before, Alden exchanged greetings with Mr. Fleming, his wife and the remainder of his friends. Then excusing himself for a few minutes, he ran to the station where the agent and his companion were curiously watching the movements of the emigrants.
“What do you make of the words of the rider?” asked Alden in a trembling voice. The two looked at him and the elder replied with the question:
“What can you make of it except what he said?”
“Do you think Brandley has been killed by the Indians?”
“As sure as you’re standing there,” replied the taller; “the biggest tomfool thing I ever done was to let him start off with the mail. It means my finish.”
Bill thought more of the trouble coming to him than he did of the fate that had overtaken poor Ross Brandley.
“Can’t anything be done for him?” asked Alden swallowing the lump in his throat.
“Not a thing; he isn’t the first one the Indians got and he won’t be the last by a jugful.”
It was Cal who now spoke.
