of the way,” added the rider referred to as Cal; “I guess he got through.”
After a moment’s silence, Alden asked:
“Did he leave any message for me?”
The agent glanced to the rider to answer.
“He told me to let you know his name and to say that, as you had given up your job, he took pity on you and would finish it for you. He would try to fix things so you wouldn’t have to wait long for the meeting which he’s a good deal more anxious than you to bring about.”
Poor Alden Payne! He was “boiling.” Nothing could have occurred to roil him more deeply. After completing two-thirds of the trip with the mail pouches and going through terrifying perils, his enemy, as he persisted in regarding him, had quietly stepped in and stolen the honor from him. Not only that, but he had left an insulting message, as if his act itself were not sufficient.
Our young friend could see no “ray of light.” Had he possessed his own pony he would have started in hot pursuit of Brandley, but Firebug was with the train and until he came up, no animal was at command. It was useless to ask the agent to loan him one of his horses, for there was not the slightest reason
