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that would get, me over here in time to catch the train. Look at this postal. That is my reason for haste.'
"As the officer read the card his face lighted up. 'That's all right, youngster. Sorry I stopped you. I don't wonder Joe lent you the horse. I hope you won't miss the train.'
"Waring rode forward, the town before him a half mile distant. The train was at the station. The black smoke began to come in heavy puffs from the engine. A quarter of a mile yet to go. The line of cars moved slowly from the station. Then Star showed the spirit that was in him. He bounded forward and swept down on the town like a whirlwind. Thirty feet— twenty feet —ten feet— he was abreast of the platform. Swerving the flying horse close to the track, Waring leaned over and grasped the railing with both hands, lifted himself from the saddle and swung over to the steps of the car. After congratulations of the passengers, Waring dropped into a seat and was soon lost in thought. Suddenly he remembered he had left his money in the bundle attached to Star's saddle. There was nothing to do but throw himself on the mercy of the conductor. He whispered in his ear and showed him the postal, and the conductor's expression softened. 'I reckon I'll have to fix it for you by paying your fare myself and you can send me the money.'
The car wheels were still turning when Waring strode through the station at Denver. Jumping into a carriage he was driven to the nearest drug store where he consulted the directory. `Number 900 S. 17th Street,' he cried. Arriving there, he sprang up the steps. The butler ushered him into Mr. Foster's presence. 'Mr. Foster, you are the president of the Denver National Bank which handles the Western interests of the Second National Bank of Boston. I have an account at the Second and want you to cash a check for me. It is after banking hours I know, and even if it were not, I have