ss liable to puncture.

It was nearly a year since that memorable night when Fred March and his
partner, Jack Howard, had run down the bank robbers, and the Happy
Thought had saved the Jefferson Court-House Bank $20,000 in hard cash.
Within the last six months copper of fine quality had been discovered in
the hills west of Fairacre, capital had been attracted, a smelting plant
was in process of erection, and business was booming. The works of the
Copper Company were situated some thirty miles away, and a large force
of men were working night and day to get the plant in running order. The
company were building a branch road to connect with the railway that ran
ten miles to the east of Fairacre, but at present the only means of
communication with the outside world was the wagon-road, which had been
constructed over Razor-Back Ridge. The government had been persuaded to
establish a "Star" mail route from Fairacre to the copper camp, and
Fred, with the assistance of his father, had succeeded in obtaining the
contract for himself and Jack. It was a semi-weekly route, the trip days
being Tuesdays and Fridays, and for two months the Happy Thought had run
regularly between the two places, leaving Fairacre at one o'clock in the
afternoon and returning the same night.

It was shortly before one o'clock on Friday, the 31st of August, and the
Happy Thought was standing in front of the Fairacre Post-office, ready
for her regular run. Jack, oil-can in hand, was giving a last look to
the bearings, while Fred, with the mail-bag strapped to his shoulders,
stood by occasionally glancing at his watch. It was almost time to
start, but the boys were also agents for the express company, and Mr.
Simmons, the Fairacre agent, seemed to be in no hurry about making up
his consignment.

"One o'clock," growled Fred. "I don't believe he has anything for us
to-day;" and then catching sight of a beckoning finger through the dusty
window-pane, "Come on, Jack, he wants to see us both."

"This way," said Mr. Simmons, briefly, leading the boys to the back
room. The room looked into an enclosed yard, but Mr. Simmons drew the
curtains carefully. Then going to his safe, he unlocked it, and took out
a thick square package. "To-morrow is pay-day at the works," he said,
slowly, "and there's wages for three months coming to the men. The
company always has it sent up by express from the city, and $10,000 is a
tidy little sum," he concluded, tapping the package