03
The Mail Must Go Through
The same bravery and faithfulness that made Gunnar Kasson, Leonard Seppala, and their dogs carry the serum to Nome were in the hearts of the men and horses of the Pony Express long years ago. In spite of Indians and blizzards and dangerous mountain trails, the Express riders carried the mails two thousand miles from the Missouri River to California. William Saunders was only a boy, but he did a man's work when duty called him to carry the mail.
THE FIRST PONY EXPRESS RIDER
In a log house at St. Joseph, Missouri, on April 3, 1860, half a dozen men were gathered around a rough pine table. At the head of the table stood William Majors, manager for the firm of Russell, Majors and Waddell. This company operated
a line of stagecoaches and wagon trains which carried passengers and freight across the western plains and the Rocky Mountains to California, two thousand miles away.
The railroad from the eastern part of the United States ended at St. Joseph; travelers desiring to reach the gold fields and fertilelands of the Far West faced a weary trail of many weeks over plains and mountains. Every foot of the way was full of danger, mostly from the Indians. It was Russell, Majors and Waddell who made that trail as safe as it could possibly be made, who kept in touch with weather conditions and the temper of the redskins, and whose men guided the coaches and wagon trains across the wilderness.
On this day Russell, Majors and Waddell were sending out the first riders of the famous Pony Express. Up to that time the mails between the east and west coasts of our country were months on the way. It had become important that the time should be made shorter. Russell, Majors and Waddell had agreed to carry the mails west from St. Joseph.
Hundreds of fleet horses were purchased and distributed in strong corrals placed every ten or fifteen miles along the trail to California, each corral in charge of two or three men. From among the most skillful plainsmen, scouts, and Indian fighters riders had been chosen for these animals. Each man was given a stretch of the road about sixty miles long.
Receiving the mail pouch, containing no more than ten pounds of letters, each rider was expected to gallop away to the next relay station and then turn it over to the next rider. At each corral he passed, the rider leaped from his horse, pouch in hand, sprang upon the back of another horse already saddled and in waiting, and was off as hard as he could go. There was no time for more than "Hello" and "Good-bye," or perhaps a brief warning that the Indians were coming; the regular schedule of nine days between St. Joseph and the western coast had to be kept. Night and day, rain or shine, the mails must go through as nearly on time as possible.
The half-dozen men who had gathered with Majors in his office on this day were there to find out which of them should have the honor of carrying the first pouch of mail on the first relay to the West.
Majors set his hat upon the table upside down.
"Boys, " he said solemnly, "it is a great thing we are undertaking this day. Our government has entrusted to us the safe carrying and delivery of its mails. I have only this to say to you: Come what may, the mail must go through.In my hat I am placing a slip of paper for each of you. Upon one of the slips I have marked a cross in pencil. He who draws the cross shall carry the first pouch. Draw!"
Eagerly they crowded around him and drew.
"I've got it," yelled Johnny Frye joyfully. One after another, his fellows stepped up to shake his hand and wish him luck, in spite of their own disappointment.
"Now for the horse that shall bear you," said Majors. "You shall have your pick from the corral. William!"
Out from the corner where he had been an interested listener, William Saunders, a sturdy boy of sixteen, approached his employer. His blue eyes glowed with excitement. Through his veins the blood was racing madly with the thrill of knowing that he had a part, small as it was, in this great day. He held his head high; he had been employed by Russell, Majors and Waddell to take charge of the horses kept ready for the riders of the Pony Express between St. Joseph and the first relay station on the long trail westward.
"William," Majors ordered, "take Johnny Frye to the corral and let him look over the ponies. You will see that the one he chooses is properly groomed, saddled, and bridled, and is on hand at the railroad station when the train from the East arrives."
Proudly the boy conducted the honored rider out of the log house to the corral. Frye looked over the ponies with a shrewdeye.
"Good horses, those," he voiced his opinion. "Any one of them suits me, but I'd like to have the best."
"Then," said William Saunders quickly, "you will take that bay pony over there in the corner. I've ridden them all, and he's my favorite. I should like to see you pick him. Please, Mr. Frye. I know horses, and there isn't a better pony in the settlement."
Frye nodded solemnly. "The bay it is, lad," he agreed."I'll rope him, and we'll slick him down between us; see that he is fed and watered, and you shall ride him to the station for me."
Long before the train from the East, drawn by a queer, wood-burning locomotive, was due, every man, woman, and child in the settlement had gathered to see Johnny Frye start off on his first trip. There were several speeches, everybody shook Frye's hand a last time, and they settled down to await the train.
At a spot where the baggage and mail car usually came to a stop, William Saunders stood holding the bay pony. On the ground near by lay Frye's saddle. The rider himself, in a new flannel shirt, buckskin trousers, high boots, and wide-brimmed hat, caressed the pony's nose, making friends with the animal.
Far down the shining twin rails of steel sounded the piercing whistle of the locomotive. Frye seized his saddle, clapped it upon the pony's back, tightened it with quick, skillful motions, saw that the bridle was in place, his rifle in its holster and pistols in his belt, and sprang into the saddle just as the train came in. From the train the mail pouch for California was tossed out. Willing hands caught it in mid-air and handed it to Frye.
"I bid you Godspeed in this your first journey, and now I say'Go'!" yelled the mayor of St. Joseph, and he brought the broad palm of his hand down smartly upon the bay pony's flank. As if he had been shot from a gun, the animal sprang away and galloped toward the big ferryboat that waited at the bank of the Missouri River to carry man and pony across.
WILLIAM'S SERVICE TO THE PONY EXPRESS
For a moment William Saunders stared after them, his blood tingling with the thrill of the occasion. Then, with two-scoreother youngsters at his heels, he raced for the top of a big bluff at the edge of the river in order to keep the horse and rider in sight as long as possible after they had reached the sandy stretch on the other side of the river.
From the top of that bluff in the days that followed the boy kept frequent watch with his spyglass. And it was he who sighted the rider bringing the first pouch of mail from the West; he ran through the streets shouting the news aloud so that when the ferry touched the near bank, the Pony Express rider found himself surrounded by a throng of excited settlers.
To the boy, "The mail must go through" had become a slogan which guided his daily life. His part, though small, was as important to him as if upon his shoulders alone rested the responsibility for seeing that the mail did go through. His job was to see that the Express ponies were kept in condition for their difficult work, and he watched and tended them with a care and faithfulness that became a sort of joke in the settlement. "The mail must go through!" William would exclaim stoutly. "How is it going to do that, tell me, if I don't see that the ponies are always fit?"
The exact hour of the arrival of the mail from the West was always doubtful. Any one of a hundred things might hinder its progress from the coast. But from the earliest possible moment when it might arrive, William was on the watch for it. Night or day, it made no difference, he was on hand to greet the rider, to awaken the clerk if need be, or to poke his head through the door of Mr. Majors's office and sing out. "The mail has come through, sir."
Then he took the pony in charge, cooled him down, blanketed him if the weather was severe, fed and watered him, and examined him for any wound or injury that needed attention. The riders, depending for their very lives upon those ponies, repaid him with the stories of their adventures. They passed on to him what they knew of the plains and Indians and woodcraft until the boy became wise in the ways of the plains country.
CARRYI NG SUPPLIES TO A RELAY STATION
In time, William went to his employer with the thing closest to his heart.
"I want to be a Pony Express rider, sir," he said.
Mr. Majors did not laugh, as William had half feared he would. Instead, he patted the boy on the shoulder.
"You're a bit young yet, lad," he said kindly.
"You gave a job as rider to Willy Cody" (the famous Buffalo Bill), pointed out the boy. "He's only a year older than I am."
"True, but he had been across the plains, had fought Indians, and was more experienced in every way," was the reply. "Still, you've been a good boy, attended to your duties faithfully, helped to make the Pony Express successful. I want to help you along, and merely raising your wages won't do that. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll put you in charge of one of the wagons that carries supplies to the relay stations. That will give you trail experience, and it'll give you fighting experience, too. The redskins have been active lately, and scarcely a wagon train has come through without a brush with them. Will that do for the present? In a year or so, if you make good, I'll give you a riding job."
With that William was forced to be content. Once he made the long journey by wagon train to California and back again, with hardly a rest between. There were meetings with hostileIndians, both coming and going, and the boy proved a cool, clear-headed fighter. But still he was denied his dearest wish.
"Make one more trip with supplies, and we shall see," he was told; and cheerfully he set about doing it.
Already there was a hint of winter in the air. The stream of pioneers, westbound, had stopped until spring again made the hardships of life in a prairie schooner more bearable for women and children. Only the Pony Express riders now rode out of St. Joseph with their faces turned toward the golden coast of California.
Winter and summer, the mails must go through, and in their lonely posts at remount and relay stations the men who looked after the ponies must be fed. Already those on the far side of the mountains had received their supplies from a wagon train which had gone out several weeks before. Now it was necessary only to supply the posts closer to St. Joseph. A swiftly moving train of twenty wagons, drawn by mules and in charge of experienced fighting men, left the settlement; and with it rode William Saunders. His duty was to check the supplies as they were dealt out, to keep the records for Russell, Majors and Waddell.
Three days out of St. Joseph and a hundred miles to the west, a lone rider overtook the wagons and passed them at a gallop with a wave of the hand by way of greeting. It was the Pony Express rider carrying the mail from the East on the second relay west. Five miles ahead lay a remount corral; ten miles beyond it was the relay station where the pouch would be turned over to the man who would ride the third stretch.
"There's snow acoming," said Big Jim Bartigan, leader of the wagon train, sniffing the air. "We'll try to make the relay station before night."
When they arrived, the wagons were parked in a circle for the best protection, the mules and saddle animals were put in the corral, sentinels were selected, and the others set about getting supper. Half an hour later one of the sentinels cried out that a horse and rider were coming down the trail. The man slumped heavily forward upon the neck of the beast, clutching at the pommel of his saddle. The animal shuffled slowly along staggering from side to side, and as he came up to the wagons, stumbled, fell, and did not rise again. Wearily the rider dragged himself from beneath the animal, picked up his saddlebags, staggered into the ring of wagons, and sank beside a fire.
"The Indians got me," he said. It was the rider who earlier in the afternoon had passed them. He had spied the Indians first, and had ridden around them without being seen. A few miles out he had met the Express rider from the West. They had exchanged pouches, and he had turned back.
"I figured on getting a fresh horse from you," he said to Bartigan. "Then I ran into the redskins again, and they would have caught me if I'd had any further to go. My pony was done for, and I was wounded. Give me some coffee and a bite to eat. Then give me a horse and—"
His words died away to a murmur; he dropped back.
"The man is in bad shape," said Bartigan, rising from a hasty examination of his wound, "and he'll not be able to ride on. We'll do the best we can by him, and take him with us when we go in the morning."
William Saunders thrust himself forward.
"But the pouch, Mr. Bartigan," he cried. "The mail for the East. That ought to be on the way now."
The big plainsman shrugged his shoulders. "I can't spare any of the riders or any of the scouts to turn back with the pouch."
"The mail must go through," declared the boy.
"We'll take the pouch with us and turn it over if we meet an Express rider," replied Bartigan. "If not, we'll leave it at the next relay station."
He turned his back upon the boy and went about his duties. For a moment William stood thinking, his eyes upon the saddlebags that held the mail pouch, where they lay upon the ground beside the fire. Then he bent over, picked them up, slipped out of the circle of wagons, and made his way to the corral near by. William's horse was tethered near the gate.
"What are you up to, son?" asked the sentinel as the boy led out his pony and began to saddle it.
"Tell Mr. Bartigan someone else will have to check the supplies, for I have gone to take the mail through," was the reply, and William rode off into the darkness.
THE MAIL GOES THROUGH
A few scattered flakes of snow began to fall as his pony galloped easily along the trail by which they had come that day. William did not want to push the animal. He could get no fresh horse closer than twenty miles or more; he must save his pony as much as possible at first.
Within the boy's breast there was a fierce pride and joy. He was riding a Pony Express relay, and the mail was going through. The wind was rising now, and the snow was falling faster and faster. Suddenly out of the storm and darkness loomed up the corral of the remount station which earlier in the day had been surprised by the Indians. It was deserted. William turned his pony into the trail again. As if the little animal had gone weary at being denied the rest and food which his day's hard work had earned him, he began to slow down. From a gallop his gait dropped to a trot, then to a fast shuffle, and by and by into a walk, until finally he was merely plodding along.
The cold had begun to chill the boy. He felt sleepiness stealing over him. He stopped the pony, got stiffly down from the saddle, and started the blood to circulate freely again by thrashinghis body with his arms. Then, leading the pony, he began to walk. Warmed again, he remounted and kept his heels beating a tattoo against the pony's ribs. When he grew numb again, he dismounted and once more walked.
All at once before his eyes appeared other tracks in the fresh snow. He bent over to examine them, puzzled that the wind had not filled them up almost as soon as made. Then the truth burst upon him. They were his own tracks and those of his pony. Leading the way, he had been walking in a short circle!
Panic clutched at him as he climbed back into the saddle. Unless the pony's sense of direction came to their rescue, they were lost. He loosened the reins, and the pony whirled around and plodded off in another direction. Two hours later the patient animal began to show signs of renewed life; his head came up, his ears went forward, and he began to whinny. From somewhere ahead came an answering whinny, a fence loomed up out of the darkness and, following it around, they came to the cabin of the remount station.
Fifteen minutes later, warmed by the hot coffee he had found ready and with a fresh horse under him, William was off for the relay station a dozen miles away. Before his eyes rose visions of hot food, a roaring fire in a big stove, and a warm bunk when he should have turned over the mail to the rider of the final relay into St. Joseph, fifty-odd miles away.
"Bless me," yelled the man at the relay station. "It's William Saunders. Where did you drop from, boy? Thought you were headed west with the supply train."
Briefly, William explained, as he took off his coat and gloves, and warmed himself at the fire.
"Where's the other rider?" the boy demanded. "He ought to be starting now with the pouch."
The man's face grew grave.
"He got in about an hour ago, all worn out from facing the storm," he said. "He's in a bunk in the other room dead to the world."
"Wake him," ordered William. "The mail must go through."
But the Express rider could not be aroused. He made a brave effort to get up, fell back, and was sound asleep again instantly. Wearily William began to pull on his outer clothing again.
"Saddle a pony for me," he said. "I'll carry the mail on."
"You'd never make it," he was told. "Snow's drifting now. If a man was fresh, he might get through, seeing the wind's at his back going east. But you're a kid. You're played out now. You haven't got a chance."
"Get that pony ready," commanded William fiercely. "I'm going to make it. The mail's got to go through."
Of that long, wearisome ride William never afterwards had any very clear recollection. He knew only that he rode, trusting to the animal under him to keep to the trail, that he dozed in the saddle, waking up to change horses at the two remount stations and falling asleep again as soon as he was in the saddle. Then he felt his pony stopping, forced open his eyelids, and found they were at the ferry. He slept again as it bore him across the river, and was pounded into wakefulnesson the other side. He realized that it was broad daylight, and had been for hours.
Slowly up the path to the settlement William rode. He fell off his horse in front of the office of Russell, Majors and Waddell, pushed open the door, staggered inside, tossed his saddlebags at the feet of Mr. Majors. and said thickly:
"The mail has come through, sir!"
Many hours later he awoke to find that it was another day. Beside his bunk stood his employer.
"William," he said, "the train from the East is due in two hours. Do you think you can be ready to carry the mail on the first relay west?"
The boy struggled upright, full of amazement and joy.
"What do you mean, sir?" he managed to ask.
"This," said Mr. Majors; "if you still want to ride for the Pony Express, there's a job waiting for you."
NOTES AND QUESTIONS
1. The list below gives the main points of this story. But they are not in the right order. Write them down in correct order so that you could begin with the first point and tell the story as it is told in your book.
William's everyday work at St. Joseph
The plan of the Pony Express
The wounded express rider
Choosing the first rider
William's reward
The first rider from St. Joseph
William with the supply train
William's brave ride
2. Which one of the sentences below tells you the most important thing about William?
(a) He knew all about life on the Plains.
(b) He was faithful in both big things and little things.
(c) He was brave.
(d) He knew all about horses.
3. The author of this story has used some words especially to help you feel and see things. For example, on page 26, "glowed with excitement," "racing madly," and "yelled joyfully." Make a list of five other groups of words that helped you feel and see what happened.
4. On an outline map of the United States put New York, St. Joseph, Missouri River, Rocky Mountains, San Francisco, Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Draw a line to show how far the railroad went, and a dotted line to show the Pony Express.