As regards the freighting business, the figures are beyond comprehension. The regular size of one of the freighting trains was twenty-five “prairie schooners,” each with from six to twelve yoke of oxen. The immense Conestoga or Pittsburg or Pennsylvania wagons were often six feet deep and seventeen feet long, flaring out from the bottom to the round covered top. They cost from a thousand to fifteen hundred dollars apiece; the mules, which had to be of the best, ranged from $500 to $1,000 a pair. Thus a ten-mule team was sometimes worth $7,000 per wagon, without including provisions, salaries and minor items. At one time, the single firm of Russell, Majors & Waddell had in service 6,250 of these huge wagons, and 75,000 oxen, more than were operating in all the rest of the United States.
Since our interest henceforward lies with the Pony Express, a few more preliminary words must be given to that unique enterprise. It has been said that the shortest time trip made by the Butterfield route was twenty-one days between San Francisco and New York. The Pony Express immediately cut this time in half, an achievement which ranks among the greatest of the last century.[A]
[A] In 1859, Ben Holladay had sixteen large steamers running between San Francisco and Panama, Oregon, China and Japan, operated 5,000 miles of daily stage coaches, with 500 coaches and express wagons, 500 freight wagons, 5,000 horses and mules with oxen beyond counting. His harness alone cost $55,000 and his feed bill $1,000,000 annually. The government paid him a million dollars each year in mail contracts. He was greatly crippled in 1864–66 by the Indians, who burned many of his stations and killed scores of employees. In the latter part of 1866, Holladay sold out all his interests to Wells Fargo & Co.
In order to meet the demand upon the originators of the system it was necessary to have nearly five hundred horses specially fitted for the work. Along the long, dangerous route, one hundred and ninety stations were established, and eighty sober, skilful, daring riders were hired. They had to be of light weight, since every pound counted. At certain stretches, where the danger was not great from Indians, the riders carried only their revolvers and knives, in order to save the weight of a rifle. The mail pouches, as has been stated, were not permitted to weigh more than twenty pounds. The most famous of the Pony Express riders was William F. Cody, or “Buffalo Bill.” This remarkable man was found when weighed at a certain time to tip the scales at a hundred and sixty pounds. This, according to regulations, debarred him from service as a rider, but because of his fine qualities, an exception was made in his case.
Each rider had to cover a third of a hundred miles on the average. He used three ponies in doing so, but conditions often arose in which horse and rider had greatly to exceed this amount of work.
In the month of May, 1860, a caravan of emigrants was slowly making its way through what was then the Territory of Nebraska. It was following the southern bank of the Platte River, and was still more than a hundred miles from Julesburg, just over the border in Colorado. The train was smaller than most of those which crossed the plains during those years when the lure of gold still drew men and their families from every quarter of the globe. The outfit consisted of six Conestoga wagons, each with six span of oxen, no mules, eight horses and twelve men, two-thirds of them with wives and from one to five children. In addition to the men, two youths, not quite grown, rode with them. One was Alden Payne and the other his African servant, Jethro Mix.
The head of the party, which was bound to California, was Abner Fleming—a middle-aged man, with a wife, but no children. He was an old acquaintance of Hugh Payne, the father of Alden, and willingly took the two youths under his charge while making the long journey. They were strong, willing to work, of cheerful minds, fine horsemen, and, as I have said, each knew how to use a rifle.
During the months of waiting, after the departure of Mr. Payne, wife and daughter, for the Pacific coast, our young friends had plenty of time in which to prepare for the undertaking. Of course, they saw to it that they had plenty of ammunition. Their rifles were muzzle-loaders, with percussion caps, but they used the conical bullet, and Alden had learned long before to shoot from the saddle with his horse on a run. Jethro Mix did well while standing, but he insisted that it was too “blamed bothersome” to hit anything when his horse was trotting or galloping.
The extra clothing and few necessary articles were placed in the wagon of Mr. Fleming, and, as was the custom, each vehicle carried quite a lot of provisions, though the owners counted on shooting a good deal of game on the way—an expectation that was not disappointed.