The Elk County advocate. [volume] (Ridgway, Pa.) 1868-1883, 1874-06-18
THE PoNY.RIDERs MISSION.
A True Sketch of n Hero of the yvest-
ern Prairie.

There was an excited crowd gathered
about the Pony Express station at Nc
Phersons. The western bound rider
had arrived with bullet in his leg, and
reported that the Pawnees were off their
reservation and were advancing on the
settlement. He had met them between
the last station and McPhersons, and
they had given chase. McPhersons
could boast of but seventy-fve souls at
that time before the railroad came, and
there were but forty men who were ca
pable of defending the place. What
quickly. Fort Grattan was eighty miles
northwest, and rider was dispatched
in haste. Fort Kearney was seventy
miles southeast, and who would sum-
mon aid from there 1t was danger
GUS undertaking. The route lay right
through the hostile country, and the
messenger would be almost sure to meet
the Indians. The pony-riders, as a
general thing, were fearless men, but
this proposition was fraught with dam
ger that they were 10th to undertake it.
"Ef Slade was only here |" cried an
old man, "ther'd be no hesitation while
wimen an children were in danger !'
"Tll go p and bright-eyed, fear
less-looking young fellow stepped
forth. 81.
"Good p said the old man, pressing
his hand, cold Jim johnson sez so
Old Jim johnson You hear me |!
There's more sense in Essex's cazeba
then the hull lot of you. Pick your
hoss, boy, an ride for your life. See !
there's Nelly iookin' at you. Fer her
sake, Willy, ef no ones else. Thirty
five helpless women and children /;
think of it Ride your best, an when
you git to the station you may git re-
lief. Post 'em there, an when you git
to the fort tell the commandant to send
on some cevelry as soon as possible.
Fetch the sojers, an we'll send the
Reds to Californy Nelly Johnson's
yourn as soon as you git back. Good
by, boy, an God speed ye."
There was spring, rush of hoofs,
and the ride to Kearney had begun.
Right gallantly the little horse sprang
away at her riders bidding, and the
eyes of sweet Nelly johnson kept upon
them until horse and rider faded away
upon the horizon.
Love was one incentive for the pony
riders mission, and the desire to save
the people of McPhersons from q
bloody death was the other. Did ever
man risk life in better cause? On
ward swept the little horse, her flying
heels throwing mp cloud of dust which
hovered in the air for hundreds of yards
behind her. To the left of them glided
the still waters of the Platte, and on
the right stretched the boundless green
of the prairie. The rider sat firm as
rock, his dauntless face looking straight
ahead and wearing an air which seemed
to say it was all for the sake of Nelly
Johnson.
You may talk of the Mamelukes, the
Tartar horsemen, the savage Bedouins,
and all the wild riders, but what are
they to compare with our American
pony-riders-men who were fearless,
and braved every danger; who ran the
risk OF life in every mile they dashed
over; men who were expected to do
fifty miles at top speed in daylight
or dark, rain or shine, hot or cold :?
But the railroad has done away with
the ponyrider, and we hear no more
of such exploits as that of the renowned
Jimmy Moore.
Onward swept the brave little horse,
and at last the station came in view.
A minute more and horse and rider
were at the door. No relay was there
to meet them. Not sign of life was
to be seen, but there were hoof-tracks
in every direction, showing that the
relief had fled. Giving the horse a
drink, the rider mounted, and again
they were on the way to Kearney.
Further on they came upon large OBJ
iect in the centre of the trail. It was
the Western-bound stage with the
horses gone, the driver between the
forewheels with bullet in his head,
the passengers lying about the road,
and the conductor III the boot wounded
unto death. One Mortified look, a
pause, and faster fed the horse. Mile
after mile is left behind, station after
station is passed, and no relief. Will
they ever get to Kearney?
On the prairie of the right of them
appear host of mounted men. They
are the pets of the Peace Commission
on their annual maraud. Turning
with triumphant yell they speed to
head the rider off. Narrower grows the
space between them, and the gallant
horse redoubles his exertions. In the
van of the savages rides a tall chief
mounted upon a powerful horse, his
plumes streaming in the wind as he
urges the noble animal he bestrides.
Young Essex can escape if he turns
back. But no ! The sweet face of
Nelly johnson and the shrinking forms
of defenseless little ones come before
his view, and dashing the Precipitation
| from hrnyU cd
ward. But four miles more and sue
COR is at hand
Nearer comes the pursuers. Now
ride, young Essex, for it is three-score
lives to one Speed, brave little
horse strain muscle and nerve heart,
for your work will be well done Ride,
young Essex, for everything is at stake
Onward rushed the horse, his hoofs
beating time to the short, quick breaths.
The gap closes Twang A sharp
pain in the side, and the rider reeled in
the saddle, but for an instant only.
Bending low in the saddle, the whip is
raised for the first time, and faster fled
the horse.
And now the green ramparts and
stockaded gates of Fort Kearney came
in view. The baffied savages turn and
set out rapidly up the trail, while the
fainting rider checks the faltering steps
of his dying horse. One last look al
the waving sea of green, and they enter
the gates thrown open to receive them
In the centre of the parade stand 6
group OF men about horse and rider.
The horse is down now, and from his
nostrils gushes the hfe-ourrent, and
beside her lies the rider
L !.