Alden the Pony Express rider

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

He was convinced that Dick was again going at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour. He would not have been surprised had the speed been even greater. That, however, was hardly possible. Again the still air rose to a gale and the velvety thumping of the delicate hoops was bewildering in its swiftness. He sat firmly in the saddle, leaning slightly forward and now and then jerking down his hat which was in danger of being whisked off by the wind.

“What’s the use, Dick?” asked Alden. “Why not take things easier? But to do that would be to rob you of your enjoyment. Helloa! there’s something new!”

He was coursing over the undulating ground, when his gaze rested on a building half a mile away and in the line of Dick’s run. It was a low, flat structure of logs, such as is often seen on the frontier. At the rear was a covered inclosure and from the rough, stone chimney, built at one end on the outside of the main building, rose a spiral of smoke—proof that the cabin had occupants.

“It’s the station!” exclaimed the rider the next moment. He observed three men standing in front, with a saddled horse near them. Evidently they were watching his approach.

It was the rule among Pony Express Riders that upon arriving within a half mile of a station, they should proclaim the fact by giving the “coyote yell.” This was notice to their friends to have a fresh horse ready, for it must be borne in mind that the minutes were precious. As the panting animal dashed up, his rider sprang from the saddle before he had fairly halted and ready hands helped secure it to the back of the waiting horse. The messenger leaped like an acrobat into place, caught up the reins, touched with his spurs the flanks of the animal, which instantly responded with a bound, and was off on a headlong run.

Often the rider snatched up the lunch that was waiting him, and ate while his horse was going at top speed. He shouted back to his cheering friends, with whom he had exchanged a few hurried words and the next minute was beyond hearing.

Such was the rule while the rider was making his run. Generally the stations were twelve or fifteen miles apart, and the ride of a one man was thirty or forty miles. This compelled two changes such as described, after starting on his furious race. At the end of his “stunt,” the new man, freshly mounted was awaiting him. The pause after the arrival of the courier was just long enough for the saddle and mail pouches to be transferred, when the relief sped away for the next station, and if all went well, completed his task in schedule time.

The stations as has been stated were scattered over a line nearly two thousand miles long, through the wildest and most dangerous section of our continent. This distance had to be covered in eight days, which was an average of two hundred and fifty miles a day, the like of which had never been known before and probably will never be known again. We recall that the number of these stations between Sacramento and St. Joseph, Missouri, was a hundred and ninety. No regular intervals, however, could be established, for a great deal depended upon the physical nature of the country. From what has been already said, it will be understood that a horseman often had to do double duty because of some accident to his partner. Thus more than one Express Rider covered two and in a few instances three hundred miles never leaving the saddle except for a minute or two when changing horses. While the system was wonderful in its completeness, many breaks were inevitable.

The three men who were standing in front of the squat cabin were Tom Harper, Tim Jenkins, and Gideon Altman. A brother of the last named was absent hunting game for the larder of the establishment. The first named—Harper—was wiry and slight of frame, while the other two were of ordinary stature. Harper was a rider, but the weight of his comrades shut them out, except in case of necessity.

Dick Lightfoot who had reached his “last station” a dozen miles to the eastward, was due at the present place in time to meet his brother, whom Alden encountered at the time of his flurry with the bear. The men at the station knew that some accident must have befallen Dick and were therefore on the watch, when they descried a stranger coming toward them on the pony which they recognized as belonging to the missing rider.