Dick, the sergeant, and Red Blaze sat down by the stove again, and rested there quietly for a quarter of an hour.  Red Blaze was thinking that it would be another cold ride back over the pass.  The sergeant, although he was not sleepy, closed his eyes and saw again the vast rolling plains, the herds of buffalo spreading to the horizon, and the bands of Sioux and Cheyennes galloping down, their great war bonnets making splashes of color against the thin blue sky.  Dick was thinking of Pendleton, the peaceful little town in Kentucky that was his home, and of his cousin, Harry Kenton.  He did not know now where Harry was, and he did not even know whether he was dead or alive.

Dick sighed a little, and just at that moment the telegraph key began to click.

“The answer is coming!” exclaimed the young operator excitedly and then he bent closer over the key to take it.  The three chairs straightened up, and they, too, bent toward the key.  The boy wrote rapidly, but the clicking did not go on long.  When it ceased he straightened up with his finished message in his hand.  His face was flushed and his eyes still shining.  He folded the paper and handed it to Dick.

“It’s for you, Mr. Mason,” he said.

Dick unfolded it and read aloud: 

“Colonel John D. Newcomb: 

“Congratulations on your success and fine management of your troops.  Victory worth much to us.  Read dispatch to regiment and continue westward to original destination.

A. Lincoln.”

Dick’s face glowed, and the sergeant’s teeth came together with a little click of satisfaction.

“When I saw that it was to be read to the regiment I thought it no harm to read it to the rest of you,” said Dick, as he refolded the precious dispatch and put it in his safest pocket.  “Now, sergeant, I think we ought to be off at full speed.”

“Not a minute to waste,” said Sergeant Whitley.

Their horses had been fed and were rested well.  The three bade farewell to the young operator, then to almost all of Hubbard and proceeded in a trot for the pass.  They did not speak until they were on the first slope, and then the sergeant, looking up at the heights, asked: 

“Shall we have snow again on our return, Red Blaze?  I hope not.  It’s important for us to get back to Townsville without any waste of time.”

“I hate to bring bad news,” replied Red Blaze, “but we’ll shore have more snow.  See them clouds, sailin’ up an’ always sailin’ up from the southwest, an’ see that white mist ‘roun’ the highest peaks.  That’s snow, an’ it’ll hit the pass just as it did when we was comin’ over.  But we’ve got this in favor of ourselves an’ our hosses now:  The wind is on our backs.”

They rode hard now.  Dick had received the precious message from the President, and it would be a proud moment for him when he put it in the hands of the colonel.  He did not wish that moment to be delayed.  Several times he patted the pocket in which the paper lay.