Riders And Famous Rides



Bart Riles, the pony rider, died this morning from wounds received at

Cold Springs, May 16.



The men at Dry Creek Station have all been killed and it is thought

those at Robert's Creek have met with the same fate.



Six Pike's Peakers found the body of the station keeper horribly

mutilated, the station burned, and all the stock missing from Simpson's.



Eight horses were stolen from Smith's Creek on last Monday, supposedly

by road agents.



The above are random extracts from frontier newspapers, printed while

the Pony Express was running. The Express could never have existed on

its high plane of efficiency, without an abundance of coolheaded,

hardened men; men who knew not fear and who were expert - though

sometimes in vain - in all the wonderful arts of self-preservation

practiced on the old frontier. That these employees could have performed

even the simplest of their duties, without stirring and almost

incredible adventures, it is needless to assert.



The faithful relation of even a considerable number of the thrilling

experiences to which the "Pony" men were subjected would discount

fiction. Yet few of these adventures have been recorded. Today, after a

lapse of over fifty years, nearly all of the heroes who achieved them

have gone out on that last long journey from which no man returns. While

history can pay the tribute of preserving some anecdotes of them and

their collective achievements, it must be forever silent as to many of

their personal acts of heroism.



While lasting praise is due the faithful station men who, in their

isolation, so often bore the murderous attacks of Indians and bandits,

it is, perhaps, to the riders that the seeker of romance is most likely

to turn. It was the riders' skill and fortitude that made the operation

of the line possible. Both riders and hostlers shared the same

privations, often being reduced to the necessity of eating wolf meat and

drinking foul or brackish water.



While each rider was supposed to average seventy-five miles a trip,

riding from three to seven horses, accidents were likely to occur, and

it was not uncommon for a man to lose his way. Such delays meant serious

trouble in keeping the schedule, keyed up, as it was, to the highest

possible speed. It was confronting such emergencies, and in performing

the duties of comrades who had been killed or disabled while awaiting

their turns to ride, that the most exciting episodes took place.



Among the more famous riders[23] was Jim Moore who later became a

ranchman in the South Platte Valley, Nebraska. Moore made his greatest

ride on June 8, 1860. He happened to be at Midway Station, half way

between the Missouri River and Denver, when the west-bound messenger

arrived with important Government dispatches to California. Moore "took

up the run," riding continuously one hundred and forty miles to old

Julesburg, the end of his division. Here he met the eastbound messenger,

also with important missives, from the Coast to Washington. By all the

rules of the game Moore should have rested a few hours at this point,

but his successor, who would have picked up the pouch and started

eastward, had been killed the day before. The mail must go, and the

schedule must be sustained. Without asking any favors of the man who had

just arrived from the West, Moore resumed the saddle, after a delay of

only ten minutes, without even stopping to eat, and was soon pounding

eastward on his return trip. He made it, too, in spite of lurking

Indians, hunger and fatigue, covering the round trip of two hundred and

eighty miles in fourteen hours and forty-six minutes an average speed of

over eighteen miles an hour. Furthermore, his west-bound mail had gone

through from St. Joseph to Sacramento on a record-making run of eight

days and nine hours.



William James, always called "Bill" James, was a native of Virginia. He

had crossed the plains with his parents in a wagon train when only five

years old. At eighteen, he was one of the best Pony Express riders in

the service. James's route lay between Simpson's Park and Cole Springs,

Nevada, in the Smoky Valley range of mountains. He rode only sixty miles

each way but covered his round trip of one hundred and twenty miles in

twelve hours, including all stops. He always rode California mustangs,

using five of these animals each way. His route crossed the summits of

two mountain ridges, lay through the Shoshone Indian country, and was

one of the loneliest and most dangerous divisions on the line. Yet

"Bill" never took time to think about danger, nor did he ever have any

serious trouble.



Theodore Rand rode the Pony Express during the entire period of its

organization. His run was from Box Elder to Julesburg, one hundred and

ten miles and he made the entire distance both ways by night. His

schedule, night run though it was, required a gait of ten miles an hour,

but Rand often made it at an average of twelve, thus saving time on the

through schedule for some unfortunate rider who might have trouble and

delay. Originally, Rand used only four or five horses each way, but this

number, in keeping with the revised policy of the Company, was afterward

doubled, an extra mount being furnished him every twelve or fifteen

miles.



Johnnie Frey who has already been mentioned as the first rider out of

St. Joseph, was little more than a boy when he entered the pony service.

He was a native Missourian, weighing less than one hundred and

twenty-five pounds. Though small in stature, he was every inch a man.

Frey's division ran from St. Joseph to Seneca, Kansas, eighty miles,

which he covered at an average of twelve and one half miles an hour,

including all stops. When the war started, Frey enlisted in the Union

army under General Blunt. His short but worthy career was cut short in

1863 when he fell in a hand-to-hand fight with rebel bushwhackers in

Arkansas. In this, his last fight, Frey is said to have killed five of

his assailants before being struck down.



Jim Beatley, whose real name was Foote, was another Virginian, about

twenty-five years of age. He rode on an eastern division, usually west

out of Seneca. On one occasion, he traveled from Seneca to Big Sandy,

fifty miles and back, doubling his route twice in one week. Beatley was

killed by a stage hand in a personal quarrel, the affair taking place on

a ranch in Southern Nebraska in 1862.



William Boulton was one of the older riders in the service; his age at

that time is given at about thirty-five. Boulton rode for about three

months with Beatley[24]. On one occasion, while running between Seneca

and Guittards', Boulton's horse gave out when five miles from the latter

station. Without a moment's delay, he removed his letter pouch and

hurried the mail in on foot, where a fresh horse was at once provided

and the schedule resumed.



Melville Baughn, usually known as "Mel," had a pony run between Fort

Kearney and Thirty-two-mile Creek. Once while "laying off" between

trips, a thief made off with his favorite horse. Scarcely had the

miscreant gotten away when Baughn discovered the loss. Hastily saddling

another steed, "Mel" gave pursuit, and though handicapped, because the

outlaw had the pick of the stable, Baughn's superior horsemanship, even

on an inferior mount, soon told. After a chase of several miles, he

forced the fellow so hard that he abandoned the stolen animal at a place

called Loup Fork, and sneaked away. Recovering the horse, Baughn then

returned to his station, found a mail awaiting him, and was off on his

run without further delay. With him and his fellow employes, running

down a horse thief was but a trifling incident and an annoyance merely

because of the bother and delay which it necessitated. Baughn was

afterward hanged for murder at Seneca, but his services to the Pony

Express were above reproach.



Another Eastern Division man was Jack Keetly, who also rode from St.

Joseph to Seneca, alternating at times with Frey and Baughn. Keetley's

greatest performance, and one of the most remarkable ever achieved in

the service, was riding from Rock Creek to St. Joseph; then back to his

starting point and on to Seneca, and from Seneca once more to Rock Creek

- three hundred and forty miles without rest. He traveled continuously

for thirty-one hours, his entire run being at the rate of eleven miles

an hour. During the last five miles of his journey, he fell asleep in

the saddle and in this manner concluded his long trip.



Don C. Rising, who afterwards settled in Northern Kansas, was born in

Painted Post, Steuben County, New York, in 1844, and came West when

thirteen years of age. He rode in the pony service nearly a year, from

November, 1860, until the line was abandoned the following October, most

of his service being rendered before he was seventeen. Much of his time

was spent running eastward out of Fort Kearney until the telegraph had

reached that point and made the operation of the Express between the

fort and St. Joseph no longer necessary. On two occasions, Rising is

said to have maintained a continuous speed of twenty miles an hour while

carrying important dispatches between Big Sandy and Rock Creek.



One rider who was well known as "Little Yank" was a boy scarcely out of

his teens and weighing barely one hundred pounds. He rode along the

Platte River between Cottonwood Springs and old Julesburg and frequently

made one hundred miles on a single trip.



Another man named Hogan, of whom little is known, rode northwesterly out

of Julesburg across the Platte and to Mud Springs, eighty miles.



Jimmy Clark rode between various stations east of Fort Kearney, usually

between Big Sandy and Hollenburg. Sometimes his run took him as far West

as Liberty Farm on the Little Blue River.



James W. Brink, or "Dock" Brink as he was known to his associates, was

one of the early riders, entering the employ of the Pony Express Company

in April, 1860. While "Dock" made a good record as a courier, his chief

fame was gained in a fight at Rock Creek station, in which Brink and

Wild Bill[25] "cleaned out" the McCandless gang of outlaws, killing five

of their number.



Charles Cliff had an eighty-mile pony run when only seventeen years of

age, but, like Brink, young Cliff gained his greatest reputation as a

fighter, - in his case fighting Indians. It seems that while Cliff was

once freighting with a small train of nine wagons, it was attacked by a

party of one hundred Sioux Indians and besieged for three days until a

larger train approached and drove the redskins away. During the

conflict, Cliff received three bullets in his body and twenty-seven in

his clothing, but he soon recovered from his injuries, and was afterward

none the less valuable to the Pony Express service.



J. G. Kelley, later a citizen of Denver, was a veteran pony man. He

entered the employ of the company at the outset, and helped

Superintendent Roberts to lay out the route across Nevada. Along the

Carson River, tiresome stretches of corduroy road had to be built.

Kelley relates that in constructing this highway willow trees were cut

near the stream and the trunks cut into the desired lengths before being

laid in place. The men often had to carry these timbers in their arms

for three hundred yards, while the mosquitoes swarmed so thickly upon

their faces and hands as to make their real color and identity hard to

determine.



At the Sink of the Carson[26], a great depression of the river on its

course through the desert, Kelley assisted in building a fort for

protecting the line against Indians. Here there were no rocks nor

timber, and so the structure had to be built of adobe mud. To get this

mud to a proper consistency, the men tramped it all day with their bare

feet. The soil was soaked with alkali, and as a result, according to

Kelley's story, their feet were swollen so as to resemble "hams."



They next erected a fort at Sand Springs, twenty miles from Carson Lake,

and another at Cold Springs, thirty-two miles east of Sand Springs. At

Cold Springs, Kelley was appointed assistant station-keeper under Jim

McNaughton. An outbreak of the Pah-Ute Indians was now in progress, and

as the little station was in the midst of the disturbed area, there was

plenty of excitement.



One night while Kelley was on guard his attention was attracted by the

uneasiness of the horses. Gazing carefully through the dim light, he saw

an Indian peering over the outer wall or stockade. The orders of the

post were to shoot every Indian that came within range, so Kelley blazed

away, but missed his man. In the morning, many tracks were found about

the place. This wild shot had probably frightened the prowlers away,

saving the station from attack, and certain destruction.



During this same morning, a Mexican pony rider came in, mortally

wounded, having been shot by the savages from ambush while passing

through a dense thicket in the vicinity known as Quaking Asp Bottom.

Although given tender care, the poor fellow died within a few hours

after his arrival. The mail was waiting and it must go. Kelley, who was

the lightest man in in the place - he weighed but one hundred pounds -

was now ordered by the boss to take the dead man's place, and go on with

the dispatches. This he did, finishing the run without further incident.

On his return trip he had to pass once more through the aspen thicket

where his predecessor had received his death wound. This was one of the

most dangerous points on the entire trail, for the road zigzagged

through a jungle, following a passage-way that was only large enough to

admit a horse and rider; for two miles a man could not see more than

thirty or forty feet ahead. Kelley was expecting trouble, and went

through like a whirlwind, at the same time holding a repeating rifle in

readiness should trouble occur. On having cleared the thicket, he drew

rein on the top of a hill, and, looking back over his course, saw the

bushes moving in a suspicious manner. Knowing there was no live stock in

that locality and that wild game rarely abounded there, he sent several

shots in the direction of the moving underbrush. The motion soon ceased,

and he galloped onward, unharmed.



A few days later, two United States soldiers, while traveling to join

their command, were ambushed and murdered in the same thicket.



This was about the time when Major Ormsby's command was massacred by the

Utes in the disaster at Pyramid Lake[27], and the Indians everywhere in

Nevada were unusually aggressive and dangerous. There were seldom more

than three or four men in the little station and it is remarkable that

Kelley and his companions were not all killed.



One of Kelley's worst rides, in addition to the episode just related,

was the stretch between Cold Springs and Sand Springs for thirty-seven

miles without a drop of water along the way.



Once, while dashing past a wagon train of immigrants, a whole fusillade

of bullets was fired at Kelley who narrowly escaped with his life. Of

course he could not stop the mail to see why he had been shot at, but on

his return trip he met the same crowd, and in unprintable language told

them what he thought of their lawless and irresponsible conduct. The

only satisfaction he could get from them in reply was the repeated

assertion, "We thought you was an Indian!"[28] Nor was Kelley the only

pony rider who took narrow chances from the guns of excited immigrants.

Traveling rapidly and unencumbered, the rider, sunburned and blackened

by exposure, must have borne on first glance no little resemblance to an

Indian; and especially would the mistake be natural to excited wagon-men

who were always in fear of dashing attacks from mounted Indians -

attacks in which a single rider would often be deployed to ride past the

white men at utmost speed in order to draw their fire. Then when their

guns were empty a hidden band of savages would make a furious onslaught.

It was the established rule of the West in those days, in case of

suspected danger, to shoot first, and make explanations afterward; to do

to the other fellow as he would do to you, and do it first!



Added to the perils of the wilderness deserts, blizzards, and wild

Indians - the pony riders, then, had at times to beware of their white

friends under such circumstances as have been narrated. And that added

to the tragical romance of their daily lives. Yet they courted danger

and were seldom disappointed, for danger was always near them.







[23] Root and Connelley.



[24] Pony riders often alternated "runs" with each other over their

respective divisions in the same manner as do railroad train crews at

the present time.



[25] "Wild Bill" Hickock was one of the most noted gun fighters that the

West ever produced. As marshal of Abilene, Kansas, and other wild

frontier towns he became a terror to bad men and compelled them to

respect law and order when under his jurisdiction. Probably no man has

ever equaled him in the use of the six shooter. Numerous magazine

articles describing his career can be found.



[26] Inman & Cody, Salt Lake Trail.



[27] Bancroft.



[28] Indians would sometimes gaze in open-mouthed wonder at the

on-rushing ponies. To some of them, the "pony outfit" was "bad medicine"

and not to be molested. There was a certain air of mystery about the

wonderful system and untiring energy with which the riders followed

their course. Unfortunately, a majority of the red men were not always

content to watch the Express in simple wonder. They were too frequently

bent upon committing deviltry to refrain from doing harm whenever they

had a chance.







Chapter VII







Anecdotes of the Trail and Honor Roll







No detailed account of the Pony Express would be complete without

mentioning the adventures of Robert Haslam, in those days called "Pony

Bob," and William F. Cody, who is known to fame and posterity as

"Buffalo Bill."



Haslam's banner performance came about in a matter-of-fact way, as is

generally the case with deeds of heroism. On a certain trip during the

Ute raids mentioned in the last chapter, he stopped at Reed's Station on

the Carson River in Nevada, and found no change of horses, since all the

animals had been appropriated by the white men of the vicinity for a

campaign against the Indians. Haslam therefore fed the horse he was

riding, and after a short rest started for Bucklands[29], the next

station which was fifteen miles down the river. He had already ridden

seventy-five miles and was due to lay off at the latter place. But on

arriving, his successor, a man named Johnson Richardson, was unable or

indisposed to go on with the mail[30]. It happened that Division

Superintendent W. C. Marley was at Bucklands when Haslam arrived, and,

since Richardson would not go on duty, Marley offered "Pony Bob" fifty

dollars bonus if he would take up the route. Haslam promptly accepted

the proposal, and within ten minutes was off, armed with a revolver and

carbine, on his new journey. He at first had a lonesome ride of

thirty-five miles to the Sink of the Carson. Reaching the place without

mishap, he changed mounts and hurried on for thirty-seven miles over the

alkali wastes and through the sand until he came to Cold Springs. Here

he again changed horses and once more dashed on, this time for thirty

miles without stopping, till Smith's Creek was reached where he was

relieved by J. G. Kelley. "Bob" had thus ridden one hundred and

eighty-five miles without stopping except to change mounts. At Smith's

Creek he slept nine hours and then started back with the return mail. On

reaching Cold Springs once more, he found himself in the midst of

tragedy. The Indians had been there. The horses had been stolen. All was

in ruins. Nearby lay the corpse of the faithful station-keeper. Small

cheer for a tired horse and rider! Haslam watered his steed and pounded

ahead without rest or refreshment. Before he had covered half the

distance to the next station, darkness was falling. The journey was

enshrouded with danger. On every side were huge clumps of sage-bush

which would offer excellent chances for savages to lie in ambush. The

howling of wolves added to the dolefulness of the trip. And haunting him

continuously was the thought of the ruined little station and the

stiffened corpse behind him. But pony riders were men of courage and

nerve, and Bob was no exception. He arrived at Sand Springs safely; but

here there was to be no rest nor delay. After reporting the outrage he

had just seen, he advised the station man of his danger, and, after

changing horses, induced the latter to accompany him on to the Sink of

the Carson, which move doubtless saved the latter's life. Reaching the

Carson, they found a badly frightened lot of men who had been attacked

by the Indians only a few hours previously. A party of fifteen with

plenty of arms and ammunition had gathered in the adobe station, which

was large enough also to accommodate as, many horses. Nearby was a cool

spring of water, and, thus fortified, they were to remain, in a state of

siege, if necessary, until the marauders withdrew from that vicinity. Of

course they implored Haslam to remain with them and not risk his life

venturing away with the mail. But the mail must go; and the schedule,

hard as it was, must be maintained. "Bob" had no conception of fear, and

so he galloped away, after an hour's rest. And back into Bucklands he

came unharmed, after having suffered only three and a half hours of

delay. Superintendent Marley, who was still present when the daring

rider returned, at once raised his bonus from fifty to one hundred

dollars.



Nor was this all of Haslam's great achievement. The west-bound mail

would soon arrive, and there was nobody to take his regular run. So

after resting an hour and a half, he resumed the saddle and hurried back

along his old trail, over the Sierras to Friday's Station. Then "Bob"

rested after having ridden three hundred and eighty miles with scarcely

eleven hours of lay-off, and within a very few hours of regular schedule

time all the way. In speaking of this performance afterwards, Haslam[31]

modestly admitted that he was "rather tired," but that "the excitement

of the trip had braced him up to stand the journey."



The most widely known of all the pony riders is William F. Cody -

usually called "Bill," who in early life resided in Kansas and was

raised amid the exciting scenes of frontier life. Cody had an unusually

dangerous route between Red Buttes and Three Crossings. The latter place

was on the Sweetwater River, and derived its name from the fact that the

stream which followed the bed of a rocky cañon, had to be crossed three

times within a space of sixty yards. The water coming down from the

mountains, was always icy cold and the current swift, deep, and

treacherous. The whole bottom of the cañon was often submerged, and in

attempting to follow its course along the channel of the stream, both

horse and rider were liable to plunge at any time into some abysmal

whirlpool. Besides the excitement which the Three Crossings and an

Indian country furnished, Cody's trail ran through a region that was

often frequented by desperadoes. Furthermore, he had to ford the North

Platte at a point where the stream was half a mile in width and in

places twelve feet deep. Though the current was at times slow, dangers

from quicksand were always to be feared on these prairie rivers. Cody,

then but a youth, had to surmount these obstacles and cover his trip at

an average of fifteen miles an hour.



Cody entered the Pony Express service just after the line had been

organized. At Julesburg he met George Chrisman, an old friend who was

head wagon-master for Russell, Majors, and Waddell's freighting

department. Chrisman was at the time acting as an agent for the express

line, and, out of deference to the youth, he hired him temporarily to

ride the division then held by a pony man named Trotter. It was a short

route, one of the shortest on the system, aggregating only forty-five

miles, and with three relays of horses each way. Cody, who had been

accustomed to the saddle all his young life, had no trouble in following

the schedule, but after keeping the run several weeks, the lad was

relieved by the regular incumbent, and then went east, to Leavenworth,

where he fell in with another old friend, Lewis Simpson, then acting as

wagon boss and fitting up at Atchison a wagon train of supplies for the

old stage line at Fort Laramie and points beyond. Acting through

Simpson, Cody obtained a letter of recommendation from Mr. Russell, the

head of the firm, addressed to Jack Slade, Superintendent of the

division between Julesburg and Rocky Ridge, with headquarters at

Horseshoe Station, thirty-six miles west of Fort Laramie, in what is now

Wyoming. Armed with this letter, young Cody accompanied Simpson's

wagon-train to Laramie, and soon found Superintendent Slade. The

superintendent, observing the lad's tender years and frail stature, was

skeptical of his ability to serve as a pony rider; but on learning that

Cody was the boy who had already given satisfactory service as a

substitute some months before, at once engaged him and assigned him to

the perilous run of seventy-six miles between Red Buttes and Three

Crossings. For some weeks all went well. Then, one day when he reached

his terminal at Three Crossings, Cody found that his successor who was

to have taken the mail out, had been killed the night before. As there

was no extra rider available, it fell to young Cody to fill the dead

courier's place until a successor could be procured. The lad was

undaunted and anxious for the added responsibility. Within a moment he

was off on a fresh horse for Rocky Ridge, eighty-five miles away.

Notwithstanding the dangers and great fatigue of the trip, Cody rode

safely from Three Crossings to his terminal and returned with the

eastbound mail, going back over his own division and into Red Buttes

without delay or mishap - an aggregate run of three hundred and

twenty-two miles. This was probably the longest continuous performance

without formal rest period in the history of this or any other courier

service.



Not long afterward, Cody was chased by a band of Sioux Indians while

making one of his regular trips. The savages were armed with revolvers,

and for a few minutes made it lively for the young messenger. But the

superior speed and endurance of his steed soon told; lying flat on the

animal's neck, he quickly distanced his assailants and thundered into

Sweetwater, the next station, ahead of schedule. Here he found - as so

often happened in the history of the express service - that the place

had been raided, the keeper slain, and the horses driven off. There was

nothing to do but drive his tired pony twelve miles further to Ploutz

Station, where he got a fresh horse, briefly reported what he had

observed, and completed his run without mishap.



On another occasion[32] it became mysteriously rumored that a certain

Pony Express pouch would carry a large sum of currency. Knowing that

there was great likelihood of some bandits or "road agents" as they were

commonly called getting wind of the consignment and attempting a holdup,

Cody hit upon a little emergency ruse. He provided himself with an extra

mochila which he stuffed with waste papers and placed over the saddle in

the regular position. The pouch containing the currency was hidden

under a special saddle blanket. With his customary revolver loaded and

ready, Cody then started. His suspicions were soon confirmed, for on

reaching a particularly secluded spot, two highwaymen stepped from

concealment, and with leveled rifles compelled the boy to stop, at the

same time demanding the letter pouch. Holding up his hands as ordered,

Cody began to remonstrate with the thugs for robbing the express, at the

same time declaring to them that they would hang for their meanness if

they carried out their plans. In reply to this they told Cody that they

would take their own chances. They knew what he carried and they wanted

it. They had no particular desire to harm him, but unless he handed over

the pouch without delay they would shoot him full of holes, and take it

anyhow. Knowing that to resist meant certain death Cody began slowly to

unfasten the dummy pouch, still protesting with much indignation.

Finally, after having loosed it, he raised the pouch and hurled it at

the head off the nearest outlaw, who dodged, half amused at the young

fellow's spirit. Both men were thus taken slightly off their guard, and

that instant the rider acted like a flash. Whipping out his revolver, he

disabled the farther villain; and before the other, who had stooped to

recover the supposed mail sack, could straighten up or use a weapon,

Cody dug the spurs into his horse, knocked him down, rode over him and

was gone. Before the half-stunned robber could recover himself to shoot,

horse and rider were out of range and running like mad for the next

station, where they arrived ahead of schedule.



The following is a partial list, so far as is known[33], of the men who

rode the Pony Express and contributed to the lasting fame of the

enterprise:



Baughn, Melville

Beatley, Jim

"Boston"

Boulton, William

Brink, James W.

Burnett, John

Bucklin, Jimmy

Carr, William

Carrigan, William

Cates, Bill

Clark, Jimmy

Cliff, Charles

Cody, William F.

Egan, Major

Ellis, J. K.

Faust, H. J.

Fisher, John

Frey, Johnnie

Gentry, Jim

Gilson, Jim

Hamilton, Sam

Haslam, Robert

Hogan (first name missing)

Huntington, Let

"Irish Tom"

James, William

Jenkins, Will D.

Kelley, Jay G.

Keetley, Jack

"Little Yank"

Martin, Bob

McCall, J. G.

McDonald, James

McNaughton, Jim

Moore, Jim

Perkins, Josh

Rand, Theodore

Richardson, Johnson

Riles, Bart

Rising, Don C.

Roff, Harry

Spurr, George

Thacher, George

Towne, George

Wallace, Henry

Westcott, Dan

Zowgaltz, Jose.



Many of these men were rough and unlettered. Many died deaths of

violence. The bones of many lie in unknown graves. Some doubtless lie

unburied somewhere in the great West, in the winning of which their

lives were lost. Yet be it always remembered, that in the history of the

American nation they played an important part. They were bold-hearted

citizen knights to whom is due the honors of uncrowned kings.







[29] Afterwards named Fort Churchill. This ride took place in the summer

of 1860.



[30] Some reports say that Richardson was stricken with fear. That he

was probably suffering from overwrought nerves, resulting from excessive

risks which his run had involved, is a more correct inference. This is

the only case on record of a pony messenger failing to respond to duty,

unless killed or disabled.



[31] After the California Pony Express was abandoned, Bob rode for Wells

Fargo & Co., between Friday's Station and Virginia City, Nevada, a

distance of one hundred miles. He seems to have enjoyed horseback

riding, for he made this roundtrip journey in twenty-four hours. When

the Central Pacific R. R. was built, and this pony line abandoned,

Haslam rode for six months a twenty-three mile division between Virginia

City and Reno, traveling the distance in less than one hour. To

accomplish this feat, he used a relay of fifteen horses. He was

afterwards transfered to Idaho where he continued in a similar capacity

on a one hundred mile run before quitting the service for a less

exciting vocation.



[32] Inman & Cody, Salt Lake Trail.



[33] Root and Connelley's Overland Stage to California.





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