As they rode each glanced from side to side. The same thought was in the minds of both. If they were under the eyes of any prowling Indians, the two were at their mercy, for hiding places from which their enemies could fire without the slightest risk to themselves were beyond counting. Since the afternoon was drawing to a close and the train was several miles to the rear, Alden was on the point of suggesting that they make their way back to their friends, when both were startled by the noise of a horse’s hoofs behind them. They looked round at the same instant. “A Pony Express Rider,” said Alden, “and he’s coming our way.” Such was the fact. Despite the slope, the man’s horse continued on a gallop until he came alongside the couple. Then he reined up and rode with them. “I can’t well afford to wait,” he explained, “but it won’t do to push my pony too hard. I am glad to have company a little way.” “And we are glad to have you,” responded Alden. The man who addressed them looked no older than themselves, but he was more than twenty years of age. His face was smooth shaven, his complexion clear and his eyes bright. His weight could not have been much above a hundred pounds, and a glance revealed his perfect horsemanship. Alden noted the mail pouches strapped one in front of his knees and the other behind him, and each secured by a lock. He carried a rifle in his left hand and a revolver showed at his hip. He was a fine specimen of the superb Express Rider, temperate, brave, alert, and with extraordinary powers of endurance. When Alden had explained the cause of himself and servant being so far in advance of the train, the rider said: “I passed them two or three miles back. If you will permit me, I advise you to lose no time in returning to them.” “Why?” “You are approaching a dangerous region; I have had two scrimmages with Indians within the last month.” “Gorrynation!” muttered Jethro, eager to turn back without advancing another step. “I thank you for your advice, but it is so pleasant to have your company we shall ride a little farther with you.” “My name is Dick Lightfoot,” announced the genial stranger. Alden gave his own and that of Jethro and then asked: “How far have you come?” “From the last station eight miles back; I have more than twenty miles to go.” “Not with that pony?” “No; it would be too great a strain on him; our stations are some ten miles apart and at each we change horses. I ride ten or a dozen miles more, then change again and keep on to the second station which is the end of my run. There I meet the return rider and another chap takes my place for the next thirty miles.” “How do you like the life?” asked Alden. The eyes of the young rider sparkled.