ce was now saying.

"Holdup!" repeated several voices outside in tones of excitement.

"Ramerrez--" went on the first voice, at which ominous word all,
including Ashby, began to exchange significant glances as they echoed:

"Ramerrez!"

The name had barely died on their lips, however, than Nick precipitated
himself into their midst and announced that The Pony Express had
arrived, handing up to the Girl, at the same time, a bundle of letters
and one paper.

"You see!" maintained Ashby, stoutly, as he watched her sort the
letters; "I was right when I told you . . ."

"Look sharp! There's a greaser on the trail!" rang out warningly the
voice of The Pony Express.

"A greaser!" exclaimed Rance, for the first time showing any interest in
the proceedings; and then without looking up and after the manner of a
man speaking to a good dog, he told the Deputy, who had followed Nick
into the room:

"Find him, Dep."

For some time the Girl occupied herself with cashing in the chips which
Nick brought to her--a task which she performed with amazing correctness
and speed considering that her knowledge of the science of mathematics
had been derived solely from the handling of money at The Polka. Now she
went over to Sonora, who sat at a table reading.

"You got the newspaper, I see," she observed. "But you, Trin, I'm sorry
you ain't got nothin'," she added, with a sad, little smile.

"So long!" hollered The Pony Express at that moment; whereupon, Ashby
rushed over to the door and called after him:

"Pony Express, I want you!" Satisfied that his command had been heard he
retraced his footsteps and found Handsome peering eagerly over Sonora's
shoulder.

"So, Sonora, you've got a newspaper," Handsome was saying.

"Yes, but the infernal thing's two months old," returned the other
disgustedly.

Handsome laughed, and wheeling round was just in time to see the door
flung open and a young fellow advance towards Ashby.

The Pony Express was a young man of not more than twenty years of
age. He was smooth-faced and unshaven and, needless to say, was light
of build, for these riders were selected for their weight as well
as for their nerve. He wore a sombrero, a buckskin hunting-shirt,
tight trousers tucked into high boots with spurs, all of which were
weather-beaten and faded by wind, rain, dust and alkali. A pair of Colt
revolvers could be seen in his holsters, and he carried in his hands,
which were covered with heavy gloves