Alden the Pony Express rider

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

“What’s the use of placing a rider on your back, Dick?” asked the delighted Alden. “Better to give you the mail pouch and tell you to deliver it at the next station. But then mighty few ponies know as much as you.”

How far this path led remained to be seen. But it had not been followed far when Alden met an experience that was as unique as unexpected. The appearance of the gorge suggested that a torrent of water poured through it, when the snows melted or the floods descended. Its width varied from fifty feet to two or three times that extent, and the irregular walls rose on each side almost as many feet. If the course lasted, it could not be more favorable.

The bottom of this peculiar ravine was broken at intervals by stones, and then only pebbles showed. It would have been easy for Dick to dash through on the gallop which seemed to be his natural gait, for it was comparatively level, but he chose of his own accord to walk. He was traveling round instead of crossing lots, as he had been accustomed to do, and the incident promised to prove another illustration of the proverb.

And then came the surprise. Dick had turned one of the many corners, his head dipping with each vigorous step, when he flung up his nose and snorted. The alert Alden in the same instant saw an Indian warrior coming toward him.

The redskin was a duplicate of the one who had launched an arrow at the youth several miles back. He had the same squat, sturdy figure, the coarse black hair dangling about his bare shoulders, and growing low upon his forehead, the naked chest, the frowsy hunting shirt of deerskin, with leggings and dilapidated moccasins. He carried a knife in the girdle about his waist, and his right hand grasped a heavy bow as long as himself. Behind his left shoulder the feathered tips of a number of arrows showed where he carried his quiver.

Neither the countenance nor chest displayed any of the paint of which the American Indians are fond. It may be doubted whether the vari-colored daubs would have added to the hideousness of that face, which was broad with protuberant cheek bones, an immense mouth, low forehead and piercing black eyes.

Never was a meeting between two persons more unexpected by both. The Indian emitted a startled “hooh!” and stopped short, as if transfixed. As late as the days to which I am referring hundreds of the western red men used the bow and arrow instead of the rifle. This was generally due to the difficulty of obtaining the modern weapon, but in many instances it was choice on their part. It may be questioned whether in the majority of cases, one was not as effective as the other.

The particular red man in whom we are now interested had a formidable bow at command, and no doubt was an expert in its use, but before discharging an arrow, he must snatch it from behind his shoulder, fit it to the string and aim. Ere he could do all this the white youth could bore him through a dozen times had he possessed that number of guns. He had one which in the circumstances was as good as the larger number.

Dick at sight of the redskin had also stopped. Thus he and the savage faced each other as if the two were carved in stone. Alden was quickwitted enough to bring his rifle to his shoulder and aim between the ears of his pony. There was no mistake about it: he had “the drop” on the other fellow.

And that other fellow knew it. He had been trained never to give or ask quarter, and he did not ask for it now. Instead, he whirled about and dashed off in a wild headlong flight. There was something grotesquely comical in his performance, for instead of running in a straight line, he leaped from side to side, stooped, dodged, and then straightened up for a few seconds, during which his speed was amazing. He did not utter a sound, but no miserable wretch ever strove more desperately to escape the doom which he expected with every breath he drew.