His bright wits were ever on a strain and when he came to a series of boulders, he again stooped and felt of the ground. The soil was pebbly and the sense of feeling did not help him.
He hesitated to light a match, for he knew he was near the spot whence had come the sounds of rifle firing. He straightened up and listened. A gentle wind stirred the willows in front, the faint murmur of the mountain stream behind him came softly to his ears, but all else was profound silence.
He had peered into the star gleam in front for some minutes when the conviction gradually came to him that something not a boulder or stone was lying a few paces away. He could not identify it without a nearer approach, and after a little wait he stepped forward on tiptoe.
He had accepted it as an explanation of the startling sounds that came to him a short time before. Another Pony Express Rider had gone down in the path of duty. But still drawing nearer, Alden found the next moment he was mistaken. It was the body of a horse lying on its side.
Forgetful for the moment of the peril of the
