Jack was so overjoyed at his queer and unexpected discovery that, for the moment, he forgot all about the approaching horsemen from whom he had hidden himself. Then there came a thought to him.

"Perhaps the pouches are empty! If the rascals have taken all the mail out and just thrown the empty pouches in here, that isn't such a great discovery after all!"

Once more he felt of the pouches in the darkness. He could tell that they were well filled—almost the same as when he had tied them to his saddle.

"I don't believe they opened them!" he exclaimed, half aloud. "They must have been frightened and thrown them in here, thinking to come back for them when they had the chance."

Then he had another idea.

"And that must be the robbers coming now!" he reasoned. "They're coming back to get the pouches. What shall I do?"

There was but one answer to that question—he must hide the mail and express matter in some other place. He paused a moment to listen. The galloping hoof-beats were nearer now, but it would still be some time before the riders would be opposite the old mine hole. The trail wound in and out at this point, and while sounds came up plainly through the rarefied mountain air, bodies themselves could not travel so swiftly.

"I've got five minutes, anyhow," reasoned Jack.

He caught up the mail pouches, one in either hand, though his cut fingers and wrists hurt him cruelly. But he gritted his teeth and kept on. He knew the ground well. Back of the hole was a slope that extended to a deep patch of woods. Jack would hide himself and the mail in there.

He was too excited to notice whether or not the locks on the bags had been tampered with. In fact he could not see in the dark and he had no time for extended investigation. He just tucked the bags under his arms, and ran with them. That is he made as good time as was possible under the circumstances. The ground was rough, and Jack himself was very weak. He had suffered much that night.

He found a good hiding place down in between two big logs, and there he stuffed the mail bags, covering them over with dried leaves. Then he hurried back to the hole to get the express stuff.

Fortunately that was light, this trip, and he could easily carry the few small parcels that had been entrusted to him. In fact, in those days, only light packages were accepted by the pony riders. The mail was their chief concern.

So Jack had no trouble in carrying the sacks of express matter to their new hiding place. This done he had only to watch to see who the approaching riders might be.

Jack worked quickly, and when he had taken the last of his recovered stuff to the place between the two logs he sat down in such a position that he had a view of the trail. It was getting lighter now, for the dawn was at hand. There was a faint glow in the east.

"Well, I certainly have put in a night of it!" Jack thought. "And I may be in for more if these are the robbers coming back. They may look for their stuff, and make a search if they find it missing. But I don't believe they'll find me."

Nearer came the approaching hoof-beats, Jack peered from his hiding place. He could hear voices now, but the sound was uncertain. It would not do to call out. He must see who it was that was coming.

Suddenly several men rode into view. Jack counted their heads as they were outlined against the faintly-glowing eastern sky. There were seven of them. Unless the robbers had come back reinforced these must be members of a searching party looking for the pony express rider. Yet Jack would take no chances. He must be certain.

"Hello, Jack! Jack Bailey! Pony Express! Where are you?"

This was the cry that echoed on the dying night.

Now there was no doubt of it!

Jack leaped to his feet.

"Here I am!" he cried. "Be with you in a second! Send some one up to help me carry down the mail!"

He was wildly excited, but he managed to calm himself long enough to light a match, and ignite a piece of bark. He wanted to indicate his position to the rescuers. They saw the flare and some one cried:

"All right, Jack! Be with you in a minute! Are you all right?"

It was the voice of Dr. Brown.

"Yes, I'm all right. It was a hold-up," Jack explained. "But I have the mail and express stuff back—that is I hope I have it all," he added.

Another moment and he was surrounded by his friends. There were Jed Monty, the stage driver, Dr. Brown, Amos Perkfeld, the president of the express company, Payson Wayde and Mr. Argent, besides Henry Applebaugh, the hotel keeper, and one of his stable boys.

"Are you all right. Jack?" Dr. Brown repeated, "Your father insisted that I come out and help look for you."

"Yes, I'm all right. Just cut a little, where I sawed off the ropes on a piece of jagged glass. But does my father know?"

"Yes, your pony came galloping up to the Watson house, all lathered up, with you and the mail missing. We knew right away something had happened, after Mr. Watson came rushing into town with the news. So we organized a searching party at once. But what happened to you?"

Jack told everything, down to his unexpected finding of the mail, and his hiding from the anticipated robbers.

"And so you got everything back!" exclaimed Mr. Perkfeld. "Well, I call that luck! Of course neither the government nor I could blame you for being robbed, but it is good to get it all back."

"And did my pony get home safe?" asked Jack eagerly. Sunger meant much to him.

"He's all right," said the hotel keeper. "I had one of my boys look after him. He's a bit winded, that's all. Smart little horse, that! If ever you want to sell him, Jack—"

"You needn't ask. I don't," was the quick answer. "But what about my father, Dr. Brown? Is he worrying, much?"

"Well, some, of course, Jack. But I gave him Some quieting medicine, and he'll soon hear the good news. He's much better these last few days."

The men questioned Jack at length about the appearance of the hold-up men, but he could not give a very clear description. No one recognized them as any one they knew.

"But we'll get a posse out after them as soon as we get back to town," declared Mr. Perkfeld. "We'll show them they can't hold up the pony express and get away with it."

"They didn't get away with it—that's the joke," said Mr. Argent. "I guess Jack is right. They probably feared pursuit, or might have gotten an alarm, so they dumped the stuff in the old mine hole and rode away, intending to come back later. Only Jack got ahead of them."

"That is I hope I did," interposed the pony express rider. "Maybe they have looted the bags, though they feel as full as when I look them from Golden Crossing."

"Well, we can soon tell," replied Mr. Argent. "It's getting light enough to see. The locks have been forced, anyhow, so it isn't any crime for us to open the United States' mail under these circumstances."

Jack and his rescuers gathered around while the miner opened the bags. They were filled with letters, papers and small parcels.

"There was some stuff for you, Mr. Argent," said Jack. "It was the matter you were expecting, I think."

"Yes," assented the miner.

"I think I played a trick on the robbers," Jack went on. "At least I fixed up a trick, whether it worked or not we'll have to see now. I put your stuff inside a roll of newspapers thinking they wouldn't look there."

"Good plan," said the miner. "I get your idea. But some of the bundles of papers have been opened. Maybe the hold-up men thought they would find something to eat inside."

Jack's heart fell at these words. If the robbers had opened the packages of newspapers it must have been because they expected to find something hidden in one of them. And the only thing that was hidden was the parcel of valuable letters.

"They evidently opened the bags, looked through the contents, and, after putting the stuff back in them, hid the pouches in the hole," said Mr. Argent, as he picked up and looked at several packages of newspapers.

"That's the one I wrapped your stuff in, Mr. Argent," said Jack, pointing to one newspaper packet. "But—but it's been opened!" he cried, as he saw, in the fast-coming morning light, what had happened.

"Yes, it's been opened," the miner agreed. His voice seemed strangely calm and collected.

"Are—are the letters gone?" faltered Jack.

"Well, they don't seem to be here," went on the miner, while the others looked on, somewhat at a loss what to make of the little scene. "No, there's nothing here belonging to me, Jack. Are you sure you put the sealed stuff inside this bundle of papers?"

"I'm positive!" Jack answered. "I remember it very well. It was the only bundle of papers with that kind of a wrapper."

For a moment there was a silence in the group.

"Well, they are gone," Mr. Argent went on.

Once more Jack wondered at the peculiar manner in which the miner spoke.

"I—I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Argent," said Jack, brokenly. "I thought I was doing the best thing to put the letters inside a newspaper bundle. I figured that the thieves would pass that over as of no importance. I had read of such things being done."

"But I guessed wrong. They must have been looking for the things you expected. They must have been on the watch, and were waiting for me to hold me up. I'm awfully sorry!"

Jack thought of the suspicion that had been directed against his father because the contents of a letter entrusted to him had been made public. Now the son had failed in a trust. It was no excuse to say it could not be helped. The valuable letters were gone, and that alone mattered now. Jack saw himself disgraced, and the pony express route ridden by some one else.

"I'm—I'm awfully sorry," he said again.

"Oh, you needn't be!" exclaimed Mr. Argent, and he was actually laughing.
"You needn't be."

"Needn't be! What—what do you mean?" gasped Jack.

"Why I mean that those robbers have had their trouble for their pains! Those letters were only a dummy set, sent through the mail to throw them off the scent. They contained information of absolutely no value. I thought there might be a hold-up, Jack, though I could not tell when it would occur. So I had my friends send me back a dummy set of letters. It was those useless documents which the hold-up men took. The real letters will come through later. It's a joke on those outlaws all right," and again Mr. Argent chuckled.