und for the
distant gold mines.

"Why seven bags?" asked Mrs. Delorme of the captain. "We never get more
than six."

"The extra is a large consignment of registered mail, madam," he
replied. "Big money for the mines, they tell me. You want to keep an eye
on that extra bag. Old Maurice doesn't want to lose that."

Then he was told the story of the old driver's accident, and forthwith
climbed the steep trail from the landing to the shack to see how things
really were. He saw at a glance that Delorme would not be about for some
weeks to come; so, after an encouraging word and a kindly good-bye, the
captain turned, as he left the door, and, slapping young Maurice on the
shoulder in his bluff, hearty way, said:

"Well, kid, I guess you'll have to carry the mails this time. Start
good and early to-morrow. I'm a day late bringing them, as it is. The
managers of the mines are not the waiting sort, and there's money--money
that they need--in that extra bag. Better take a gun with you, boy, and
keep a sharp lookout for that registered stuff--mind!"

"Yes, captain," answered young Maurice, very quietly. "I'll land the
mail at the mines all right."

And, a few minutes later, the departing whistle of the little steamer
was heard far down the lake, as night fell softly and silently on the
solitary little mountain home of the Delormes.

* * * * * * * *

In the grey dawn of the next morning Maurice was astir, his horses were
being well fed, his mail bags packed securely, his gun looked over
sharply. Then came the savory smells of bacon and toast for breakfast,
the hurried good-byes, the long, persistent whistle for Royal, the deer
hound, his constant chum in all things, then the whizzing crack of
the young driver's "blacksnake" whip, a bunching together of the four
horses' sturdy little hoofs, a spring forward, and the "mountain mail"
was away--away up the yawning canyon, where the peaks lifted on every
side, where the black forests crowded out the glorious sunrise, away up
the wild gorge, where human foot rarely fell and only the wild things
prowled from starlight to daylight the long years through; where the
trail wound up and up the steeps, losing itself in the clouds which hung
like great festoons of cobwebs half-high against the snow line. In all
that vast world Maurice drove on utterly alone, save for the pleasant
companionship of his four galloping horses and the cheering presence of
Royal, who panted at the