by Becky Lower
The horse nodded her head, as if in agreement. She pawed the floor of the stall as Samantha worked. Rosebud nuzzled her as Samantha finished the grooming.
“There’s no such thing as a bad horse, is there, Rosebud?” She lingered a moment with the horse, and fed both the horse and herself a peppermint before she let herself out of the stall and moved on to the next. “It’s a shame one can’t say the same thing about humans,” she whispered as she sucked on the sweet goodness of the mint.
In the evening, there was a full house in the station, as the stage pulled in before dinner. Samantha’s quick scan of the stagecoach occupants allowed her to breathe a bit easier. There was no Uncle Jack this time. But, in order to make herself less conspicuous, she filled a plate in the kitchen and took it to her bunk in the barn. She’d rather eat with the horses anyway.
She startled when a head appeared around the corner of the small bunkroom. Valerian’s smile lit the gloom of the barn as he walked in and plopped down on a barrel.
“What are you doing eating out here instead of in the dining hall?”
“I don’t particularly care for being part of a crowd. And there’s a passel of people in the dining hall tonight. Why are you here?”
“I drew the first run for the leg from here to Marysville. I know the route really well now since I’ve been working with Joseph and his brothers, rounding up horses out this way. We used to get rooms here every now and then.”
“Are you nervous about making the run?”
“Naw.” Valerian ducked his head. “Well, maybe a little bit nervous. But excited at the same time.”
“You’re so lucky to be a rider. But I don’t mind taking care of the horses.”
“Mind if I grab some grub and join you back here?”
“Naw, your company’s fine.”
“Be back in a minute, then.”
He exited the room, and Samantha took a deep breath. Despite what she had told herself about maintaining a distance, she welcomed his companionship. Eating with the horses, and with Valerian—life didn’t get much better.
Chapter 6
Samantha’s stomach was dancing a jig. It was the first ride westbound on the inaugural run for the Pony Express. She was part of this big event, and she was nervous. Despite the fanfare that accompanied the rider who left from St. Joe, if the operation failed to deliver on the promise made to the government that they could move mail across the country in ten days, they’d be out of business before they’d hardly begun. And she’d be out of a job. She had nowhere else to go at this point, and no money or a horse to get there should she develop a plan for her future. She led the horse out of the barn and into the corral. The mustang would carry Valerian away on the start of his mad gallop across seventy-five miles of mostly untamed wilderness.
Valerian paced back and forth outside the station. He was on edge, too. She could tell by his movements. They were expecting the first rider at any moment. Once his signal reached their ears—three sharp blasts on the horn—Samantha needed to get the horse saddled up and ready. She’d chosen the big black mustang who now paced in the corral, rested and ready to run. He’d already picked up on the tension in the air. Selecting the best horse from the group stabled in Seneca had been easy, second nature. But since she’d made her choice, she’d had time to second-guess herself.
Too late now. They had only minutes before the signal was due. Then, the rider on his spent horse would burst into view, dismount, grab the mochila packed with mail from his saddle, and hand it off to Valerian, who would slap it over his saddle, and protect the mail by sitting on it. In two to three minutes after the rider appeared, Valerian would be off on his first run. At least that’s how it was supposed to work.
The government had a lot at stake on this inaugural ride. They needed a route for the dissemination of news to California that was not through the south. Tensions were rising between North and South, and the government feared it would escalate into war soon. If the only route for news was through the South, Californians would only hear what the South wanted them to hear. And the government needed to be able to count on California in the Union column.
For Samantha, the government’s reason for the Pony Express’s existence was secondary to the actual event. History was unfolding before her eyes as this first run was underway and she was part of it. If they accomplished their mission by the end of next week, the news would make it into all the papers back east. As her excitement built, she started to pace with Valerian.
The horn’s blare pierced the afternoon haze. A chill ran down Samantha’s spine, and the hair on her arms stood on end. She exchanged a quick glance with Valerian.
“Here we go,” Valerian quipped.
“You’ll do fine, Val. You’ve got the best horse in the stable.”
“Hope he can run at top speed for ten miles, till I get to the next relay station.”
“The horse will do fine, too. I’ve given you the best of the bunch. Do you have some jerky in your shirt pocket?”
“Yep. But I’m too nervous to think about food right now.”
“You’ll need it on down the road, though.”
Samantha ran to the horse and threw the blanket and saddle over him, tightening the cinch. The stirrups had already been adjusted to fit Valerian, so they were ready. Valerian and Samantha waited side by side for the first rider to appear, Samantha holding the reins of the horse.
In a minute, the red shirt of the Pony Express rider who had completed the first leg of the route came into view, his horse frothing at the mouth as he ran the last few yards. Samantha grabbed the reins of the spent horse as the rider jumped down and grabbed the mochila. A few words were exchanged between the two riders before Valerian threw the mail pouch over his saddle and climbed aboard his fresh horse. He tipped his hat toward Samantha.
“Ride fast, Valerian.”
“I will, and I’ll be back here with the mail traveling east within a week.”
He was off before Samantha could catch her breath. She followed him with her eyes until he went around a bend and out of sight. She had work to do. The horse that had completed his run needed her attention if he was to ever carry a rider again. His head hung so low it nearly touched the ground, and he was wheezing from his exertion. She turned toward the barn, cooling the horse first before leading him toward water and feed, but her mind was with Valerian. She hoped he’d have a safe, uneventful trip. For the sake of the Pony Express only, not for any other purpose. Or so she told herself.
The poor horse lapped up water. She took the pail away from him before he’d slaked his thirst completely. Too much water at once was almost as bad as none at all. She walked him in the corral until he cooled down some more. Then she took him into a stall, rubbed him down, fed him some grain, and began to wash his froth-flecked coat. She had enough work to keep three people busy. Her mind drifted away from Valerian as he galloped farther and farther west.
• • •
Valerian laughed with joy as he and his trusty mount galloped across the prairie. Even though he had been raised in a traditional, upscale New York City family, he was born to ride in the saddle all his days. He’d known his life’s course since he’d been five years old and had gotten up on a horse for the first time. He’d spent most of his days, whenever he could duck out from his studies or from under his mother’s thumb, in the carriage house with the horses. If he’d been extra lucky, he’d gotten to go to his sister Jasmine’s ranch in the Bronx where her husband and his business partner owned a breeding farm. There were always horses in need of exercise and an extra willing person was welcome. Then last year, he’d come to St. Louis and Joseph’s family horse operation, to round up wild mustangs and break them to ride. This was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.
His mother had been less than pleased with him when he didn’t return home after his Easter visit last year, but one more year of schooling would have killed him. All he wanted was to ride. He hadn’t yet informed his mothe
r he had signed on to the Pony Express. He didn’t want to worry her, and the poster for riders said they had to agree to face death daily. If she ever were to see the poster, she’d come to the West herself and drag him home by the ear. He’d get a few rides under his belt first, prove to her it wasn’t as dangerous as the poster led people to believe, and then send word back to New York.
He checked his mount for signs of any troubles. Tired-out horses were expected during the Pony Express’s operation, but he didn’t want to break the horse. He ran his hand down the horse’s neck, feeling for the main artery. Still a strong heartbeat, and still miles to go. The Pony Express riders had ten days to cross the country from St. Joseph to San Francisco. He had mail to deliver, so he pushed the mustang even more. When he was a mile out from the relay station, he blew on his horn three times to warn them a rider was coming in for a fresh mount.
The horse was fatigued but not broken, for which Valerian was pleased. He loved horses too much to abuse them, even with the quick deadlines the Pony Express operation imposed on them. And Sam would never forgive him if he ran one of the mounts from the Seneca stable into the ground. He jumped from the horse before it even stopped, and grabbed the mochila off the top of the saddle.
“You made great time for this leg,” the man declared as he handed Valerian a cup of coffee and put some jerky into his pockets. “Keep it up. We’re counting on you.”
“Thanks, Theo. Take good care of this boy. He’s a keeper.”
“Will do.”
Valerian finished his hot, strong coffee, then flung the mochila over the saddle of the new mount, pulled himself up on top of it, and they were off. Once again, the cold breeze blew past his face as they galloped west. He was acutely aware of his surroundings and on the lookout for anything unusual. There were some Indian uprisings farther west than where he was going, which might cause some problems, but in this part of Kansas, the only things he had to really watch out for were prairie dog holes and wolves.
As night crept over the land, he had to rely on his horse’s sense of smell and sight to lead them on. The path was fairly well defined, but it quickly became obscured by the darkness. Not even a sliver of a moon to help them along. His only hope was that the horse would find his way to the next relay station, where a warm stall and good grain awaited.
“God, I wish Sam could be a part of this,” Valerian talked to his horse as they sped along, partially to relax the horse but mostly to keep himself awake. “There’s something very sad about him, and a ride, even one leg of the trip, would do him a world of good. Instead, he’s mucking out stalls.”
His horse stumbled over something in the trail, and Valerian brought himself back to the job at hand. Enough thinking about whatever Sam was hiding from. Val needed to focus, or he and his mount would take a tumble. He brought the horse back in line, evened out his gait, and continued on into the darkness.
A wolf’s soulful cry nearby raised the hairs on the back of Valerian’s neck. His horse’s ears were swiveling around, trying to pinpoint where the sound had come from. His nostrils flared as he smelled the wolf’s presence. Valerian glanced around in the darkness, looking for a pair of yellow eyes. There they were, off to his left side. Valerian’s heart sped up a notch. He spurred the horse to an even faster gallop. The yellow eyes kept pace. Then, another set of eyes joined in. And another.
Soon, wolves surrounded the horse and rider, sensing the horse’s exhaustion, which made him easy prey. Some of the wolves were even so bold as to nip at the horse’s heels, causing the mount to yelp in pain and kick out. Valerian couldn’t get another ounce of speed from the horse without making him stumble and fall. As it was, the horse could barely hold his head up. The wolves kept circling, waiting for the opportunity to strike the tired horse. Valerian could smell the fear emanating from the horse, as could the wolves. He hoped they’d make it to the next relay station.
He yelled at the wolves, which moved them off the trail for a few moments before they returned. Out of ideas, Valerian took his horn and blew it hard. The horse jumped at the unexpected noise. But it had the desired effect on the wolves, keeping them at a distance. Now, all he had to do was keep blowing on his horn for the remaining five miles, until he could get a fresh mount. It was either that or succumb to the wolves, and he had no intention of doing so. He needed to prove to both himself and his mother that there was no danger along the trail. His heart kept pace with the galloping horse, who appreciated Valerian’s efforts to keep the wolves from his heels by adding another spurt of energy to his run. But soon enough, exhaustion overtook the horse again.
His horse’s labored breathing incited the wolves, and more joined in the hunt. Valerian backed off the pace and reduced their speed to a lope. He might lose some time on this leg of the trip, but at least he and the horse both would survive and not become a meal for these wolves. He kept blowing the horn as the swirling pack increased. He counted nineteen sets of eyes.
A lantern glowing in the distance signaled the next relay station was coming up. Valerian blew on his horn three times in rapid succession and breathed a sigh of relief when the station came into view.
“Rough trip? We expected you a half-hour ago.”
“Wolves. They followed us for at least the last five miles. You take care of this horse who’s been nipped in his hind legs. I’ll make up the time.”
“Here, have some grub.” The man held out some biscuits and a cup of coffee to him.
Valerian shook his head. “No time for coffee. Gotta move.” He grabbed a warm, savory biscuit before he jumped on the back of the next horse and sped off into the night.
Chapter 7
A handful of days later, Valerian made the return trip from Marysville to Seneca with a locked mochila full of mail from the west. According to reports, the Express riders going from west to east on the inaugural ride were holding a slight time advantage, and Valerian would not let anything jeopardize his leg of the race against the clock. Although he was pulling for the east-to-west riders, both groups had to complete the nearly two-thousand-mile course in ten days in order for the Pony Express to be declared a success.
He was traveling in daylight today, and passed several wagon trains as he dashed across the country, tipping his hat to the caravans as he sped by them. Their shouts of excitement at seeing a Pony Express rider puffed him up with pride. He was a part of history and well aware of it. He also passed the workers who were installing telegraph lines into the west. If they succeeded in stringing the line through Indian country and over the mountains, it could signal the end of the Pony Express. But they had a long way to go before Valerian would have to worry about being displaced.
He pulled in to the Seneca station as the sun was dipping below the horizon. His horse was tired and so was he. Nine hours in a saddle, galloping at top speed over uncertain terrain, was hard work, even in daylight. He climbed down from his saddle, took off his hat, and wiped his brow. Even though the April air was cold, both he and his horse had worked up a sweat. He removed the mochila from his horse and handed it off to the next rider, who was ready to head on the last leg of the eastern route—to St. Joseph.
As the new rider disappeared around a bend in the trail, Valerian searched the yard for some sign of Sam, who was supposed to stay with the Express pony until the rider got underway. But the horse had been saddled and tied to the fence instead. Despite the fact Valerian’s stomach was grumbling, he stuck his head into the barn.
It was full of horses. Six stagecoach horses, a handful of other mounts ridden by individuals on the trail, and the remaining Pony Express horses. No wonder Sam hadn’t waited with the horse and rider. Valerian walked his horse in the paddock to cool him down before he led the spent horse into the only empty stall and gave him some water and feed. He was a good horse, and Valerian had enjoyed the last leg of his journey sitting astride this one. The least he could do was take care of him. He grabbed an empty bucket and filled it with water to wash the sweat from the horse
. From the back of the barn, the sound of Sam leading horses into different stalls reached his ears, and Valerian called out a greeting to him.
Ten minutes later, Sam stuck his head in the stall where Valerian still worked on his horse.
“Hi, Val. Sorry I couldn’t meet you out front, but the stagecoach arrived from the east just before you did, and I had to get those horses put into the barn. But I’m here now and can take over. You don’t need to be doing my work.”
Val sent him an appraising look. Could it be he’d gotten even smaller since the last time he’d seen him?
“It’s no problem. This is the best mount I had on my trip back from Marysville. I really didn’t mind seeing to his grub and water before I got my own. But I am hungry, so I’ll head inside now. Have you had dinner yet?”
“Nah. No time.”
“Why hasn’t Gus hired another hand for out here? Are you this busy every night?”
“There are usually some horses to care for in addition to the Pony Express horses. But only when the stagecoach stops do we get this busy. I can handle it on my own.”
“Well, you look as though you haven’t eaten in days, so I’m going to head inside and grab some food for both of us and come back out here. You need to get nourishment first if you’re going to be in charge of so many horses.”
“I’ll be all right, Val. Go, take care of yourself. Appreciate your help with this boy.” Sam ran his hands over the horse’s flank. “He’s cooling down. I’ll wash him down good and brush him. It’s the least I can do for him after he’s put in a good workout.”
Val eyed Sam again. Another hard stare. Stubborn, obstinate boy. But Sam was not his responsibility, and if he didn’t want to take care of himself, it was not Val’s problem. He shrugged and left the barn. Joseph’s word came into his mind, though, as he sat in the large dining hall sniffing his plate full of delicious food. Inendaagozi. Perhaps this was why he and Sam had been fated to meet. Because the boy didn’t have any common sense. Sam should know he had to keep himself fit in order to take care of a barn as large as Seneca’s. Instead, he was neglecting his own health for the sake of the horses.
