# Alden the Pony Express Rider/Chapter 2

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CHAPTER II
A QUARREL
I HAVE tried to give you an idea of the scene in the town of St. Joseph, Missouri, on that afternoon in April, 1860, when Alexander Carlyle, the first Pony Express rider, dashed out of the stables and galloped full speed down the street to the ferry, amid the huzzahs of the excited multitudes.
You will recall the hint I dropped as to the appearance of the young man. He was a consumptive, and had to give up the trying work at the end of two months. Half a year later he died and was succeeded by John Frye. This daring fellow afterward became a member of General Blunt’s Union scouts, and was killed in 1863, in a hand to hand fight with a squad of “Arkansas Rangers,” after he had slain five of them.
Among the crowds swarming in St. Joe were three persons of whom I shall have considerable to tell you. Alden Payne was a ​lusty, bright-witted youth, seventeen years old, whose home was on a small farm, two or three miles from the town. His father owned the place, and he and his wife were industrious and thrifty. The couple, however, caught the gold fever, though the discovery of the precious metal in California was more than ten years old and the excitement had largely died out. They decided to sell the property and go overland to the Pacific slope. Their two children were Alden and “Vixey,” a sweet girl, eight years younger than her brother. In addition, Mr. Payne had a colored youth who had been turned over to him when an infant by his widowed mother, she having consented to become the wife of a big, lazy darky, with no love for other folks’ children.
Jethro Mix, although a year younger than Alden, was half a head taller, several inches bigger around, and more than twenty pounds heavier. It cannot be said he was bright, but he was strong, fond of every member of the family, indolent, and a good servant when forced to work.
Mr. Payne sold his property to Otis Martin, his brother-in-law. While making preparations to join an emigrant train soon to start ​across the plains, an unexpected obstacle appeared. Mr. Martin refused to pay over the purchase money, unless Payne kept charge and took care of the place until the following spring. At first, the owner believed he would have to put off his western journey until the time named, but a compromise was reached. Naturally because the delay impended, the couple were more anxious than before to start on the long, dangerous journey. They decided to do so, taking Vixey with them, but leaving Alden and the colored youth, Jethro, to look after the property until the middle of the following April, when they would turn it over to ]Mr. Martin, and follow the family across the plains.
It was the keenest of disappointments to the two youths, who, if possible, were more eager to start on the two-thousand-mile journey than were the adults; but this disappointment was greatly softened by the knowledge that the delay was only for a few months. the assurance that it was much better to set out in the spring than in the autumn had not a feather’s weight with them: they would have been glad to head westward in the midst of a December snowstorm.
​It should be added regarding Alden and Jethro that, having spent their lives on what might be called the frontier, they had used every privilege which came within their reach. Both were fine horsemen, and Alden had no superior among the young men in the neighborhood as a hunter and marksman. The two spent every hour they could command in roaming through the forests, some of which were miles distant. While the colored youth did well when all the circumstances are remembered, he was by no means the equal of his young master in courage or in skill with the rifle.
Alden, accompanied by Jethro, walked into St. Joe and joined the spectators who were waiting to see Carlyle start on his ride of a hundred and thirty miles westward. They had known of his intention for several days. The enterprise bore so close a relation to their own plans that they felt peculiar interest in it.
“Gorry! ain’t it queer, Al?” asked his companion, after the gaily bedecked rider had dashed by on his way to the ferry.
“Isn’t what queer?” inquired his companion, in turn.
“Why, dat Alec Carlyle am gwine ober de ​same road dat we’re gwine to go ober in a day or two.”
“There’s nothing strange in that.”
“Why couldn’t we fetched down our war steeds and gone wid him?”
“He wouldn’t allow it; we should be too much in his way, and we couldn’t keep up with him for more than a few miles.”
“Dunno ’bout dat; Jilk and Firebug don’t take de dust oh any other animiles.”
Jethro thus alluded to the horse owned by himself and the mare which was the favorite of his master.
“That may he so, Jeth, but we expect to ride our horses all the way to California, while Alec will change his every ten or twelve miles.”
“Can’t we do de same?”
“How?”
“Why, ebery ten miles I’ll get into de saddle ob Firebug, and you kin get into de saddle ob Jilk: dat will be changing bosses.”
Alden looked at Jethro. The colored lad tried to keep a sober face, but had to duck his head and chuckle. He might be slow-witted, but he was not in earnest in making his proposition.
​Alden made a feint of chastising the African, who caught hold of his flapping hat to keep it on and dived three or four paces away. Just then several cheers came from the ferry, and Alden withdrew his attention from his companion. Thus he stood, his back toward the negro, when it suddenly seemed to him that a runaway horse had collided with his shoulder.
The blow knocked Alden toward the middle of the street, his hat falling, as he strove desperately to keep his feet and barely succeeded. The next instant, as he replaced his hat, he turned hurriedly around to learn the cause of the shock.
A youth about his own age and size had violently bumped him. Alden was quick tempered and flamed with anger. The young man, whom he had never seen before, said something, but in his blind rage our friend did not catch the words.
“What do you mean by doing that?” he demanded, doubling his fists and striding toward the stranger, whose smile added oil to the flames. The other held his ground and seemed to catch the hot resentment of Alden.
“I can’t say I meant anything in ​particular, my red-faced friend; what are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll mighty soon show you,” replied Alden, who, without an instant’s hesitation, launched his right fist at the face of the other; but he neatly dodged the blow and delivered so stinging a one on the cheek of Alden that he reeled for several paces. The single repulse did not scare the assailant, however, but made him more cautious. His antagonist was lithe and active, and coolly awaited the second assault, which you may be sure was not as blind as before.
The Express Rider having gone upon the ferry boat, the attention of the crowd was shifted to the two youths, confronting each other with doubled fists and savage countenances.
“A fight! a fight!” was shouted, and men and boys swarmed around the couple, taking care to keep far enough back to give them plenty of room.
It was quickly evident that he whom Alden had attacked was a stranger to every one in the crowd. None the less, it was equally evident that some sympathized with him, although the majority were with Alden.
​“Give it to him, Payne! Knock him out!”
“Look out for yourself!” called a tall man to the unknown; “Alden is a fighter from Fight Town, at the head of Fight River; keep your eye peeled!”
“I’ll help you soak him!” added Jethro, bounding to the side of his master, putting up his big hands, see-sawing with them, ducking his head, and making several feints from a safe distance.
“Keep out of the way!” commanded Alden; “I don’t want your help.”
“Can’t get along widout me; you knock him ober and I’ll stomp on him and smash—”
His impatient master made a vigorous sweep with his hand which tumbled Jethro on his back, with his shoes kicking toward the sky.
“All right!” exclaimed the African, clambering to his feet; “den I’ll help de oder feller.”
And he ran across and assumed a fighting attitude.
“It’s time to teach Al some sense—”
But the stranger was equally impatient, and made a similar back-handed stroke which sent the colored lad down again.
“Keep away or you’ll get hurt,” he warned.
​“Gorrynation! if dat’s de way I’m treated I’ll lick bofe of you!”
And in order the better to carry out his threat, he began fiercely doffing his coat. He made a great pretense of hurrying, but, before he could shed the garment, a man standing near seized him by the arm and yanked him back with a force that came near throwing him to the ground again.
“What’s the matter with you, Mix? ’tend to your own business.”
This same person afterward remarked:
“I noticed that it didn’t take much pulling to keep that darky out of the muss.”
The briers being cleared from the path, the two combatants now came together. The stranger did not retreat, when Alden quickly but guardedly approached, and after a couple of feints landed a blow fair and square on his cheek that staggered him. He held his feet, however, and advanced again. The two would have closed the next minute, with the result in doubt, hut an unlooked for interruption came. A loud voice demanded:
“What do you mean, Ross?”
And without waiting for an answer, a tall ​man, with bearded face and dressed in rough homespun, strode forward. With his right hand he flung back the youth whom he had addressed, and in the same moment did the same to Alden with the other hand. His black eyes shone with anger.
“You young fools! I ought to spank both of you, and I’ll do it, if either strikes another blow. Off with you, Ross!”
If the youth called “Ross” felt no fear of Alden Payne, he held the man in awe. He dropped his hands, though they remained clenched, and tried to make excuse.
“He attacked me, uncle; haven’t I a right to defend myself?”
“How is that?” sternly asked the man, turning upon Alden.
“He pushed me almost off my feet, and instead of apologizing, added an insulting remark.”
“He is speaking false,” said the nephew.
“Probably you are right,” commented the man, who evidently had faith in the veracity of his nephew, “but there has been enough of this; come with me.”
“I hope you will let us fight it out,” said ​Alden, keenly regretting the interference; “I should like to give him a lesson in speaking the truth.”
“Please let us finish,” pleaded the other, with a beseeching look to his relative. Certainly there was no questioning the courage of either young man.
“Yes; let ’em settle it,” added one of the bystanders, uttering the sentiments of the spectators; “the fight will be a thing of beauty.”
Others joined in the request, but the man paid no heed. He did not lay his hand on his nephew, but merely said, “Come,” and strode off in the direction of the river. The youth walked reluctantly after, him. Looking back at Alden, he paused a moment, shook his fist and said:
“We’ll meet again some day and have it out.”
“That will suit me down to the ground,” replied Alden, emphasizing his words also with a gesture of his fist.
“Gorrynation!” said Jethro, after the stranger was at a distance, “but it was lucky for bofe of you dat dese four men held me back. When I git mad, I’m orful, and if I’d ​got at you, dere wouldn’t anyting been left ’cept a couple of grease spots.”
This boast caused uproarious laughter. Jethro looked around in the faces of the crowd and asked reprovingly:
“What you all laughing at? What’s de matter wid you, Tony Burke? If yo’ doan’ shet up straight off. I’ll frow you down so hard you’ll make a bulge on toder side de yarth.”
This warning was addressed to a lad about the size of Alden. He was a clerk in a St. Joe grocery store, and known to everybody. His merriment was more boisterous than anybody else’s. The instant the threat was uttered, however, his face became sober. He took a step forward.
“Are you talking to me?” he demanded, and an instant hush fell on the bystanders.
“Yas, I is; doan’ you hyar me? Is you deef? You’s getting too sassy. Tone Burke; you need taking down a peg or two, and I'm de gemman dat am gwine to doot.”
“I’m your apple tart; put up your fists.”
“Who said any ting ’bout fists? I was talking ’bout wrastlin’; if your head warn’t so thick you’d understood me.”
​“Very well; I prefer fists, but I’ll wrestle.”
“Fus' holt!" shouted Jethro, his face lighting up with a grin at the advantage thus gained by his promptness.
“Suit yourself,” calmly replied the other.
Both were right-handed. Jethro because of his call secured the choice as to which side he should take, when they made ready for the struggle. Naturally, he placed himself on the left of his antagonist, and slipped the right arm behind his neck, with the hand over the farther shoulder. The white youth assumed a reverse position, making his left arm take the place of the other’s right.
Thus the right hand of the white youth and the left hand of the African were free. The two loosely gripped hands in front, for be it remembered the method described was the old fashioned way of wrestling, and is still popular in many parts of the country.
Alden Payne’s anger was wafted aside by the new turn of matters, and the eyes of all were fixed upon the couple. Alden took upon himself the duty of umpire.
“Are you ready, Tony?” he called.
“Ready,” was the reply.
“Ready, Jeth?”
​“Ise allers ready; you oughter know dat, Al—”
Before he could end his sentence, his big feet shot upward as high as his head had been a moment before. The white youth with fine dexterity flung off the grasp of Jethro in the same instant, and he went down on his back with an impact that seemed to shake the earth and forced a loud grunt from him.
“First fall for Tony!” called Alden; “change holds!”
“Dat warn’t fair,” protested Jethro, as he clambered to his feet.
“Why wasn’t it fair?” asked the umpire.
“I warn’t ready.”
“You said you were; change holds.”
“I won’t wrestle if I’ve got to use my left arm.”
“That’s the rule of the game; you must do it.”
“I’m satisfied,” said the grinning Tony, who, before Jethro could back out, slid his left arm behind the burly neck of the African. In the same instant, the struggle was renewed with all the cunning, power and skill of which the two were masters.
Tony did not find his task as easy as before. ​Jethro was certainly a powerful youth, fully the equal of the other, but was slower of movement. He baffled two or three attempts to take him unawares, and then tried hard to lift Tony clear so as to fling him helpless to the ground. The white youth skillfully prevented. Then Jethro placed one foot behind the knees of the other, intending to force him over. It was a fatal mistake, for it left Jethro standing on one foot only. In the twinkling of an eye, as may be said, he went down precisely as before, and with as terrific a bump. But he grinned as he climbed to his feet and called out triumphantly:
“Dat’s de way I allers fetches ’em; I frows yself on my back and dey're gone!”