The Story of the Pony Express | Page 7

with subdued expectancy. As the
moment of departure approaches, the doors swing open and a spirited
horse is led out. Nearby, closely inspecting the animal's equipment is a
wiry little man scarcely twenty years old.
Time to go! Everybody back! A pause of seconds, and a cannon booms
in the distance - the starting signal. The rider leaps to his saddle and
starts. In less than a minute he is at the post office where the letter
pouch, square in shape with four padlocked pockets, is awaiting him.
Dismounting only long enough for this pouch to be thrown over his
saddle, he again springs to his place and is gone. A short sprint and he
has reached the Missouri River wharf. A ferry boat under a full head of
steam is waiting. With scarcely checked speed, the horse thunders onto
the deck of the craft. A rumbling of machinery, the jangle of a bell, the
sharp toot of a whistle and the boat has swung clear and is headed
straight for the opposite shore. The crowd behind breaks into
tumultuous applause. Some scream themselves hoarse; others are
strangely silent; and some - strong men - are moved to tears.
The noise of the cheering multitude grows faint as the Kansas shore

draws near. The engines are reversed; a swish of water, and the, craft
grates against the dock. Scarcely has the gang plank been lowered than
horse and rider dash over it and are off at a furious gallop. Away on the
jet black steed goes Johnnie Frey, the first rider, with the mail that must
be hurled by flesh and blood over 1,966 miles of desolate space - across
the plains, through North-eastern Kansas and into Nebraska, up the
valley of the Platte, across the Great Plateau, into the foothills and over
the summit of the Rockies, into the arid Great Basin, over the Wahsatch
range, into the valley of Great Salt Lake, through the terrible alkali
deserts of Nevada, through the parched Sink of the Carson River, over
the snowy Sierras, and into the Sacramento Valley - the mail must go
without delay. Neither storms, fatigue, darkness, rugged mountains,
burning deserts, nor savage Indians were to hinder this pouch of letters.
The mail must go; and its schedule, incredible as it seemed, must be
made. It was a sublime undertaking, than which few have ever put the
fibre of Americans to a severer test.
The managers of the Central Overland, California and Pike's Peak
Express Company had laid their plans well. Horses and riders for fresh
relays, together with station agents and helpers, were ready and waiting
at the appointed places, ten or fifteen miles apart over the entire course.
There was no guess-work or delay.
After crossing the Missouri River, out of St. Joseph, the official route[2]
of the west-bound Pony Express ran at first west and south through
Kansas to Kennekuk; then northwest, across the Kickapoo Indian
reservation, to Granada, Log Chain, Seneca, Ash Point, Guittards,
Marysville, and Hollenberg. Here the valley of the Little Blue River
was followed, still in a northwest direction. The trail crossed into
Nebraska near Rock Creek and pushed on through Big Sandy and
Liberty Farm, to Thirty-two-mile Creek. From thence it passed over the
prairie divide to the Platte River, the valley of which was followed to
Fort Kearney. This route had already been made famous by the
Mormons when they journeyed to Utah in 1847. It had also been
followed by many of the California gold-seekers in 1848-49 and by
Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston and his army when they marched west
from Fort Leavenworth to suppress the "Mormon War" of 1857-58.
For about three hundred miles out of Fort Kearney, the trail followed
the prairies; for two thirds of this distance, it clung to the south bank of

the Platte, passing through Plum Creek and Midway[3]. At Cottonwood
Springs the junction of the North and South branches of the Platte was
reached. From here the course moved steadily westward, through
Fremont's Springs, O'Fallon's Bluffs, Alkali, Beauvais Ranch, and
Diamond Springs to Julesburg, on the South fork of the Platte. Here the
stream was forded and the rider then followed the course of Lodge Pole
Creek in a northwesterly direction to Thirty Mile Ridge. Thence he
journeyed to Mud Springs, Court-House Rock, Chimney Rock, and
Scott's Bluffs to Fort Laramie. From this point he passed through the
foot-hills to the base of the Rockies, then over the mountains through
South Pass and to Fort Bridger. Then to Salt Lake City, Camp Floyd,
Ruby Valley, Mountain Wells, across the Humboldt River in Nevada to
Bisbys', Carson City, and to Placerville, California; thence to Folsom
and Sacramento. Here the mail was taken by a fast steamer down the
Sacramento River to San Francisco.
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