Suddenly the still air was pierced by a wild shout. It was the “coyote yell,” of the Pony Express Rider coming from the west. Seemingly in the same moment, Cal hurried round the corner of the cabin, leading one of the wiry half-breed horses by the bridle. The man from within the building came through the door and peered in the direction of the sound. The other two were still absent hunting among the foothills. Up the slope from behind the rocks and dwarfed cedars burst the rider and his horse. The panting animal was covered with lather and glistening sweat. The sight was similar to that which Alden, who leaped to his feet at the signal, had seen many times. The broad-brimmed hat flaring up in front, the fluttering handkerchief about the neck, the fringed collar, the close fitting coat, cartridge belt at the waist, gloved hands, revolver at the hip, rifle across his thighs, fringed trouser legs, tucked just below the knees into the boots, spurs, keen, alert eyes, body leaning slightly forward but as firm in the saddle, as if the rider were a part of the pony; these with mail pouches locked and secured in place, were the noticeable points of the man who dashed up at headlong speed his horse setting his legs and coming to a stop within a single bound. “Howdy, Cal? Howdy, Bill?” “Howdy, Jim?” The words were yet in the air, when the rider leaped to the ground, whirled about and began unfastening the mail bags. Cal helped, they were slung upon the back of the waiting pony and Jim vaulted into the saddle, caught up the reins and pricked the flanks of his animal with his keen spurs. During the few seconds this operation required, Cal asked: “Did the mail get in all right from the east?” “Pony galloped up before midnight, with the bags without a scratch.” “Good――” “But the Indians got the rider; haven’t seen hide or hair of him. I’m off!” And without another word, his horse thundered on a dead run to the southeast. The astounded Alden turned to follow him with his eyes, when he descried a tall bony horse approaching, on whose back was a massive man with shaggy whiskers, and a pipe in his mouth. “Hello, Shagbark!” shouted the youth, running toward him delighted and yet awed by the awful message the Pony Express Rider flung at them. He had veered so as to avoid the approaching train, and was already beyond sight. The grim veteran did not try to hide his delight at sight of the young man. The movement of his heavy beard around his mouth showed he was grinning. Leaning over, he reached down and almost crushed the hand that was offered him. “B’ars and bufflers, younker! but I’m powerful glad to see ye; I’ve been more worried than I let on to the other folks.” “I’m sound and unharmed, thank Heaven, Shagbark, though I had a pretty tough time of it. Is every one else well?” “They war a few minutes ago,” replied the guide, turning in his saddle and looking back as if not sure everything was right.