http://www.amazon.com/Express-Riders-ebook/dp/B007SB5I4W/ref=sr_1_9?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1336089418&sr=1-9
Express Riders
By
Al Lamanda
Copyright by Al Lamanda 2012
Chapter One
Walking along a sidewalk made of plank wood, Walter Burke tried to think of a word to describe San Francisco San Francisco
With his younger sister Joanna by his side, Walter paused at a street corner to allow several horse drawn carriages the right of way. A few men on horseback rode with the carriages, but they wore city clothing, frock coats, fancy white shirts and tall hats. It was a mystery to Walter why a man would dress such a way to ride a horse. Another thing he noticed, too, was the lack of firearms among the men. Not a pistol or rifle in sight. Maybe in such a big town there was no need. There seemed to be an oil lamp mounted atop a post every twenty feet along the streets. Maybe the city was so well lit at night; a man could walk the streets after dark and not fear a bushwhacker.
The street cleared.
“Best give me your hand, Jo,” Walter said.
“I’m fourteen, Walter,” Joanna said. “I’m not a baby anymore.”
“I know you’re not a baby,” Walter said. “Don’t you think I know that? Give me your hand, anyway.”
Joanna stuck out her hand and Walter took hold of it tightly. Together, they crossed the widest street either of them had ever seen.
When they reached the other side of the street, they unlocked hands and paused while Walter dug a handbill from his shirt pocket and unfolded it. He studied the handbill for a moment.
“It must be around here somewhere,” Walter said.
“Walter, look,” Joanna said, pointing a finger.
Walter turned and looked where Joanna was pointing. Not very far away was the Bay of San Francisco and several, four mast schooner ships towered above all else.
“I do believe one of them is yours,” Walter said. “We’ll go find out as soon as I take care of my business. Then we go see about that boarding house for tonight.”
“I still don’t see why I can’t stay with you, Walter,” Joanna said.
“I told you why a hundred times, Jo,” Walter said. “I promised Pa, and that’s all there is to the subject. I won’t break no promise. Now be quiet and let me get my bearings.”
Walter studied the handbill. It told him nothing, because he knew nothing of San Francisco
Why did people need so much room?
“Walter, look,” Joanna said.
“What now?” Walter snapped.
A wagon rode past them in the street. The wagon was pulled by a lone mule. The man riding in the buckboard seemed in no hurry, nor did the mule. On both sides of the wagon were baskets full of fruits and vegetables. At the corner, the man stopped the wagon and stepped down to the street.
“Today’s fruits fresh from market!” the man yelled. “All kinds, ready ripe to sell!”
People along the streets suddenly veered toward the wagon.
“You ever see anything like that, Walter?” Joanna said.
“No.”
“Can we take a look?”
“What for?”
“I want to see, that’s what for.”
Joanna broke free of Walter’s grasp and stepped down into the dirty street and walked carefully to avoid the horse chips that seemed to be everywhere and stopped with the crowd at the wagon. Within seconds, Walter was by her side.
“What is that?” Joanna said, pointing to a basket full of oblong shaped fruits.
“I don’t know,” Walter said. “I recognize the apples, potatoes, corn and carrots. All them others, I don’t know.”
The man was loading apples into a paper sack for a woman. When he was done, Joanna tugged on his elbow.
“Those in the basket there, what are those?” Joanna said.
“Those are Bartlett
“Are they good?” Joanna said.
“Very sweet and juicy,” the man said.
“How much for one?” Joanna said.
“Two cents,” the man said.
Joanna looked at Walter.
Walter sighed. He dug out four cents and handed it to the man.
“Do you want a bag?” the man said.
“What for?” Walter said.
Joanna took the two pears and she and Walter returned to the sidewalk. Joanna immediately bit into her pear.
“It’s good, Walter. Juicy like the man said.”
Walter took a bit of his. “By God, it is,” he said. “Now let’s find this building before next winter sets in.”
Walter and Joanna walked a few more blocks, but neither of them had any idea where they were or where they were going. The city was just too large and confusing for them to figure out without some help.
At an intersection, Walter took out the handbill again to study it again. There was a basket on the corner filled with trash and he and Joanna tossed in the remains of the pears.
“Walter, that man there looks like a sheriff,” Joanna said. “Maybe he can help?”
The man walking toward them on the wood sidewalk was dressed in a heavy blue uniform of some type. A tall hat with leather trim perched on his head. A thick leather belt held a Navy Colt revolver in a flap holster. He carried a stick with a leather loop through which his right hand was placed. He twirled the stick as he walked. A shiny brass star was pinned to the right side of the blue jacket.
“I believe you’re right, Jo,” Walter said.
Walter and Joanna approached the man.
“Excuse me, mister,” Walter said. “My sister and me are looking for this address. Maybe you know where it’s as?”
Walter showed the man the handbill.
“You’re not far from it,” the man said. He used the stick to point. “Walk three blocks that way, then turn left and go until you reach the waterfront. You’ll find it there along the street opposite the piers.”
“Thank you,” Walter said.
“Are you a sheriff?” Joanna said.
“No, miss,” the man said. “I’m a member of the San Francisco Police Department.”
Walter and Joanna watched the man walk away and turn the corner at the end of the block.
“What’s a police department, Walter?” Joanna said.
“I think it’s like a bunch of deputies in the city,” Walter said. “Come on, let’s go.”
Holding Joanna’s hand, Walter followed the man’s directions and walked three blocks, turned left and walked another few blocks to the waterfront.
There, Walter and Joanna paused because they had never seen such confusion in all their lives. First off, the wide street opposite the bay was made of stones set in quick dry cement. Horse drawn wagons and carriages were everywhere, mostly hauling freight from the ships anchored off the wharf. Freight offices lined the street to their backs. Piano music came from somewhere. Men sold hot and cold food in wagons along the street. It seemed to them that everybody was talking all at once and nobody was listening to a word being said.
And of course, directly in front of them anchored in the bay were the majestic schooner ships.
“Looks like we can kill two birds with one stone,” Walter said.
“What do you mean, Walter?” Joanna said.
“Once I see about this job, we don’t have far to go to see about your ship,” Walter said, and pointed to the ships.
“Hey, look,” Joanna said. “That’s it right there.”
Not four storefronts to their left was the address on the handbill. They walked to the office and read the large poster out front.
Young, Skinny, wiry fellows wanted. Must be willing to risk death daily to deliver the US
“Come inside with me, but wait by the door,” Walter said.
Walter opened the door and he and Joanna entered the office. It was sparsely furnished with a counter, a wood stove, a few oil lamps and a desk. A man wearing a suit stood behind the counter.
Walter approached the counter and set the handbill on the smooth wood top.
“I want to sign up to be a rider like it says here,” Walter said.
The man studied Walter for a long moment. “You look kind of tall, son. How tall are you?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Walter said. “I ain’t been measured since the first grade.”
“You look lean enough,” the man said. “How much do you weigh?”
“I can’t say for certain,” Walter said. “Last year, I stepped on a rusty nail and I saw the doctor in town and he said I weighed a hundred and thirty pounds. He figured that when I stood on this metal platform.”
The man nodded his head. “Can you ride one hundred miles a day?”
“I broke horses on my Pa’s spread since I’m twelve years old,” Walter said. “I can ride a hundred miles or more alright.”
“Are you proficient with firearms?” the man said.
“What’s proficient?” Walter said.
“Can you shoot a long gun and a pistol and can you do so on horseback?”
“I can,” Walter said. “Half the time it was the only way to feed ourselves.”
“You understand the risk that comes with delivering the US Mail?”
“I do, sir,” Walter said. “But, I need to make that hundred dollars a month. You see, my parents are both gone now and I’m sending my young sister there to live with my Pa’s sister in New York . I guess they call that an aunt. She’s going to see to it my sister gets a proper education and that hundred dollars a month will help pay for that.”
The man looked at Joanna in the corner.
“I see,” the man said. “Can you read and write your name?”
“My schooling went to the sixth grade,” Walter said. “After that, my Pa needed me on the ranch, but I can read alright and write a fair amount.”
“Read this,” the man said and produced the San Francisco
Walter looked at the newspaper. It was unlike any newspaper he’d ever seen in that it was so thick and double folded. He looked at the first story on the page.
“Congress un…able to reach agree…ment on issue of slavery and succ…suc…session,” Walter said. “With the im…pending election just…”
“That’s fine, son,” the man said. “Report here tomorrow morning at seven. We’ll get you started then.”
“I have to see my sister off first,” Walter said. “Her ship sails for New York at first light. It’s just right across the street.”
The man nodded. “I’m Horace Wright, agent for the US Mail Service.”
“Walter Burke. That’s my sister Joanna,” Walter said.
“I’ll see you right after she sets sail,” Wright said.
“Yes, sir,” Walter said.
Walter and Joanna left the office and stood on the cobblestone street for a moment to get their bearings.
“Let’s see about your ticket first, then let’s get our bags from the stage office,” Walter said. “Then we’ll see about that boarding house for tonight.”
Holding hands, Walter and Joanna crossed the wide cobblestone street to the wharf where the massive ships were anchored.
“Which one is mine?” Joanna said.
“The one going to New York City
Chapter Two
Mrs. Oudin ran the boarding house from her large home a few blocks from the bay area. She was a big, plump woman of middle age, who took to boarding guests after her husband passed away some fifteen years ago. She ran a clean house, served two meals, breakfast and supper, appropriately priced at twenty-five cents for breakfast and fifty cents for supper, a nickel extra if you took your meals in your room.
There were twelve rooms for guests of which half were double occupancy. Walter and Joanna took a room with two beds for a dollar and twenty five cents for the night.
As Walter set three bags on the floor between the two beds, he said, “Glad we’re only staying the night. At these prices, I’ll be busted out inside a week.”
At supper, the table was set for twelve. Except for Mrs. Oudin and Joanna, the remaining guests for supper were men. The meal consisted of chicken dumplings in gravy, fresh baked bread, coffee, milk or water, with apple pie for dessert for an extra nickel. Walter thought fifty cents a high price for some flour, grease and chicken stuffing, but it, along with the bread filled his belly pretty well. He also thought ten cents was outright robbery for two slices of pie, but seeing as he wouldn’t see Joanna for many years probably, he reluctantly parted with the dime.
During supper the men spoke mostly of the War Between the States that was sure to come within the next year. A few of the men said the issue was resolving slavery, that no man had the right to claim another as property. Others at the table said the more important issue was preserving the nation, that a nation divided would surly fall as history proved time and again. Someone mentioned the Roman Empire as an example, and someone else said what happened to the Romans would never happen in America because America believed in freedom. Then someone else said the freedom was only if your skin was white and an argument broke out that Mrs. Oudin had to quiet.
Walter had only a vague notion of what the men were talking about and kept his tongue to himself, except to ask Mrs. Oudin for extra bread. Joanna sat to Mrs. Oudin’s left and the two engaged in conversation the entire time food was on the table, although Walter couldn’t hear what about over the voices of the men.
After supper, the men went to the parlor to smoke cigars and drink Brandy. Walter and Joanna retreated to their room on the third floor of the house.
Walter sat on his bed, opened his large bag and started checking his gear. Joanna sat on her bed and started to softly cry.
“What?” Walter said.
“You’re sending me away tomorrow, Walter,” Joanna said.
“I’m not sending you away, Jo,” Walter said. “This is what Pa wanted for you and our aunt is kin. Maybe the only kin we have left. She’ll see to it you get a proper education and home. I can’t give you neither and you know that. Pa knew that. That’s why he made me promise.”
Joanna wiped her eyes and stood up. “I have to use the privacy.”
“Well, hurry up,” Walter said. “We have to get to sleep right quick.”
Joanna went to the door and left it open as she went out to search for the privacy.
Walter tossed his bag aside and flopped down onto the pillow. It was nobody’s fault, it was just the way things turned out. Truth be told, James Burke, their father, was an eastern dude out of New Jersey Oregon to work for the Army. There was talk of a cross country trail for settlers to follow and the Army needed outposts and horses. An Army afoot is useless, his Pa said. With what little money he saved back east, James bought a small spread where he captured and bred horses for the Army. Two years later, he met and married Joann Wilson. A year later, Walter was born. Two children died in childbirth before Joanna came along in forty-six. There wasn’t a lot growing up. The Army didn’t exactly make folks rich, but there always seemed to be just enough with what Ma grew and Pa hunted to supplement the Army money.
By the time he was ten, Walter could rope and ride as well as most men. When he turned twelve, his father gave him an old plains rifle and taught him to shoot. It wasn’t long after that Walter was the main hunter in the family, which freed up his Pa’s time for horse training.
Of course, Joann being his mother and a woman, she insisted Walter attend school in town whenever they had a teacher available and it was in session. Although he’d much rather be out hunting or training a horse with Pa, Walter was grateful he did have some schooling because he was starting to understand how important reading and writing was in the world if a man was to make his mark.
The winter Joanna turned seven, their mother took sick with what the town doctor called influenza. It was a cold and wet winter that year and the influenza grew worse, into what the doctor called pneumonia.
They buried Joann Burke early in the spring.
Her passing took the life right out of James Burke. He lasted another seven years, but there was no joy in his life anymore, no desire to build the ranch or succeed in business, or even train horses for the Army. He did these things, but it seemed to Walter his Pa was simply going through the motions of doing what he had to and there was no joy in doing them.
While breaking a Mustang, James fell off his horse and lay where he fell for several hours until Walter came in from hunting and found him. The doctor said it was something called a heart attack. James regained consciousness long enough to tell Walter his final wishes. There was a legal piece of paper in his chest called a will. James passed that night in his sleep. He was forty-three years old.
In the coming months, Walter found out just how bad things were. Years worth of back taxes owed the government, plus newer, larger ranches in the area and along the Oregon Trail gave Walter little choice but to sell the property, pay off the taxes and use what little money was left to send Joanna to New York as their father wished on his death bed.
“Walter?” Joanna said, softly.
Walter opened his eyes and looked at Joanna.
“I’m never gonna see you again, am I?” Joanna said.
“Course you will,” Walter said. “Maybe not for a while, but when you least expect it, I’ll be there. I’ll dance at your wedding.”
“Promise.”
“With all my heart.”
Joanna smiled and sat on her bed. “Can I see that map one more time?”
“You can take it with you,” Walter said. He removed the folded map from his bag and spread it out on the bed. “Mark off the stops along the way to show your kids one day.”
Joanna sat next to him and looked at the faded map.
“We are here,” Walter said and placed his finger on San Francisco New York City California to Mexico , along South America, then north along the America ’s coast all the way to New York City
Joanna looked up from the map at Walter. “It’s a long way, Walter.”
“Yes, it is,” Walter said. “Almost three months at sea.”
“What am I supposed to do all that time?”
“I expect mostly talk with the other people traveling with you,” Walter said. “But I got you something for the trip. Cost me a dollar and ten cents.”
“What?” Joanna said, her face suddenly lit with the thought of a gift.
Walter dug out the leather covered book he purchased at the general store back home and gave it to Joanna. She immediately opened it. All the pages were blank.
“Walter, they ain’t no words in the book,” Joanna said.
“I know that,” Walter said. “This here is called a journal. What you do, see, is every day you write in this here book what you do every day you’re on ship. Like keeping a record of your adventures. I got you some pencils, enough to last the trip, but if they don’t, I’m sure you can buy some on board.”
Joanna hugged the book tightly to her chest. “Thank you, Walter. I will write in it every day. I promise.”
“Alright, let’s go to bed,” Walter said. “Daylight comes early and that ship ain’t gonna wait on us if we’re late.”
“Turn around while I put on my sleeping clothes,” Joanna said.
“Like I didn’t powder your bottom when you was a baby,” Walter said.
“I ain’t no baby no more, Walter,” Joanna said. “I’m practically a grown woman.”
Walter grinned at Joanna as he turned his back to her. “I expect that you are,” he said.
Chapter Three
Standing on the boardwalk, looking up at the ship, Walter thought it the biggest manmade thing he’d ever seen. He understood nothing about ships, why they stayed afloat or how they stayed on course, but he knew that ship could sail around the world and back and be no worse for wear just by looking at it.
Joanna hugged him tightly. He had to pry her loose.
“That man up there is yelling for all aboard,” Walter said. “You best be going.”
Joanna released her hold on Walter and nodded. She was too choked up to speak.
“Go on, now,” Walter said. “I’ll watch till you get on board.”
Joanna nodded and stepped into the long line of boarding passengers. Walter stood watching until she reached the top, looked down at him and blew him a kiss. Then she was gone.
Walter felt a tear roll down his cheek and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. It would not sit well with his new boss the first day on the job to pin him as a crybaby.
His emotions under control, Walter crossed the wide, cobblestone street and entered the Pony Express office. Horace Wright was behind the counter. He looked up when Walter entered.
“Morning, Walter,” Wright said. “Your sister get off alright?”
“Yes, sir,” Walter said. “Just a few minutes ago.”
“Good. Do you have any gear?”
“One bag back at the boarding house,” Walter said. “Mrs. Oudin is watching it for me until I pick it up.”
Wright grinned. “I know Mrs. Oudin,” he said. “Did she charge you a nickel to watch your bag?”
“Not yet.”
“She will,” Wright said. “Get your bag and report back here. You have papers to fill out. Can you use pen and ink without making a mess?”
“Learned it in school.”
“Good. Some other men should be here by the time you return,” Wright said. “You’ll all ride by coach to your home station.”
Walter left the office and walked the quarter mile to Mrs. Oudin’s boarding house and Mr. Wright was correct, she charged him a nickel for holding his bag. He found her in the kitchen where she was having tea and where she charged him the nickel.
“Did your sister board her ship alright?” Mrs. Oudin said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Walter said.
“Would you care for a cup of my special tea, Mr. Burke?” Mrs. Oudin said.
“I would, but I don’t have the time,” Walter said. “I start my new job as a rider for the Pony Express this morning.”
“You’ll be a long time in the saddle, Mr. Burke,” Mrs. Oudin said. “For a member of the Pony Express, I’ll knock fifty cents off my usual rate of two dollars.”
“Well, ma’am, like I said, I don’t have the time,” Walter said, thinking two dollars for a cup of tea the most extravagant thing he’d ever heard of. He didn’t even like tea, much less pay that kind of money for some hot water and dried leaves.
He left with his forty pound bag slung over his back and walked the streets thinking two dollars would buy steaks for a week, much less a cup of tea. At the Pony Express Office, he carried his bag inside and set it down in the corner by the door.
“Mrs. Oudin charge you a nickel for the bag?” Wright said.
“She did and something else,” Walter said. “She offered me a cup of tea for two dollars a cup. I never heard of tea costing more than a steak dinner.”
Wright stared at Walter for a moment.
“Walter, Mrs. Oudin is a…were there any female guests at supper last night?” Wright said.
“Just my sister.”
“That’s because those men…Walter, Mrs. Oudin is a whore,” Wright said. “The two dollars ain’t for no tea. It’s for what’s between her legs.”
“That’s what she meant by the saddle?” Walter said.
Wright grinned. “Come out back and sign the papers. You can meet the other boys you’ll be traveling with to the Wyoming
Behind the counter was a separate room with five small tables and chairs, of which three were occupied. Each man looked up from their papers to look at Walter.
“Let’s see,” Wright said. “Oh, hell, just introduce yourselves. Take that seat with pen and ink and fill out your name where asked.”
Walter nodded and took the chair. He picked up the paper and started to read it when the man to his left spoke up and broke his concentration.
“You can read that, or you just funning?” he said.
Walter turned to his left. The man was no older than him, but smaller in height, although they appeared to be of the same frame. “Yes, I can,” Walter said.
“My name is Sweetwater Johnson, and I told Mr. Wright I can read, but I really can only read my name and a few A B C’s and some numbers” Sweetwater said.
“I can read,” the man to Walter’s right said. “Says we agreeing to be members of the Pony Express as part of the US Postal Service, and that we hold them without blame if an Indian kills us or we fall off our horse and git kilt.”
Walter looked to his right. The man, a boy, really, maybe fifteen at most, was a runt of thing, but the look in his eyes said he believed he was a giant. Walter saw that look before in runts. They were always ready to fight at the slightest cross word to prove they weren’t small in courage.
“Name is William Cody, but nobody calls me nothing but Bill,” he said.
Walter looked past Bill to the lean, hawkish looking fellow to Bill’s left. “And who are you?” Walter said.
“Name is Johnson,” he said.
“What’s your Christian name?” Walter said.
“People call me Slicker,” he said.
“Why is that, because you smart?” Walter said. “Or hard to get hold of?”
“Well, what’s your name?” Slicker said.
“Walter Burke, and seeing as how we’ll be doing some traveling together, it’s best we get off on the right foot as friends,” Walter said.
“I can write my name,” Sweetwater said.
Walter turned to Sweetwater. “You’re none too smart in the head, are you, Sweetwater?’ he said.
Wright came into the back room. “Your stage leaves in ten minutes. I’ll need those papers,” he said.
They signed the papers, even Sweetwater, then met Mr. Wright out front where a stagecoach was at the ready, with driver and armed lookout.
“Good luck, boys,” Wright said.
The four of them entered the coach and took seats. Walter placed his bag between his legs and looked out the window. “I guess it will be a while before we see a big town like this again,” he said.
“I don’t care if I never see a big town ever again,” Slicker said.
“No?” Walter said.
“I’m gonna have a spread of my own one day,” Slicker said. “As far away from a big city as I can find.”
“I like big cities,” Bill said. “I lived in Leavenworth
“Stabbed your Pa?” Walter said. “Who stabbed you Pa, what for?”
“Makin speeches in the public square,” Bill said.
“Makin speeches?” Walter said. “What kind a speeches?”
“Against slavery,” Bill said. “He was saying how it ain’t right for one man to own another and such and some men who didn’t take kindly to his words stabbed him. He died when I was but eleven.”
“I agree with your Pa,” Walter said. “Sounds like your Pa was a brave man.”
“Back home in Oregon , all they talk about is war,” Slicker said. “The north against the south. They say they’ll be fighting inside a year.”
“You thinking a joining the Army?” Sweetwater said.
“And fight for what?” Slicker said. “We ain’t even in the Union .”
“I’d go,” Bill said. “For the north on account of what them slave owners did to my Pa.
“You boys go off and fight a war a country away if you want to,” Walter said. “I can’t afford to git killed until my little sister is a proper grown woman.”
“You got a sister?” Sweetwater said.
“Put her on a ship bound for New York this morning,” Walter said. “She’s going to live with my aunt and go to school. That’s where most of my pay will be going as it’s my obligation to take care of her until she’s grown.”
“What’s girls need with schooling?” Sweetwater said.
“Maybe out here a body can get by with being able to write their name, but I hear back east people work in offices and reading is mighty important,” Walter said.
The stagecoach reached the city limits and the scenery slowly changed to countryside. The four quieted down for a while as they watched city become country and country become open range.
Walter thought about Joanna on that giant ship. She was a brave girl, as brave as any man he knew, but all that time at sea, and alone to boot, it worried him just a bit. A few years back, she was maybe eleven; he and Pa were tending a horse in the corral. Joanna hung on the fence, watching, like she always did, but then when he looked over, she was gone. He figured she made a trip to the privacy or went into the house for something. A little while later, he happened to glance toward the ridge that overlooked their property and spotted Joanna just standing there in the field maybe five hundred yards out. She was just standing there, looking up at the ridge where three Indians on horseback were looking down on her. He saddled a horse and raced out to her, grabbed her by the arm and tossed her behind him on the saddle. He scolded her and asked her what thought she was doing. She wanted to see what them Indians were looking at, she said, without any fear for her safety. What they was looking at is you, he told her. She said she hoped they got a good look and liked what they saw.
Sometimes bravery is the same as foolishness, Walter concluded.
On a long journey in close quarters, there is nothing else to do except talk and in the coming days and nights, Walter got to know his fellow travelers right well. They talked or napped during the day when the stagecoach bumped them around over rough ground, then talked some more when they spent the night at a way station.
For instance, he learned that Sweetwater Leon was born on the Sweetwater River in Wyoming Colorado
To call Sweetwater dim witted would not be truthful. He was slow thinking, couldn’t read worth a lick, but he held his own in a conversation if given the time to think his words before speaking them.
Slicker Johnson, on the other hand, could read and write and was quick with his tongue and his wits. His real name was Ned, but it was so long since anybody called him that, he sometimes forgot and only remembered when asked. His Pa took to calling him Slicker or Slick when he was just ten and displayed an excellent ability with racing ponies. Slick in the saddle, his Pa would say. He figured that ability would come in right handy riding for the Pony Express.
Bill Cody, on the other hand and despite being just a runt, talked the big talk of a man with his sights set upon great things. He ran his tongue constantly, bragging how one day he would be the most famous man in America , more famous even than the President. Walter believed the runt, for he had such persuading ways about him, he made you believe every word he told you, even if upon reflection it was nonsense.
It was many days in the stagecoach before they arrived at their destination, Fort Laramie in Wyoming Territory
Walter had seen Army posts before, but none quite this size and with so many men assigned to it. Used to protect settlers moving west, two hundred soldiers patrolled the frontier in search of danger, often times escorting settlers for many miles.
Once inside the gate, the stagecoach driver let them off in front of the Pony Express office. The interior of the fort was bristling with activity. Soldiers were everywhere, walking, working, practicing their drills. A large Blacksmith shop was manned by a massive man who pounded out shoes on an anvil with fierce determination.
Mr. Hill came out of the office and introduced himself to his four new men. “Come in the office where I’ll acquaint you with how things will operate. There’s hot coffee on the woodstove.”
They followed Mr. Hill into the office where it was warmer than the chilly, April air outside. There was a desk and a long table in the office and on the table was a large, detailed map of the United States
“Grab your coffee and gather round,” Mr. Hill said.
They filled tin cups with hot coffee and gathered around the map. Sketched in black ink, the route was drawn in red ink to make it easier to read.
“There are 184 outposts on the route, ten to twenty miles apart,” Mr. Hill said. “Each man will ride seventy-five to one hundred miles a day on your given route. You will carry one mochila, or mail pouch loaded with twenty pounds of mail.”
Mr. Hill picked up a doubled sided, leather saddlebag with a leather strip between the two pouches. “You sling it over your saddle and sit on the strap, securing the bags to your horse. To keep things light, you will carry one canteen, jerked meat, a revolver and if you choose to, a bible. You may carry tobacco and paper in your pockets if so desired.”
Mr. Hill opened one bag and produced four brand new Pony Express Messenger Badges and gave one to each man. Walter looked at the badge. It was shaped funny and came to a point on the bottom. A rider on horse was centered on the badge and it was topped with a sitting eagle with spread wings.
“You wear this at all times you’re on duty,” Mr. Hill said. “Now, look at the map. The trail starts in St’ Joseph , Missouri and ends in Sacramento , California San Francisco
They had questions, but held their tongues for fear of looking slow or foolish in each others eyes.
“Alright, then,” Mr. Hill said. “You leave for the outposts first light tomorrow. You can sleep in the bunk room out back tonight. The Army serves evening chow at 5:30. Don’t be late or these Army boys will bite your fingers off for an extra slice of bread.”
Mr. Hill turned away from the table and then paused to look back. “And I hope the four of you are orphans,” he said.
With several hours to kill before supper, they filed into the bunk house and chose their beds for the night. Walter sat on his chosen bed and opened his gear bag to dig out his Colt 1851 Revolver. He started to clean it when Sweetwater sat on the bed next to him.
“Walter, what that Mr. Hill said about carrying a revolver,” Sweetwater said. “I ain’t got one.”
Walter looked up from his cleaning. “I expect you can get one at the Army store.”
“I ain’t got no twenty dollars to buy it,” Sweetwater said.
Bill opened his gear bag and produced a belt with two holsters. “I got me two of them,” he said. “Belonged to my Pa and now they belong to me.”
“I got a Dragoon,” Slicker said and produced the massive Colt revolver from his gear bag. “Shoots a .44 ball, though none to accurate. It packs a big wallop, though, if it hits you.”
“By God, Slick, you can hammer horseshoes with that piece,” Walter said.
“What am I supposed to do, Walter?” Sweetwater.
“The one thing I didn’t sell of my Pa’s was his two Colt revolvers,” Walter said. He dug the second one out of the bag and handed it to Sweetwater. “Shoots a .36 ball, but ain’t heavy like the Dragoon. You can borrow it, powder and balls until you can buy your own.”
“Thanks, Walter,” Sweetwater said.
“Just don’t shoot your foot off,” Walter said. “Trigger’s a mite sensitive once it’s cocked.”
“Why do you suppose Mr. Hill said we should carry a bible?” Slicker said.
“I expect if you fall off your horse and break your neck, your last words might be something from the Good Book,” Walter said.
“Well, I ain’t got one,” Slicker said.
“Me, neither,” Bill said.
“I gave mine to my sister,” Walter said.
“I got one,” Sweetwater said. “Belonged to my Ma.”
“Let me see it,” Walter said.
Sweetwater dug through his gear bag and produced a faded, very old copy of The Old Testament. He handed it to Walter.
“It’s a fine old Bible, Sweet,” Walter said. “Maybe one day I’ll teach you to read from it.”
“Just having its enough,” Sweetwater said.
“I expect so,” Walter said.
