“There’s Injun signs about, so keep your eyes open.”  So said the station-boss of the Pony Express, addressing young Cody, who had dashed up to the cabin, his horse panting like a hound, and the rider ready for the fifteen-mile flight to the next relay.  “I’ll be on the watch, boss, you bet,” said the pony-rider, and with a yell to his fresh pony he was off like an arrow from a bow.

Down the trail ran the fleet pony like the wind, leaving the station quickly out of sight, and dashing at once into the solitude and dangers of the vast wilderness.  Mountains were upon either side, towering cliffs here and there overhung the trail, and the wind sighed through the forest of pines like the mourning of departed spirits.  Gazing ahead, the piercing eyes of the young rider saw every tree, bush, and rock, for he knew but too well that a deadly foe, lurking in ambush, might send an arrow or a bullet to his heart at any moment.  Gradually, far down the valley, his quick glance fell upon a dark object above the bowlder directly in his trail.

He saw the object move and disappear from sight down behind the rock.  Without appearing to notice it, or checking his speed in the slightest, he held steadily upon his way.  But he took in the situation at a glance, and saw that on each side of the bowlder the valley inclined.  Upon one side was a fringe of heavy timber, upon the other a precipice, at the base of which were massive rocks.

“There is an Indian behind that rock, for I saw his head,” muttered the young rider, as his horse flew on.  Did he intend to take his chances, and dash along the trail directly by his ambushed foe?  It would seem so, for he still stuck to the trail.

A moment more and he would be within range of a bullet, when, suddenly dashing his spurs into the pony’s sides, Billy Cody wheeled to the right, and in an oblique course headed for the cliff.  This proved to the foe in ambush that he was suspected, if not known, and at once there came the crack of a rifle, the puff of smoke rising above the rock where he was concealed.  At the same moment a yell went up from a score of throats, and out of the timber on the other side of the valley darted a number of Indians, and these rode to head off the rider.

        Did he turn back and seek safety in a retreat to the station? 
        No! he was made of sterner stuff, and would run the gauntlet.

Out from behind the bowlder, where they had been lying in ambush, sprang two braves in all the glory of their war-paint.  Their horses were in the timber with their comrades, and, having failed to get a close shot at the pony-rider, they sought to bring him down at long range with their rifles.  The bullets pattered under the hoofs of the flying pony, but he was unhurt, and his rider pressed him to his full speed.

With set teeth, flashing eyes, and