“Dar he is!” whispered Jethro trembling with excitement; “shall I shoot him?”
“No; wait till we find what it all means.”
Just then the drifting clouds swept from before the face of the moon, whose rays streamed down upon the prairie. From out this misty obscurity shot a horse and rider, the animal with outstretched neck, tail streaming and straining every nerve to carry the man who was leaning well forward, beyond the zone of danger. The same rhythmic beat that had fallen on their ears that afternoon greeted them again. The pony was running for all that was in him.
Just as the rider flashed opposite the group of silent canvas covered wagons, he seemed to catch sight of them. Without drawing rein or checking the desperate speed of his horse he shouted:
“Look out for Injins! they’re close onto you!”
And then man and animal plunged into the night and disappeared, though the fast diminishing thumping of hoofs was heard for some seconds later.
“He’s a Pony Express rider,” said Alden;
