The road was hilly and his horse flagged. He spurred ruthlessly and struck with his hat. If he did not arrive on time he would be ashamed, for nobody could know how hard he had tried. Up the hill he forced his pony and would not let him relax into a trot. Down the grade he galloped――every forward jump a torment. Red Buttes――that _must_ be Red Buttes――wavered strangely amidst the level expanse before. But he reached it. At least he thought that he reached it, and he fumbled at his saddle bags to loosen them. Somebody rushed forward as if to meet him and help him; and he saw, lined plainly amidst the confused other countenances and figures, the astonished face of Billy. “It’s Red! Look out! He’ll fall off!” Billy’s voice rang like a trumpet. “Where’s the regular man?” they demanded. “Tom’s hurt――away back. I took his place. Quick, Billy! Go on. Election news. Lincoln’s elected.” Billy vented an exclamation. He was into the saddle atop the saddle bags; he sprang away. “Take good care of that kid,” he called back. “He’s a good one.” “You bet we will.” “Am I on time?” wheezed Davy, vaguely, unable to see straight. “Two minutes ahead of time, lad.” Then they picked up Davy and carried him in, for he had fallen. He felt that he was entitled to fall. Besides, he could not have walked to save his life, now that he was done with the saddle bags. XXIII A BRUSH ON THE OVERLAND STAGE Davy was so stiff and sore that for several days he moved around very little; but he learned that the news which he had brought in was being rushed westward at a tremendous rate. Billy Cody had ridden the last ten miles of his own run in thirty minutes; and by special rider from Julesburg the tidings “Lincoln’s elected!” had been taken into Denver only two days and twenty-one hours out of St. Joseph――665 miles. When Davy was on his way back to Laramie he heard, at Horseshoe Station, that the news had been carried through to California in eight days――two days less than schedule! That was riding! And although he never again was on Pony Express, he felt that to the end of his life he would be proud of having ridden it once and of having performed well. The people at Fort Laramie appreciated what Davy had done, and if he had not been a sensible boy the praise that he got would have turned his head. Captain Brown it was who summoned him over to the Brown quarters one evening and asked flatly: “Dave, how would you like to go to West Point and be educated for a soldier?” Dave gulped, in surprise, and blushed red. Such an education had been beyond his dreams.