The caller involuntarily glanced around. A dozen persons were in sight, most of them within the circle of light cast by the camp fire, while two or three were moving about a little farther off. Among them was none who resembled young Brandley. Alden had not yet sat down, tired as he was. His wish to deliver the mail pressed upon him. “Can you tell me how near I am to the station?” he asked of Mr. Chadwick. “Almost within a stone’s throw; yonder it is.” Looking in the direction he pointed, Alden saw the dull glow of light from the loopholes of the structure, not far beyond the confines of the camp. It was singular that he had not noticed it as he came up, but the bigger illumination obscured the lesser. “I must go,” he said; “a good deal of time has been already lost.” “Will you not come back and spend the night with us? We can give you comfortable quarters in one of the wagons.” “Thank you; I may do so.” He was about to move off when the other with a laugh asked: “Did you see anything of a man on horseback carrying a lantern?” Alden was all attention. “I did, and I couldn’t make him speak a word; do you know what it meant?” Chadwick laughed again. “I called at the station a little while ago; they are much disturbed over the absence of Lightfoot the Pony Express Rider. One of the four was so certain that he would turn up before supper that after a hot argument, he made a freak bet. He agreed that if Lightfoot had not come by that time, he would carry a lighted lantern on horseback over both streams that have to be crossed between here and the station to the east. One condition was that he was not to speak a word to any one except the missing man. Of course if he ran into danger he might be compelled to yell, and, if he met Lightfoot on the way, he had the right to turn and come back with him. Failing in that, he must make the ride I have named. “I have heard of a good many fool wagers, but I never knew anything more absurd than that. Well, the others wouldn’t delay supper a single minute, and I think they hurried through with it. The fellow who had made the bet was game. He saddled his pony, lighted the lantern and started off. I forgot to say that another condition was that his animal should not trot or gallop, but walk every step of the way out and back. He was sticking to the conditions when you saw him.” “He certainly was, for I couldn’t make him open his mouth, and his pony never changed his pace. Well, I must go to the station and, gentlemen, I bid you all good-night.” CHAPTER XXI A SETBACK The arrival of Alden Payne at the station and the story which he carried caused a profound sensation. When the door was opened in response to his knock, he dropped the pouches on the floor, sat down on the nearest stool and exclaimed: “There’s your mail; the Indians got Dick Lightfoot.”