THE MAN IN SADDLE
had orders to meet every stage that came in, and he obeyed orders. But the fellow couldn't read; and if the driver would be so good as not only to deliver the paper, but to read it to the man, Carron would remain his debtor for life.
The driver, opening the paper then and there, read the message aloud to the tree-tops.
"Take the stuff out of storage, and bring it with the horses over the watershed, past the first fork of the road, and through the gap into the next cañon. I will be waiting on the road. Be there by eleven.
"Carron."
The driver cocked his eye at the name. "F. A. Carron? Rancho Caballo?"
Carron admitted it.
The man extended his hand. "Put it there." When the ceremony was over—"See that off leader?" he inquired. "Best horse I ever had. Mouth ain't spoiled nor his temper. Busted on the Rancho Caballo."
Carron expressed himself as gratified, and was in fact. Cigars passed into the driver's hand. The horse-breaker dropped from the wheel, confident of his message being safely taken. What he touched was shaped to his way. He was no poet to imagine fate in this. He saw that it came from his own
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