”

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