# Alden the Pony Express Rider/Chapter 22

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CHAPTER XXII
JETHRO’S SECRET AND WHAT FOLLOWED
THE day was crisp, clear and sunshiny, Alden strove to shake off the feelings that oppressed him. He knew he was not treating his hospitable friends right, for they had shown him every courtesy, as they would have done had he chosen to spend weeks at the mail station; Cal invited him to go on a hunting excursion after the midday meal. Ordinarily the youth would have accepted eagerly, but his mood forced him to decline.
Inasmuch as he had had plenty of sleep, he could get no more. He strolled about the open space, pausing now and then to survey through his glasses the snowy peaks which towered far into the sky to the westward, or at the lower hills to the north, where the gnarled pine, the dwarfed cedar, the rushing torrents and the gorges made up one of the many wild regions which abound over thousands of square miles of area. Abundance of game was there ​always with the added spice of danger from the dusky hunters who preferred to bag the white invaders in preference to deer, antelope, buffalo, or mountain sheep.
The location of the station shortened the view to the southeast from which Shagbark must come. There were too many obstacles and variations of the landscape to permit one to see far in that direction, but Alden continued to look, as the afternoon waned, yearning for the sight of the slow moving train.
Suddenly the still air was pierced by a wild shout. It was the “coyote yell,” of the Pony Express Rider coming from the west. Seemingly in the same moment. Cal hurried round the corner of the cabin, leading one of the wiry half-breed horses by the bridle. The man from within the building came through the door and peered in the direction of the sound. The other two were still absent hunting among the foothills.
Up the slope from behind the rocks and dwarfed cedars burst the rider and his horse. The panting animal was covered with lather and glistening sweat. The sight was similar to that which Alden, who leaped to his feet at ​the signal, had seen many times. The broad-brimmed hat flaring up in front, the fluttering handkerchief about the neck, the fringed collar, the close fitting coat, cartridge belt at the waist, gloved hands, revolver at the hip, rifle across his thighs, fringed trouser legs, tucked just below the knees into the boots, spurs, keen, alert eyes, body leaning slightly forward but as firm in the saddle, as if the rider were a part of the pony; these with mail pouches locked and secured in place, were the noticeable points of the man who dashed up at headlong speed his horse setting his legs and coming to a stop within a single bound.
“Howdy, Cal? Howdy, Bill?”
“Howdy, Jim?”
The words were yet in the air, when the rider leaped to the ground, whirled about and began unfastening the mail bags. Cal helped, they were slung upon the back of the waiting pony and Jim vaulted into the saddle, caught up the reins and pricked the flanks of his animal with his keen spurs.
During the few seconds this operation required, Cal asked:
“Did the mail get in all right from the east?”
​“Pony galloped up before midnight, with the bags without a scratch.”
“Good—”
“But the Indians got the rider; haven’t seen hide or hair of him. I’m off!”
And without another word, his horse thundered on a dead run to the southeast.
The astounded Alden turned to follow him with his eyes, when he descried a tall bony horse approaching, on whose back was a massive man with shaggy whiskers, and a pipe in his mouth.
“Hello, Shagbark!” shouted the youth, running toward him delighted and yet awed by the awful message the Pony Express Rider flung at them. He had veered so as to avoid the approaching train, and was already beyond sight.
The grim veteran did not try to hide his delight at sight of the young man. The movement of his heavy beard around his mouth showed he was grinning. Leaning over, he reached down and almost crushed the hand that was offered him.
“B’ars and bufflers, younker! but I’m powerful glad to see ye; I’ve been more worried than I let on to the other folks.”
“I’m sound and unharmed, thank Heaven, ​Shagbark, though I had a pretty tough time of it. Is every one else well?”
“They war a few minutes ago,” replied the guide, turning in his saddle and looking back as if not sure everything was right.
The plodding train was rounding into sight, and at the head was Jethro Mix on his horse. Alden waved his hand. The dusky fellow stared a minute unable to grasp the situation. Then, recognizing his young master, he banged his heels against the ribs of Jilk, and cantered up.
“Gorrynation! if it doan’ do my eyes good to hear you and my ears good to see you! I’ve been worrying awful and was gwine to start out to hunt you up if you hadn’t been here.”
In the exuberance of his delight, Jethro slipped to the ground and warmly shook the hand of the one whom he loved more than any person in the world.
“We’ll camp hyar!” called Shagbark to the teamsters, all of whom had come within easy reach of his voice.
While the wagons were assuming position, and the men preparing to spend the night where Chadwick’s party had camped the night ​before, Alden exchanged greetings with Mr. Fleming, his wife and the remainder of his friends. Then excusing himself for a few minutes, he ran to the station where the agent and his companion were curiously watching the movements of the emigrants.
“What do you make of the words of the rider?” asked Alden in a trembling voice. The two looked at him and the elder replied with the question:
“What can you make of it except what he said?”
“Do you think Brandley has been killed by the Indians?”
“As sure as you’re standing there,” replied the taller; “the biggest tomfool thing I ever done was to let him start off with the mail. It means my finish.”
Bill thought more of the trouble coming to him than he did of the fate that had overtaken poor Ross Brandley.
“Can’t anything be done for him?” asked Alden swallowing the lump in his throat.
“Not a thing; he isn’t the first one the Indians got and he won’t be the last by a jugful.”
It was Cal who now spoke.
​“There ain’t any doubt that he was shot from the back of the pony, which dashed off and ran to the station with the mail. If we’d let you start out with the pouches, as you wanted to do, that’s what would have become of you.”
But Alden was not thinking of that. He was distressed beyond words at the dreadful fate that had overtaken the youth with whom he quarreled and whom he was anxious to meet that the wrangle might be fought to a finish.
“All day while I have been brooding and hating him he has been lying somewhere in the solitude looking up to the sky and seeing it not. God forgive me!”
Angered by the indifference of the two men, Alden turned back and joined Shagbark, who had dismounted and removed the saddle and bridle of his horse. Jethro had done the same, and the three stood a little apart from the others. Alden had taken a minute or two to caress his pony, which whinneyed with pleasure at meeting him, but the master was in too great anguish to pay the animal the attention he would have paid in any other circumstances.
The three were grouped together, and ​Jethro and Shagbark looked into the handsome face that could not hide its grief.
Then in as few words as possible Alden told the dreadful story. As soon as he had finished Jethro with a countenance hardly less distressed, said:
“Al, you never let me tell you dat secret I wanted to tell you.”
“I have no patience to listen now: more important matters are on my mind.”
“But you’v got hear it or I’ll bust.”
“Go ahead,” said Shagbark, who saw that it had some bearing on the sore trouble of his young friend.
“You remember in St. Joe, when dat chap butted into you?”
“Of course, but never mind about that.”
“Do you know what he said to you?”
“I don’t remember, and I don’t care.”
“You neber had de rights ob dat; I stubbed my toe, bumped agin him and knocked him agin you. De minute he did dat, he turned to you and said, 'I beg your pardon!' but you thinked he said something insulting, but he didn’t.”
Alden stared at Jethro.
​“Are you speaking the truth?” he asked in a husky voice.
“As suah’s as you’s standing dere and me here.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I tried to seberal times but you wouldn’t let me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me at the time?”
Jethro chuckled.
“I wanted to see de fout.”
“Jeth, I ought to beat the life out of you for that.”
“Dat’s what I thinks; here am your gun; take hold of the barrel and break it ober my head; I won’t say a word.”
And the fellow handed the weapon to his master and meekly awaited his pleasure.
“To think,” said Alden, as if talking to himself; “that Ross Brandley acted the gentleman and I the brute. No wonder he resented it when I refused to receive his apology. I thank Heaven we did not meet while I knew not the truth. All, if I could have seen him before this last happened and told him my regrets!”
Shagbark had remained silent until now. ​He stepped forward and laid his big hand affectionately on the shoulder of Alden.
“Don’t take it so to heart, younker: thar’s one chance in a hundred that yer young friend, as I ’spose ye call him, is alive.”
“Oh, I hope so, but it is impossible.”
“Not much chance, but thar is one as I obsarved in a hundred. Wait till we git to the next station. It mought be that when he seen things looked squally he slipped off his pony and took to kiver. Not much chance I say, but it may be. Let’s hope till we hyar more.”
Alden took slight comfort from the words of his rough friend, who had little faith himself in them.
Because of this affliction, the train started at an unusually early hour the next morning. It arrived without incident at the next mail station about noon. There they found Mr. Fleming’s party still in camp, but the leader was absent. In answer to Alden’s hurried questions he was told:
“His nephew has been missing since night before last, and he and one of his friends have gone in search of him.”
“And that is what I shall do!” said Alden, ​with a flash of his eyes and a compression of his lips; “and I shall not return till I learn the truth.”
“And I’se gwine wid you,” added Jethro Mix.
“I don’t see that you can be of any help, but you may come if you wish. You owe the risk of your own life for the wrong you have done that noble fellow.”
“Dat’s what I thinks, Al, and I’m wid you till de last horn blows.”
Now suppose we join hands in the hunt for Ross Brandley, and leave all the adventures and experiences to be told in
Alden Among the Indians
or
The Search for the Missing Pony Express Rider.