skimmed with arrowy speed, but it was less than that of his pursuer. Was there any creature of the plains which could surpass the half-bred mustang? No.
Alden wondered whether the pony would change his course and press the pursuit of the game, as almost any one of his species would have done in similar circumstances. But Dick did not vary a hair until he confronted another pile of rocks. Instead of flanking them on the same side with the buck, he whisked in the other direction. What was a whole herd of deer to him? He carried the United States mail and everything must give way to that.
From the moment that Alden saw the buck bounding in front of him, he could have brought him down without checking the pony. But he did not raise his rifle. To have fired would have been as wanton an act as the slaughter of the hundreds of thousands of buffaloes during the few years that followed.
He was convinced that Dick was again going at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour. He would not have been surprised had the speed been even greater. That, however, was hardly possible. Again the still air rose to a gale and the velvety thumping of the delicate
