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 act, the youth drew another match along the corrugated bottom of his little safe and held the speck of flame in front of him. It was what was left of Bucephalus. He had been pierced by several bullets and killed while on a full gallop. With a realization of the danger of what he was doing, Alden blew out the tiny light and flung it to the ground. Then he hastily retreated, turned aside and made his way in among the willows. Everything was clear to him. A party of Indians had formed an ambush at that point for the Pony Express Rider. In the gloom, they may have supposed he was lying low on his horse’s back, but they fired together and snuffed out the steed supposed to be carrying him. Deep gratitude stirred Alden Payne. He had believed himself the worst used person in the world, when he was deserted by the pony, and, say what we please, it was a shabby act, but the offender had paid dearly for it. “Had he not tricked me, I should have ridden over this spot, and that volley which laid him low, would have done the same to me. Thank God!” Often indeed do misfortunes prove blessings in disguise. All the same, the young man was in a trying situation. Thus far he had been guided by the trail of the dead pony. Now he was deprived even of that slight help. What hope could he have of finding his way to the station in the darkness? The most pressing question was as to what had become of the fiends who committed this deed. It seemed to Alden they could not be far off, and the important thing for him to do was to get as far away as he could, without any delay. He dared not push directly forward, for that would lead him over the course where the waiting red men expected the rider to pass. He determined to make a long detour until far removed from the dangerous spot, and then hide until daybreak, when he would renew his search for the station not many miles distant. All know how hard it is to keep one’s bearings in groping through an unknown country. It is tenfold harder to do so at night, when there is no aid whatever, and nothing to prevent yielding to that curious tendency we all show to travel in a circle. In the case of Alden Payne, however, a kind Providence took him in hand. Without being aware of it, he gradually shifted his course until he struck exactly the right one, and really advanced toward his destination. Several times he stopped with the intention of nestling down beside some rock, and sleeping if it should prove possible, but the anxiety to get as far as he could from that carcass kept him going.