“You are about the weight of Lightfoot and have much his appearance.”
“Umph! I ought to; I’m his brother.”
He snatched out a small watch and glanced at it.
“I’ll be hanged! I’ve lost six minutes; I must be off; bye-bye.”
He touched the flanks of his pony with his spurs, and the animal bounded away at full speed. Almost immediately he disappeared.
To put it mildly, Alden Payne was surprised. Here was a man who received the news of his brother’s death without a sign of emotion, and yet doubtless he felt it deeply. But it was all a part of the game. The living brother might pass over the Great Divide in a brief while and join the other. Such was the life of the Pony Express Rider.
Alden would have liked to ask the man more questions, had time permitted. He would have turned over the possessions taken from the fallen man, had he thought of it. He wished to ask him about that signal smoke which still stained the sky in front and the rider could have given him valuable suggestions.
It was too late now. The opportunity was
