e, young fellow!" the man threatened. "Boys,
go through that wagon! go over every inch of it now; you'll find the
stuff all right."

The other two men emptied the entire load into the trail, then turned
and stared at their leader.

"This is a bluff! Rip open those bags!" he growled. And the next moment
the contents of the six bags were sprawling in the mud. They contained
nothing but ordinary letters and newspapers.

"Sold!" blurted out the man. "We might have known that any yarn
'Saturday Jim' told us would be a lie. He couldn't give a man a straight
tip to save his life! Come on, boys! There's nothing doing this trip!"
And, swinging about, he turned up an unbroken trail that opened on some
hidden pass to the "front." His two pals followed at his heels,
muttering sullenly over their ill success.

"No," said Maurice to himself. "You're quite right, gentlemen! There's
nothing doing this trip!" But, aloud, he only spoke gently to his
wearied horses as he unhitched and secured them to the rear of the
wagon, gathered the scattered mail, and then scanned the sky narrowly.
The storm was over, but the firs still thrashed their tops in the wind,
the clouds still trailed and circled about the mountain summit. For a
full hour Maurice sat quietly and thought things. What was to be done?
The bridge was gone, the registered mail at the bottom of the canyon,
and the day growing shorter every moment. Only one course lay before
him. (He would not consider, even for a second, that any way lay open
to him behind.) He must get that mail to the mines, or he could never
look his father in the face again. He walked cautiously to the brink of
the precipice and looked over. It was very steep. Nothing was visible
but broken rock, boulders and bracken. No sign of either Royal or the
mail bag; but he knew that somewhere, far below, the dog was keeping
watch; that his four wise, steady feet had unerringly taken him where
his animal instinct had dictated; and Maurice argued that, where his
four feet could go, his two could follow. He must recover the bag,
select his fleetest horse, and ride bareback on to the mines.

The descent was a long, rough, dangerous business, but Maurice had
learned many a climbing trick from the habits of the mountain goat, and
at last he stood at the canyon's bottom, a tired, lonely but courageous
bit of boyhood, ready to suffer and dare anything so long as he could
prove himself worthy of the trust that his father h