Jeff Savage - Daring Pony Express Riders. True Tales of the Wild West

"THAT MAIL'S GOT TO GO THROUGH."

Pony Bob had traveled more than a hundred miles. Exhausted, he kept moving. As a Pony Express rider, he had mail to deliver. Suddenly, he heard yelling. A group of Paiute warriors were chasing him! Bullets whizzed past him. One bullet struck his shoulder; another grazed his cheek. But Pony Bob never stopped until he reached his final destination. Although the Pony Express didn't last long, their young riders left behind a legacy of bravery. Traveling on horseback through all weather and any danger, the Pony Express brought mail from Missouri to California. Author Jeff Savage explores the remarkable adventures of the Pony Express riders.

About the Author

Jeff Savage has written more than two hundred books for students. Jeff lives with his wife, Nancy, and sons, Taylor and Bailey, in El Dorado Hills, a stone's throw from where gold was discovered in California.

Bob Haslam gazed across the horizon as thin columns of smoke rose from the east. The Paiute were at warattacking the settlers who were invading their land. They were setting fire to homes, stealing horses, and killing when they could.

Bob stood outside Fridays Station, a log building at the southern tip of Lake Tahoe. To the west was California, where a nearby relay station had been raided the day before. To the east lay Nevada, where the Paiute were out in full force.

Bob waited nervously at the station for the rider to arrive with the mochila, the Pony Express mailbag. His horse stood nearby, freshly watered and ready to go. It was one of the fastest horses in the region. The Pony Express used only the best. Bob was so famous for being a courageous rider that he was known simply as Pony Bob. With the Paiute on the attack, he would need every ounce of his courage to make it through this trip.

This photo of a Pony Express rider was taken in 1861. Pony Bob Haslam was one of many young riders who faced danger every day carrying mail for the Pony Express.

The rider was late with the mochila. Pony Bob began to worry. The station keeper suggested that maybe the rider had been killed by Paiute warriors. Pony Bob refused to believe it.

Eventually, Bob saw what he had hoped for: a cloud of dust in the distance, coming his way. It had to be Tom King! Within moments, Tom was spurring his horse into the station.

Pony Bob grabbed the mochila from Tom and threw it over his own horses saddle. Maybe youd better stick around, Bob, the station keeper said. Id say you got no more chance of reaching Bucklands than reaching the moon. Not a chance, Bob thought. The mail had to get through. So long, he shouted as he mounted his pony and dashed off.

Pony Bob changed horses twice along the way, reaching Reeds Station in good time. Now his journey to Bucklands was almost complete. To his dismay, there was no fresh horse waiting for him at Reeds Station. All the animals were being used in the battle with the Paiute. Bob had no choice but to feed his weary horse and then go. He galloped along the Carson River as fast as his tired horse could take him, until he reached Bucklands.

Pony Bob was exhausted when he arrived at the station. He had traveled nearly eighty miles. To his surprise, there was no rider outside waiting for him. Bob jumped off his horse and ran into the station. Inside he found W. C. Marley, the station keeper, and the next rider, Johnny Richardson, sitting at a table playing cards.

Say, arent you riding? Pony Bob asked.

No, Im sick, Johnny answered.

Hes yellow, scared of Injuns, said the station keeper.

Pony Bob and Marley did their best to persuade Johnny to ride. It was no use.

Marley knew that the mail had to get through to Smiths Creek. He turned to Pony Bob and said, Bob, I will give you fifty dollars if you make this ride. Bob stood up straight. I will go at once, he replied.

Armed with a Colt revolver and Spencer rifle, Pony Bob grabbed the mochila, mounted a fresh horse, and sped off. He was weary, his bones ached, and it was getting dark. Smiths Creek was more than 130 miles away. How would he ever make it?

Sink of the Carson was his first stop. He changed to a fresh horse and went on. He had ninety miles to go. Bob wasnt just concerned about Paiute anymore; he was trying to hang onto his horse. He pushed on over alkali wastes and through the sand, going thirty miles without a drop of water, until he reached Sand Springs, his second relay station. Here again he changed horses and dashed on once more.

Bob was so fatigued at this point that he didnt notice his horse perk up its ears in alarm. Yells rang out; the Paiute were attacking! Pony Bob crouched down in the saddle and spurred his horse on. Arrows flew through the air, and guns roared. Bob hung tight to his horse, and in seconds he made it past the Paiute warriors. Shots rang out. Bob looked behind him and saw several Paiute on horses chasing him. He ducked down and drove his horse faster.

Pony Bobs horse was as quick as lightning, but the Paiute kept up. Bob looked back and saw them right on his tail. He couldnt understand it. How could those horses keep up with his carefully selected Pony Express steed? Then he remembered. Relay stations across the line had been raided in recent weeks. These were stolen Pony Express horses!

The Paiute drew closer. Pony Bob grabbed his pistol, spun around, and fired at them. One man went down. The others closed in. They returned fire. The courageous rider felt a sharp pain surge through his shoulder. He had been hit! Bobs arm dropped to his side. Another bullet grazed his cheek.

Pony Bob maintained his furious pace, and soon the shooting stopped. He looked back; the Paiute were gone. He trotted into Cold Springs a bloodied figure. The station keeper took one look at him and said, Youre in no shape to ride. Bill or me will take the mochila on.

In this illustration, Pony Bob races away from American Indian attackers during a journey from Smiths Creek to Fort Churchill, Nevada, while carrying the presidential election returns of 1860. Abraham Lincoln was elected president that year.

Bob wrapped a towel around his arm and rode to Smiths Creek, where relief rider J. G. Kelley was waiting. Bob handed the mailbag over, and Kelley was off in a flash. Pony Bob collapsed, exhausted, in the station house.

The adventure didnt end there. It seemed that he had hardly slept when the station keeper awakened him. The rider heading back to the west had come in, and was unable to continue. He had broken his leg when he was thrown from his horse.

He stays, but not the mochila, Pony Bob said as he rose from his bed. That mails got to go through. Im riding!

Bob staggered outside to a fresh horse, climbed aboard with one arm dangling uselessly at his side, and rode off. Through the darkness he galloped, retracing the route he had just covered. Wolves howled around him.

Bob arrived at Cold Springs to find that the station had just been burned to the ground. The station keeper and the replacement horse lay on the ground, killed by arrows. Frightened, Bob urged his horse on. The wolves kept howling. Bob knew the Paiute could attack him at any moment.

Somehow, he made it back to Sink of the Carson, to Bucklands, and on to Fridayshis home station. Tom King took the mail from there and headed west with it to Sacramento. Pony Bob was so drained that he had to be helped off his horse and carried inside. He had traveled some 380 miles with little rest. He was such a hero that the Pony Express Company gave him another fifty-dollar bonus. Pony Bob accepted the reward money, but not the praise. After all,