ilence fell upon the room. Then, all of a sudden, the sound
of horses' hoofs and the murmur of rough voices came to their ears, and
almost instantly a voice was heard to cry out:

"Hello!"

"Hello!" came from an answering voice.

"Why, it's The Pony Express got through at last!" announced Nick,
incredulously; and so saying he took up the whisky bottle and glasses
which lay on the teacher's desk and dashed into the saloon. He had
barely left, however, than The Pony Express, muffled up to his ears and
looking fit to brave the fiercest of storms, entered the room, hailing
the boys with:

"Hello, boys! Letter for Ashby!"

The Deputy--who with Trinidad and Sonora had come running in, the latter
carrying a boot-leg and a stove-polishing brush in his hand--took the
letter and started in search of the Wells Fargo Agent who, Rance had
told them, had gone to sleep.

"Well, boys, how d'you like bein' snowed in for a week?" asked The Pony
Express, warming himself by the stove; and then without waiting for an
answer he rattled on: "There's a rumour at The Ridge that you all let
Ramerrez freeze an' missed a hangin'. Say, they're roarin' at you,
chaps!" And with a "So long, boys!" he strode out of the room.

Sonora started in hot pursuit after him, hollering out:

"Wait! Wait!" And when The Pony Express halted, he added: "Says you to
the boys at The Ridge as you ride by, the Academy at Cloudy is open
to-day full blast!"

"Whoopee! Whoop!" chimed in Trinidad and began to execute a _pas seul_
in the middle of the room, dropping into a chair just in time to avoid
running into Nick, who hurriedly returned with two glasses and a bottle.

"Help yourselves, boys," he said; which they did to the accompaniment of
a succession of joyous yells from Trinidad.

Meantime Rance had relighted the burnt-out cigar which he had been
holding for some time between his fingers, and was sending curls of
smoke upwards towards the ceiling.

"Academy," he sneered.

Sonora surveyed him critically for some moments; at length he said:

"Say, Rance, what's the matter with you? We began this Academy game
together--we boys an' the Girl--an' there's a damn pretty piece of
sentiment back of it. She's taught some of us our letters, and--"

"He's a wearin' mournin' because Johnson didn't fall alive into his
hands," interposed Trinidad with a laugh.

"Is that it?" queried Sonora.

"Ain't it enough, Rance, that he must be lyin' dead down some canyon,