"Say, Jennie, what is this; a joke?" asked Jack, as he leaned up against the table on which was piled the mail and some express matter, for the post office was also used as the headquarters of the pony express company and stage line.

"A joke? The idea! How dare you!" and the young lady appeared to be very indignant, indeed. "A joke! I guess not! Look at that, Mr. Jack Bailey," and she flourished in front of him an important-looking document whereon her name could be discerned in large letters.

"Hum! So you are really postmistress of Golden Crossing," remarked Jack.
"Is your mother—"

"Oh, it isn't anything serious," was the quick answer. "But we are going to make certain, changes, and—"

"Changes!" cried Jack, in some surprise. "I hope you aren't thinking of going away!"

"Oh, no indeed!" Jennie answered. "We like it too well here. But mother has a chance to do some sewing, at which she can make some much-needed money, and she realized that she would be too busy at that to look after the post office properly. So I said I'd apply for the place. I know all about the work," Jennie went on, "for whenever mother went away I used to look after the mail. Tim does the heavy work, lifting the pouches and packages and all that," and she indicated a red-haired and freckled lad named Timothy Mullane, a genial Irish chap, who did odd jobs around the post office, and in the settlement of Golden Crossing.

"So, with Tim to help me, I felt that I might just as well be the full-fledged postmistress," the girl went on. "As soon as mother had arranged to do this sewing I applied for the place to the President—"

"To the President—in Washington?" cried Jack, in surprise.

"Well, I wrote to the President, though I don't suppose he ever saw my letter," Jennie said. "I thought he appointed all postmasters and postmistresses. But I had an answer from some official of the post office department, and I received the appointment!" she laughed in conclusion.

"So after this, Mr. Jack Bailey, of the pony express, you'll get the mail from me and deliver it to me."

"No greater pleasure, I'm sure," Jack answered with a low bow, and he also laughed. "When did all this happen?" he asked.

"The letter came yesterday," Jennie answered.

"And I received my temporary appointment this morning," Jack said. "You didn't beat me by very much, Jennie! Shake!" and with true western good fellowship, Jack held out his hand, meeting the warm clasp of the pretty and smiling girl.

The two young persons found much to talk about. Jennie was sorry to hear of the illness of "Uncle Pete," as she called him, and when her mother came in to greet Jack, Mrs. Blake had to hear the whole story over again.

Mrs. Blake was a widow, whose husband had been killed in a mining accident. She was left with Jennie, then a little girl, to bring up, and friends secured for her the place as postmistress of Golden Crossing. She managed to make a living from the money received in this way, and from the sewing she was able to do for the residents of the settlement.

And now, as she explained to Jack, her needlework would take up much of her time, so she and Jennie planned that the latter should be made postmistress so that she could act officially when her mother was not on hand.

"Of course, I'll help her, Jack," Mrs. Blake said, "for it isn't easy for a young girl to have to do this work."

"And I'll help, too!" cried the young pony express rider.

"I knew you would, Cousin Jack!" Jennie exclaimed, clapping her hands. "But now we must talk business. Let me have your slips to sign, and here is a registered letter that you'd better put in an inside pocket where the stage robbers won't find it," and she laughed merrily at her joke.

There was considerable routine work attached to the post office and to the pony express route, and for some time Jack and Jennie were busy over this. The mail and express matter which Jack had brought in on the back of his pony, Sunger, had already been sent off on the outgoing stage.

"Will you ride back to-night, after the other stage comes in, or will you stay here?" asked Mrs. Blake.

"I guess I'll stay," Jack said. "But I can go back as far as Painted Post," naming a mountain settlement a few miles east of Golden Crossing. "I stopped there on my way here, and Harry Ward said he was going to ride in to Rainbow Ridge to a dance to-night. I can have him take a message for me, saying the mail will be late. And he can also tell my father that I'll stay over night, and be in early to-morrow morning."

"That would be a good idea," said Mrs. Blake. "We'll try and make you comfortable, Jack."

"Oh, you won't have to try very hard," he laughed. Jennie blushed and smiled, and Mrs. Blake looked wise.

Jack spent that afternoon helping Jennie straighten up her post office, for she had determined on a new arrangement of tables and desks, which Mrs. Blake had never had time to settle on.

"It's your post office, Jennie," her mother remarked. "Do just as you please as far as the regulations permit."

The in-coming mail was later than had been reported, and did not arrive until nearly dark. In such cases, when a night trip would be necessary over the mountain trail between Golden Crossing and Rainbow Ridge, the pony express rider was permitted to postpone his trip until the next day. The trail was rather dangerous at night, though on occasions, when there had been a bright moon and some important letters and express packages had come in, Mr. Bailey made the night trip. Jack had done so once, but he did not greatly care to do so again.

"But if there were any need of it I'd do it now," he said, though he would have regretted leaving Jennie, with the prospect of a pleasant evening in her company.

However, as it happened, there was nothing of such importance that it could not wait over until the next day, so Jack did not have to ride away. He put up his pony in the express stable, and he and Jennie spent a pleasant evening together.

Jack was a little worried about his father, and made an early start the next morning, carrying the mail and expressage. He made a quick trip and was relieved, on stopping off for a moment at the Watson cabin, to find that his father had passed a fairly comfortable night, and was considerably better.

"But he can't ride the trail yet," said Mrs. Watson.

"And I don't intend to let him!" exclaimed Jack. "I'm going to be the pony rider for a while."

Dr. Brown confirmed what he had at first said—that Mr. Bailey would be ill for a long time, and when this had become known Jack at once made arrangements to be permanently named as rider between Rainbow Ridge and Golden Crossing. Mr. Perkfeld agreed to this, but, most unexpectedly, some opposition developed among the members of the express firm. It appeared that one of the stockholders wanted the place of express rider for a relative of his. There were several others who wanted the place, and there was quite a scramble for it.

But Jack really had the most logical claim to it, and, as Mr. Perkfeld was able to make the appointment, at least for the time being, it came to Jack.

But there was bitter feeling against him on the part of some unscrupulous men who wanted the place, for it paid well and carried some privileges. It was also an honor.

"You want to watch yourself, son," said Mr. Bailey, rather weakly, to Jack one day, before the lad was about to set out on his ride to Golden Crossing. "Watch yourself, for there is no telling what tricks some of those fellows may be up to."

"Tricks, Dad? What do you mean?" asked Jack in wonder.

"Well, I mean they might try to do something to discredit you. Try to make you late with the mail, or even have you lose a valuable letter or package. They might think, if you failed to deliver promptly, you would lose the place, and they'd have a chance. So be careful. Hold on to it, for I'll need it when I get well again. My illness is going to cost a pile of money."

"Don't you worry about that Dad!" exclaimed the young mountain trail rider.
"I'll watch out, and they won't catch me napping!"

He rode off up the road, followed by the fond looks of his father.

"He's a good boy," murmured Mr. Bailey, "A good boy!"

Once again the in-stage to Golden Crossing was late, but as Jack was told by Jennie on his arrival at her post office that several important pieces of mail were expected, he decided to ride back with the pouches, even if it was after dark.

"There's half a moon," he said, "and I know the trail like a book. I'll make a night ride of it."

While waiting for the stage to come in Jack remained about the post office. Among those who came in for mail was Jake Tantrell, one of the men who had tried unsuccessfully to get Jack's place.

"Goin' back to-night?" he inquired casually.

"Yes," Jack answered. "Anything you want carried?"

"No," was the surly answer. "An' if I had I wouldn't trust a kid like you with it! It's a man's job to ride pony express, an' I'm surprised that they let you have the place."

"Oh, if that's the way you feel about it, I don't want to take any of your stuff," snapped Jack, filled with indignation. "But I've made good so far, and I expect to keep on."

"Huh! Maybe you will, an' maybe you won't!" was the snarling retort.

It was quite dark when Jack finally started with the mail. He also had several express packages, one of which was securely sealed, indicating that it contained valuables.

"Guess I'll stow that away in an inside pocket," Jack said to himself, and he suited the action to the words.

The first part of the trail leading out from Golden Crossing was not especially bad, and Jack ambled along it slowly enough. About two miles out from the settlement he had to cross, on a rather frail wooden bridge, a rushing mountain stream.

As Jack neared the middle of the bridge he felt a plank suddenly give way with the pony. In an instant he clapped his heels to the side of the horse, and slapped him sharply on the flank.

Sunger sprang forward, and only just in time, for in another second he would have stepped through a hole in the bridge where a plank had fallen off into the stream below. And had the pony fallen Jack would probably have been thrown over the bridge railing into the water.