Alden the Pony Express rider

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

At the instant the Indian began fitting the shaft to the string while still running, Alden shouted at the top of his voice. It was a warning which was understood and went through the fugitive like an electric shock. He bounded several feet in air, and dropped the arrow to the ground, but he did not lessen the haste with which he was speeding in order to pick it up.

All this occupied but a few brief minutes. The disgusted Dick had carried his rider to within ten feet of the fugitive and now eased his pace. The respective speed of each was the same. The pony had done his part and refused to do more.

Alden Payne decided upon his course at the beginning of the race. He would maintain the pursuit, allowing the Indian to hold his place a little in advance until the end of the gorge was reached and the wretch had the chance to dart aside. This, however, was not the end of the most peculiar occurrence.

In his panic the redskin attempted the impossible. Fancying the pony was upon his heels, and his rider about to reach over and seize or strike him, he made a turn to the right, leaped high in air and grasped the end of a projecting ledge of stone. Then with the same fierce haste as before, he strove to draw himself over the edge to the narrow support above. He succeeded, for the task was not difficult, but there was not enough space to hide any portion of his body. He had room barely to stand, and Alden could have picked him off as readily as when he was fleeing before him. The poor wretch shrank as close as he could against the wall and cowered and glared and awaited the bullet.

And Alden Payne, instead of harming him waved his hand and shouted:

“Good-by, old fellow! Give my love to your folks.”

It was a strange piece of jocularity, but the genial hearted youth doubted whether it would be appreciated. Having gone by the warrior he left him in the best possible position to discharge one of his missiles, and according to the general rule, that is what he would have done.

Much has been said and written about the gratitude of the American Indian. That he sometimes displays that virtue cannot be denied, but among the wild tribes of the plains, or Southwest, the rule is the other way. I have referred to this elsewhere. The first person an Apache strives to kill when the chance offers is he who has given him bread and drink. He is as quick to bite the hand that has fed his hunger as a rattlesnake is to strike the foot that crushes him.

It is a pleasure therefore to tell the truth regarding the Indian (whose tribe Alden Payne never learned) that had been spared by the amateur Pony Express Rider. He might have made it bad for the youth who was riding from him, and who as a consequence could not keep an eye upon his every movement. When Alden looked back as he did several times, he saw the warrior still on his perch, and watching him, but the huge bow in his hand was not raised nor was another arrow drawn to the head, while the horseman was within reach of the primitive weapon.

This strange situation could last only a brief time. The speed of Dick rapidly carried him and his rider beyond reach of any bow and arrow ever devised. The gorge remained comparatively straight for quite a way, and the mutual view lasted longer than would have been the case either earlier or later.