She knew her horse, she knew the trail, she knew herself,--but did she know THE MAN to whom she was riding?
A cold chill crept over her, and then she shivered in a sudden blast; it was Night at last swooping down from the now invisible Sierras, and possessing all it touched.

But it was only one long descent to Hickory Hill now, and she swept down securely on its wings.

Half-past eight! The lights of the settlement were just ahead of her--but so, too, were the two lamps of the waiting stage before the post-office and hotel.
Happily the lounging crowd were gathered around the hotel, and she slipped into the post-office from the rear, unperceived.

As she stepped behind the partition, its only occupant--a good-looking young fellow with a reddish mustache--turned towards her with a flush of delighted surprise.

But it changed at the sight of the white, determined face and the brilliant eyes that had never looked once towards him, but were fixed upon a large bag, whose yawning mouth was still open and propped up beside his desk.
"Where is the through money letter that came in that bag ?" she said quickly.
"What--do--you--mean ?" he stammered, with a face that had suddenly grown whiter than her own.
"I mean that it's a DECOY, checked at Heavy Tree Crossing, and that Mr.
Home, of San Francisco, is now waiting at my office to know if you have taken it!" The laugh and lie that he had at first tried to summon to mouth and lips never reached them.