It was merely a lumping shadow sweeping swiftly past; he could perceive the dim outlines of driver and guard, the soldiers swaying in their saddles, heard the pounding of hoofs, the creak of axles, and then the apparition disappeared into the black void.
He had not called out--what was the use?
Those people would never pause to hunt down prairie outlaws, and their guard was sufficient to prevent attack.

They acknowledged but one duty--to get the mail through on time.
The dust of their passing still in the air, Keith rode on, the noise dying away in his rear.

As the hours passed, his horse wearied and had to be spurred into the swifter stride, but the man seemed tireless.

The sun was an hour high when they climbed the long hill, and loped into Carson City.

The cantonment was to the right, but Keith, having no report to make, rode directly ahead down the one long street to a livery corral, leaving his horse there, and sought the nearest restaurant.
Exhausted by a night of high play and deep drinking the border town was sleeping off its debauch, saloons and gambling dens silent, the streets almost deserted.