Pony Express Page 5

  We were alternately trotting and cantering, there being need to travel fast but, because the distance was fairly great, there was no purpose in wearing out our animals. I had the impression that Joshua was trying to see how good a rider I really was, because from time to time when we were trotting along at a fairly sedate pace, he would suddenly spur on his horse and forge ahead. I was able to catch him up almost immediately and I suppose that this became a kind of game between us as we journeyed on.

  Our way took us past scrubby grassland interspersed here and there with homesteads. I asked if Joshua was going to call at each and every one of them, but he said that would not be necessary. Word would soon be spread from the few that he did favour with a visit.

  It must have been approaching midday when we came to the river that he had told me of, where the track went to the right, and we had to head left. There were woods along the side of the track here, stretching off to our right and leading up into some hills. We reined in at the ford and surveyed the scene. Everything was as peaceful as could be. The river was little more than a large stream; it would not be difficult to cross. I turned to Joshua and said, ‘It’s real pretty round here.’

  He smiled and took breath to answer, but before he could do so there was a sound like a woodpecker striking a tree trunk and almost at once, from the front of the young man’s throat, an arrowhead protruded, having evidently been driven through from behind. As it emerged from his throat, a few drops of blood were sprayed over me. Then there was a whoop of triumph and from the trees emerged three men on horseback. I didn’t know a whole heap about Indians, but I was inclined to believe that these must be Comanches.

  CHAPTER 5

  Now there are maybe those who will be shocked to hear what course of action I next pursued. They will probably be people who have never faced imminent death from a bunch of bloodthirsty hostiles or been entrusted with a task which might ensure the safety of hundreds of innocent men, women and children.

  Joshua was making choking noises, like he might have something stuck in his throat; which, on reflection, was undoubtedly the case. He was shaking and attempting to cough and you didn’t have to be a doctor to tell that he was as good as dead that very minute. For my own part, I was keenly aware of the three Indians who had now set their ponies trotting in my direction; so, without further ado, I wheeled round and set off across the river at a brisk canter.

  When they saw that I might be about to escape their clutches, the Comanche braves let out a series of spine-chilling, warbling cries and set off in pursuit of me. I knew then that, if ever there had been a matter of life or death, this ride was it.

  Now my pony had had to work hard over the last day or so: no question about that. Still and all, he was a hardy little beast and he made a valiant effort under my frantic urging to outpace the Comanches. It was fairly plain to me, though, that this was a hopeless enterprise. A quick glance back showed me that the gap between us was slowly but inexorably shrinking.

  I considered briefly the wisdom of turning round in the saddle and trying to fire at the men chasing me. I was, as you will recall, a tolerably fair to middling shot with a pistol. However, although that sort of performance might be all well and good for a Wild West show, in real life it is a non-starter. The most likely consequence would be not only missing my target by twenty yards, but also losing control of my mount and taking a tumble. When you’re galloping at full pelt, the very last thing you should contemplate doing is ending up peering in the opposite direction to that in which you are travelling!

  Of course, there was another side to the coin when thinking about firing at each other, which was that the men who were after me laboured under a precisely similar handicap. At one point, I was vaguely aware of a blur of movement to my right and glanced round anxiously, in case one of the riders was on the point of outflanking me. In fact, one of them must have loosed off an arrow while they were galloping at full speed. It came no closer to me than thirty or forty feet and they did not seemingly feel inclined to waste any more arrows in that way.

  Another look behind me revealed that the gap between us was now no more than twenty yards or so. We were racing on the flat, across springy turf, and if it had not been such a desperate business, then this might have been an enjoyable gallop. When I heard a shot my heart leaped into my throat and I imagined that the men behind me were throwing caution to the wind and firing after me.

  I had not been paying much attention to my surroundings, putting every fibre of my being into outrunning the men who surely meant me harm, but after the shot I noticed a slight movement ahead of me and to my left. When I looked I saw that it was a puff of smoke spreading out and that this had been produced by two men, who were aiming rifles at either me or the men behind me.

  The question of who were their targets was settled when there was another puff of smoke, followed by the crack of a shot. I risked a quick look behind me and saw, to my immense relief, that two of the Indians had been shot from their horses. The third had reined in and was evidently giving up the chase.

  The overwhelming feeling of joy, that I was not after all about to be butchered by Indians, was combined with a feeling of gratitude to the men who had been my saviours. I felt that it would be churlish not to at least thank them for what they had done, despite my great hurry. I slowed down to a trot and guided my pony over to where the two of them were standing, their weaponry lowered, looking thoughtfully at me as I came on. When I reached the men, I said, ‘I’m right grateful for what you done. I don’t know what would have become of me otherwise.’

  The two men looked lean, rangy types: hard as nails and perhaps not overly given to needless chat. One of them said to me, ‘Couldn’t leave you to be killed.’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ I thought that I should spread the word as widely as possible about the incursion from the Indian Nations and so I continued, ‘There’s a whole bunch of Comanches heading this way. From all I’ve been told, it’s a regular invasion.’

  The man who had not yet spoken, said, ‘I counted three and two of them’s dead now. I don’t call that much of an invasion.’ His friend smiled at this.

  ‘Well, I have to ride to Fort Richmond to send word to the cavalry there,’ I said, a little put out that my momentous news was being received so casually, ‘Am I on the right track?’

  ‘Surely. Just carry on north.’

  ‘I need first to reach somewhere called New Jerusalem. Is that this way as well?’

  ‘Keep on straight and you’ll soon find it.’

  ‘Well, good day to you both and thank you again.’

  The two of them nodded at me amiably enough, but they both had faintly puzzled expressions on their faces, like they couldn’t make out the play. I think now that I had been so excited by the chase and all, that I hadn’t remembered to lower my voice at all and they had guessed that despite my clothing and hair; I was really a girl. That would have been enough to cause anybody to look puzzled.

  Anyway, I had been freed from the imminent fear of death and that was something to be glad about. Now that I was no longer in such dreadful peril, though, I fell to thinking about Joshua. I had only known him for an exceedingly short time, but what I had seen of him had impressed me favourably. I was sorry that my very last memory of the boy would forever be that arrow jutting out from the front of his throat. I could only hope that he had died quickly.

  I hope that I won’t be thought hardhearted by anybody for the seemingly off-hand way that I talk about the deaths of others, but I was most keenly aware the whole time that I had a mission to undertake; one which was quite literally a matter of life and death. It was this which fully occupied my thoughts as I rode, leaving little space for private griefs.

  I gained the town which I had been seeking since I had left Smoky Mountain the previous day, just a half-hour after being freed from the pursuit of the Indians. I say town, but that is perhaps too grand a word for what I found when once I had picked up the track north again.
r />   The settlement which I stumbled upon consisted of around twenty or thirty dwellings, most of which were set up in a line, as though to suggest a street. Some were stout, wooden-framed structures, but most were soddies. Maybe, for those who are unfamiliar with the term, I should explain what I mean by ‘soddies’.

  In some parts of the developing territories at that time, there were plenty of trees, which meant that you could chop a few down and make a little log cabin. Elsewhere, there was only grassland; this presented a greater problem when it came to building a house. The problem was solved by constructing what were, in essence, no more than glorified mud huts. Blocks of turf were dug up and then piled one on top of the other to make walls. These could then be roofed over with tar-paper or some other waterproof material. This then was a soddy and they were very popular with many homesteaders. Some were quite elaborate affairs and they could even, with a little ingenuity, be made into two-storey houses.

  Some of the dwellings that made up the so-called ‘town’ of New Jerusalem were no more than one room, adobe shacks. Others were larger and had second floors. In addition to the soddies and handful of wooden houses and barns, there was a well-built wooden church, which appeared to be the focal point of the whole settlement. As I rode in I could see no sign of any store or saloon though, which might perhaps have been a sign of their Godliness.

  There weren’t all that many folk around, but those I did see were dressed modestly in dark and sober clothes. You got the feeling that these were people who took life seriously. Despite what more than one person had told me about these being Quakers, they were nothing of the sort. Instead, they belonged to some altogether harsher and more religiously observant sect, more akin to Hutterites than anything else.

  My arrival in what I suppose might be called their main street caused no little consternation. Two women who were walking by with little children gathered their charges anxiously to them, as though I might be planning to make off with them. A man stopped dead in his tracks and stared openly at me, as if I was the strangest creature he ever had set eyes upon.

  Now it was at this point that I encountered a problem which I am sure has long since struck those reading this. It is that it is all well and good for folk to say, ‘Go and warn those in such and such town, tell them they must leave their homes at once.’ Unless, though, you happen to be like some prophet of olden times, whose words will be heeded by all those who hear them, then actually carrying out this task is apt to be at best embarrassing and at worst, utterly useless. When you are a dusty, dishevelled young girl who is trying to pass herself of as a boy, then this is likely to be an even trickier business. I said to the man who was gaping at me, ‘There’s a whole heap of Comanches heading this way. You and your people need to flee north and seek shelter at Fort Richmond.’

  Even as I said it, this sounded a little thin. Why on earth would anybody take heed of me?

  ‘Where you from, boy? What’s your authority?’ asked the man, and I found myself lost for an answer. The women and children wandered up and were peering closely at me.

  I said, ‘A lot of Comanches have crossed over from the Indian Nations. They’re in the territory now and have already killed people. You got to leave right now.’

  ‘We don’t care in this town for anybody telling us what we should do,’ said the man, ‘nor are we keen on seeing guns.’

  I couldn’t make out at all what accent this man had. At first I thought English, but then I wasn’t sure. He turned to the women and said, ‘Sister, might I beg you to fetch one of the elders?’

  ‘With a good will,’ she replied. Giving me a suspicious look the woman took the children’s hands and set off down the street. It wasn’t difficult to see that I had not made a specially brilliant impression so far, but I was somewhat at a loss to know what else I could have done.

  The man was still looking at me with what I interpreted as disapproval. Once the woman had been dispatched to fetch an ‘elder’, whatever that might mean, he said to me, ‘While we’re awaiting on our sister’s return, I’ll trouble you to hand over that gun at your belt. We’ll have no deadly weapons on our streets in this town.’

  Now this put me in something of a quandary. I didn’t want to be at outs with these people or they might not take my advice seriously. On the other hand, nor did I wish to be left defenceless, with Indians swarming across the border into this part of the territory. While I was pondering the question, the man carried on staring hard at me and then said,

  ‘Well? You going to do as I bid?’

  Before I could think of an answer, the woman who had been sent on an errand to find an elder returned without her children but with a tall, muscular old man of about sixty or sixty-five. His snow-white hair fell over his shoulders and he had a long beard to match. When he came up he said to the man who had demanded my gun of me, ‘Brother Seth, what’s this I see? Guns are the Devil’s work. You know that as well as I do and yet here is a young man, as bold as Lucifer, carrying such in public.’

  Brother Seth, for that was evidently the name and title of the man who wanted my gun, clenched his jaw until the muscles stood out like ropes in his neck. He said sullenly, ‘I already asked him for it.’

  ‘Asked?’ said the old man in amazement. ‘Do you ask a wolf to give up its prey? Do you ask the man of blood to forsake his wickedness? You do not. It is not mealy-mouthed requests that are needed in the present case, but strong words.’ He marched up to me where I was seated on my pony, and said in a booming voice, like he was delivering a sermon in a big church, ‘Boy! Hand over that firearm.’

  I gained the feeling that this fellow was in the habit of having people listen to him and then do as he said. This can have a bad effect upon some people, because they start to think that they are more important than is actually the case. I was right ticked off about the situation, because I had only come to their damned town to save their lives and now they were bossing me about. I was more than half-minded to spur on my pony and just dig up and leave that town.

  It could be that the old man, this elder that they minded, saw the thought cross my face, because of a sudden he lunged forward and grabbed my reins. Then with the other hand he reached up and grasped my arm firmly. He may have been as old as Methuselah, or so he seemed to me at my young age, but by golly there was an uncommon amount of strength in his muscles. So unexpected was the movement that I found myself tumbling from my horse and falling into the dust. It was then but the work of a moment for him to bend down and snatch the pistol from my holster. He then proceeded to hand it to the man called Brother Seth.

  To show, presumably, that there was no hard feelings about dealing with me so roughly, the old man then helped me get to my feet. As he did so, his arm brushed against my chest and he withdrew it as though he had been scalded. He then gave me a look of detestation and horror, and said to the woman who was still standing there silently and observing all that was happening without comment, ‘Sister, we are all of us deceived. This is a woman, masquerading as a man. This is a disgusting thing, abhorrent to God and man.’

  Well, I could not somehow share his view; for my own self there seemed to me to be many things in this world that are a sight worse than an adventurous girl putting on her brother’s pants; but there it was. To these folk, girls dressing as boys and, for all I know to the contrary, boys dressing like their sisters, was obviously something shocking.

  What had begun as an honest and selfless action on my part to save these people had now been turned on its head, leaving me as some sort of bad lot. I wasn’t altogether sure how this had occurred. The old man still had hold of my pony’s bridle, so that I wasn’t able just to vault inot the saddle and escape, leaving them to the mercy of the Indians. Not only that, but my father’s pistol was in the safe keeping of Brother Seth, who was now looking at me like I was something lower than a skunk. Who would have thought that swapping clothes about would have been so frowned upon?

  I might explain here that the people who had
settled thereabouts were very hot for the Lord and felt that they had a better handle on the Lord’s intentions and desires than any of the big churches. They were what some call ‘primitive Christians’. They shared everything and helped each other out in every way.

  That was all well and good, but the down side was that their leaders were forever ferreting around in Leviticus or Deuteronomy for something that folk enjoyed doing that was really sinful. Girls wearing boys clothes and vice versa was one of those things that apparently the Deity was dead set against, although for why I could not tell you.

  So far I had manage to annoy the three citizens I had so far met in New Jerusalem, both by carrying a gun and by dressing as a boy. I guess that this was not a good beginning when it came to persuading them to abandon their homes purely on my say-so. Even if I had been dressed respectably and had ridden into that town unarmed and as meek and girly as you please, I still think that I would have encountered trouble there.

  I had not realized this until the old elder said to me in that loud, preaching kind of voice, ‘Something needs to be looked into here. You come here waving a gun about, disguised as a boy. Then you tell us we have to leave our homes unguarded and go from this town. What would be the next event, some gang of your friends rides in and steals all our belongings? Is that how it was planned, hey?’

  I hadn’t thought about it, but hearing the case so neatly set out in that way, I suppose that he had a point. He didn’t know me from Adam and here I was, urging him and his neighbours to leave town at once. It must have sounded a bit odd. But I knew that this wasn’t at all the case and I also knew what he did not: that a large body of Comanches were at this very moment sweeping through Kansas and most likely leaving murder and mayhem in their wake.