Never knew Kiddie t' be late like
this. Suthin's sure happened."

CHAPTER VIII

KIDDIE'S LUCK

"Say, now, d'you expect me t' ride a spick an' span, over-fed, highly
decorated critter like that? My! I ain't entered for a horse show,
Cully. I want a pony that can run without thinkin' of takin' prizes on
points. And a dandy saddle with fancy stitchin' and finery don't help
any in gettin' the mails through on time. What's the matter with the
regulation Express pony--the piebald cayuse that you gave me on the
last trip? That was a critter that knew how ter go, that was. What's
the matter with her?"

"Gone sick," Cully answered, watching Kiddie's quick fingers unbuckling
the mail bags from the saddle from which he had just dismounted. "Went
sick only a hour ago. Guess she figured it was Jim Thurston's turn ter
ride her. If she'd ha' known it was you an' not Jim, you may bet your
socks she wouldn't ha' gone sick. But you'll find her substitute O.K.
An' if anybody kin ride him, you sure can. Steve Tracy was sayin' only
this mornin' as you kin git more pace an' bring yer pony in fresher 'n
any rider along the hull Salt Lake Trail; an' I just guess Steve was
right. Say, what's the matter wi' the saddle? Ain't you satisfied?
Don't it fit the critter proper?"

Kiddie was in the act of mounting. He turned to Cully with a light
laugh.

"Fits him like a glove," he answered. "I was only figuring that it's a
bit too ornamental for its present purpose. I see the girth has been
broken and mended--mended with a doubtful piece of string. Why wasn't
it sent to the saddler t' be properly fixed up? I've half a notion ter
chuck it right away and ride bare-backed. But there ain't time to fool
around now. So long, Cully."

Almost before he had leapt astride and slipped his feet into the
stirrups, the pony was off with a drumming of hoofs along the grassy
trail, needing no urging by spur or voice, and Kiddie was so well
accustomed to riding at the full gallop that, after he had thrice
forded the winding creek of Three Crossings, he could with ease take
out the little paper bag of biscuits and fruit that had been handed to
him, and munch his evening meal.

It was rough riding over the Rattlesnake Mountains, where often the
indistinct trail led him through dark and narrow defiles, or along the
brink of dangerous precipices, where the ground was of loose stones,
perilously insecure. The mountain torrents, swoll