Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1874-06-11
The POny-Rider's Mission.

PhersOns. The western-bound rider had
arrived with bullet in his leg, and re-
ported 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-five souls at that
time before the railroad came, and there
were but forty men who were capable of
defending the place. Whatever was to
be done had to be done quickly. Fort
Grattan was eighty miles northwest, and
rider was dispatched in haste. Fort
hearney was seventy miles southeast, and
who would summon aid from there? It
was dangerous 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 so fraught with danger
that they were 10th to undertake it.
" Eff Slade was only here!" cried an
old man, ther'd be no hesitation while
Wimen an children were in danger?"
"I'll gop' and bright-eyed, fearless
looking young fellow stepped forth.
"Goodn said the old man, pressing
his hand. cold Jim Johnson SEE sol
Old Jim Johnson! You hear me!
There's more sense in Essex's cazeba then
the hull lot of you. Pick your boss, boy,
an ride for your life. See! there's Nelly
lookin' at you. For her sake, Willy, eff
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 relief. Post 'em there, an when
you git to the fort tell the commandment to
on 1~Xr
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 a spring, rush of hOofS,
and the ride to Kearney had begun.
Right CALAMITY 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 a bloody
death was the other. Did man ever risk
life in better cause Onward swept
the little horse, her flying heels throwing
up cloud of dust which lowered 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 pony-rider, and
we hear no more of such exploits as that
of the removed 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 direc-
ton, showing that the relief had fed
Giving the horse a drink, the rider
mounted, and again they were on the way
to Kearney. Further on they came upon
a large object in the center of the trail.
1t was the Western bound stage with the
horses gone, the driver between the fore
wheels with a bullet in his head, the pas
sengers lying about the road, and the
conductor in the boot wounded unto
death. One Mortified look, pause, and
faster fed the horses. Mile after mile is
left behind, station after station is passed,
and no relief VIII they ever get to
Kearney?
On the prairie to the right Of them ap-
pear host of mounted men. They are
the pets of the Peace Commission on
their annual maraud. Turning with a
triumphant yell they speed to head the
rider off. Narrower grows the space be-
tween them, and the gallant horse re-.
doubles 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 mol The sweet face of
Nelly Johnson and the shrinking forms
of defenseless little ones come before his
view, and dashing the perspiration from
his brow the pursued dash onward. But
four miles more and succor is at hand!
Nearer come 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 well be 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! Twangl A sharp pain in the
side, and the rider reeled 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 baffled savages turn and set
out rapidly up the trail, while the faint
ing rider checks the faltering steps of his
dying horse. One last look at the waving
sea of green, and they enter the gates
thrown open to receive them.
In the center of the parade stand a
group of men about horse and rider.
The horse is down now, and from his
nostrils gushes the life-current, and be,
side her lies the rider.
Young Essex raised his head from the
arm which supported it, and said:
"Pawnees off their reservation. Nc
Phersons stations cleaned out-help-
quickl My love o-Nelly-Johnson
And grasping the reins with stiffening
clutch, the barbed shaft eating out his
soul, he sank upon the pony's neck
Their brave hearts had ceased to beat.
N. 7. Graphic.