The Short Story of Skinny, Young, Wiry, Fellow

Nailed to the slatted boards on the north side of the store front where the wind and rain had made the wood turn gray a poster caught his eye. Like a beam of light from Heaven above the yellow parchment glowed making him squint. He spat at the ground with his thumbs propped under the straps of his overalls that hung and flapped like sails around him. If he got caught out in a twister he might just get blown off the face of the Earth. At least that's what his ma always said when she wanted him to finish up his plate of supper. Etched in black at the top of the poster was a horse galloping at full tilt with a rider bent out over its neck either giving chase or being chased, but it looked like probably both.

He dreamt of riding that fast. His pa's old plow nags barely made it past a plod and when he did take one up to the lope it lumbered along and pounded the Earth like it might just punch a hoof straight through to China. The ruckus would send the hens to scattering in a cockle of feathers and cats careening out of the straw as it plunged to the barn. There was no stopping or turning the beast by the rope to its head collar because it wasn't a proper riding horse. Ma'd come yelling and his pa'd get him by the collar and give him a what for, but that brief taste of wind at his face and all the world whizzing past faster at least than his legs could take him was enough to make it worth it.

Beneath the picture of the horse he started reading, "Wanted: young, skinny, wiry fellows". Turning his arms around in front of him and looking down at his front and back up again he grinned. He was all of them. "Not older than 18, must be expert riders and willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred." 'Preferred' rolled in his head and he thought it might mean he didn't have to be an orphan. As for the rest of the requirements, he thought he sufficed pretty darn well. It told him to inquire at the stables in Marysville, Kansas. Right where he stood was just across town.

Horses and carriages clopped through the street where people waited, then passed. And, he waited too before crossing at a trot. Down a ways was a stable yard. Above it hung a sign, "Pony Express Stables." For a while he milled about looking at the horses. He hadn't seen horses like them before. Some were spotted with patches of white and brown. Some were small, but all of them had long legs and thin frames. They looked fast. Grooms and hands tended to them and took brief glances and nods to him as he walked on past. These were the men who would care for the horse's he rode he realized and thought it best to be cordial. So, he grinned wide and met them all with nods and hellos, good days, and how y'alls doin's. One man stepped up and asked if he could help him. He asked for the station manager and told him he was applying for a job.

In a small office a man sat scribing entries into a log book. Leather hung on the air filling his nostrils as he took a long drag of it. A fellow in a corner stuffed envelopes and letters into a mochila.

"Can I help you, son?" asked the station manager at the desk.

"Yessir' I come to apply." he said puffing up his chest to fill up his overalls and jutting out his chin to show his seriousness in the matter. "I meet all yer' requirements."

"Do ya'? Well, sit right here a minute and let me interview you," the station manager said pointing to a wood chair that sat opposite his desk. "You are a skinny wiry fellow aren't ya'?"

"Yessir'. Don't matter how much I eat. I's always like this. Ma says I's all elbows and knees and nothin' in between.

"I can see that and you're under eighteen?"

"Yessir'. My birthday was last month, but I didn't turn no nineteen yet." The man nodded at him even biting at his lip while he looked back to his prospective rider. Wood creaked underneath him as he sat up a little taller in the chair feeling good about his chances. With pay at $25 per week, he'd be making more than his 'pa.

"And you can ride fast?"

For added measure he threw in an assured grin to his future boss as he answered. "I only ride my horse as fast as it'll go." And that was the God's honest truth of it even if the horse ran slower than pond water. But, the man's face drew stern as he set the log book to the desk and leaned forward with his arms folded in seriousness. The man's eyes stared at him long and hard. He gulped.

"Then I have one more question because this job is extremely dangerous. The rider's grave is always open. One wrong step n' yer' horse can put a foot in a badger hole. He'll flip right over on you and kill you both. Then there's Indians. They'll cut a man's scalp clean off," said the manager his words biting the air as he lifted his brows quickly on wide eyes. But, there were those fast horses he'd seen outside and that wind. It just plain didn't matter. "Are you willing to die, son?" On this fact he took no time to think even though the man leaned back as if the question demanded pondering. But, nothing was going to keep him from riding fast.

"Yessir' I'm willin' to die. I don't care 'bout none of that. I just wanna ride fast and take y'alls mail." To this the man nodded, but still sat quiet and thinking. "Well, sir? Cain I be a rider for 'yer Pony Express?"

"I think you can be."

"Whoo doggy," he hollered as he sprung from the chair and spooked him self when it fell with a clatter to the floor.

The man in the corner had finished packing the mochila and stared in strange disbelief at him as he followed the manager out to the yard. Twice he had to jog to keep up with the man, but keep up he did right on his heels until they skidded to a stop in front of a corral. A groom walked over at the wave of a hand and pulled the pony from the corral. He'd never seen such a pony. In the bright light of the day it shone like a copper penny. Down its face a jagged white strip crissed and crossed all the way to its nose like a bolt of lightning. It was providence he was sure. Red as flames and fast as lightning they were going to give him the best horse on the lot.

A small saddle, stamped with "Landis" was set to its back. The cinches were run up tight and the stirrups pulled down. The manager called another man over and they talked at the side before he ordered him to retrieve the mochila. After a few minutes, the hand returned with it and set it over the top of the saddle. It was the other items he carried that made his eyes grow big as saucers. His heart beat about as fast as humming bird's wings when they handed him a bowie knife and an 1851 Colt "Navy" .36 pistol. Under no circumstances the manager said was he to use his weapons for anything other than defending himself. Finally, he was handed a copy of the Bible. All of it stowed and tucked into his saddle bags with the exception of the pistol which he pushed down into a deep pocket of his overalls where he could grab it quick.

With everything packed on the pony, he reached for the reins.

"Not yet, son. There is the Oath. You'll have to repeat after me."

Repeating every word in earnest he said the Pony Express Rider's Oath. "I, Jimmy Spencer do hereby swear, before the Great and Living God, that during my engagement, and while I am an employee of Russell, Majors and Waddell, I will, under no circumstances, use profane language, that I will drink no intoxicating liquors, that I will not quarrel or fight with any other employee of the firm, and that in every respect I will conduct myself honestly, be faithful to my duties, and so direct all my acts as to win the confidence of my employers, so help me God." By the end of it he thought he could have already gotten the mail to California and was just about to reach for the stirrup when the manager stopped him again.

"Do you know the motto of the Pony Express?"

"Yessir! The mail must go through!" This seemed to make the manager quite happy and with a wide grin the man stepped back so he could mount his horse. In all the time that had passed since he first saw that poster, he must have grown he realized because he never reached stirrups so easy, but he did. With a small hop he sat astride the red horse he called Lightning, reins in hand, pistol ready at his side and a pack full of mail. He started to turn for the gate, but spun the animal right back around. "Sir, where's this mail all headin'?"

"When you hit the main road here you'll ride straight through town to the west. At Parker's pond, go left on that road. You'll ride a good ways down that until you come to a yellow house on the right that sets back behind a stand of oak trees. Now the woman there is waitin' for her letter so you get it there fast. After she reads it, she'll have a letter to send back. That'll go right here," he said patting the pocket of the mochila behind his leg. "Is that clear?"

"Yessir, I can do that sir."

"Well, what's stoppin' ya?"

"Nothin'!" Unfortunately, he kicked his pony on before he had it turned around and they took a short run to the end of the corrals before he got it to listen and head back towards the gate. Men scattered holding onto their hats as he ripped through the yard and flew out the gate. People were taking their sweet time headed through town and he dodged them left and dodged them right as he and Lightning bolted past the stores and shops, past the school house, and past the church. All the while he parted the way before him reminding them, "The mail must go through!" It wasn't but two minutes later he hit Parker's Pond and almost missed the turn before he hauled back on the reins. Lightning skittered half side ways to a stop throwing up a cloud of dust. It took a firm grip of the mane in his hands and a strong pull of his leg around the back of the saddle to yank him self back into the middle of it. When he did he gave another quick kick and off they flew. A rider was approaching him fast and he wasn't sure but that it wasn't an Indian or a marauder to steal his packages so he pulled the pistol and aimed it. The man wore pin stripes and sat a plantation horse. Behind his glasses his eyes popped. He leaned way back in his saddle and swung his horse to the far side of the road. Thankful to see the fellow wasn't up to any trouble, he holstered his weapon again and picked the reins back up from the bobbing neck of his champion racer.

Out the corner of his eye he saw the yellow house, but it was too late to turn. Again he hauled back on the reins this time tipping nearly off the other side of his horse as he clutched for some leather and hung on tight until his back pockets were once again pressed into the saddle. They loped up the drive and right up to the porch. It was a good thing Lightning made thunder because she heard him coming and met him there in the front of the yellow house.

"Pony Express ma'am. I've got yer' mail." He said pulling the envelope out of the pack. For some odd reason she looked quite bewildered and he figured she probably wasn't expecting her mail to come so fast. "Station manager said you had somethin' to send back after you read it." His riding skills must have impressed her so much she nearly forgot he thought. But, she stepped inside the house and returned with a letter to put in his pack. She thanked him kindly and invited him for a slice of pie, but he had a job to do. He told her he appreciated her hospitality and swung back up to his horse to fly back the direction he came.

More folks dodged him on his way back. The wild clap of hooves beneath him pounded out the rhythm of his own excited heart on the hard packed dirt of the road. He was smiling wide with the wind streaking past his face until a fly caught in his teeth. Spitting it out, he pressed on faster towards the station with his lips closed tight, his eyes focused firmly on the stable yard ahead, and his shoulders leaning out over the neck of his fast horse. Afternoon sun blazed down from above, but he kept going thinking it might be too dangerous to stop there for water. He figured they could make it all the way back.

Sweat soaked and saddle sore, he hobbled down from the horse after his long and dangerous ride. The grooms came quick to tend to his horse. Because of his surefootedness and great heart he instructed them to feed it extra grain that night. It was part swagger and part raw skin the way he walked in to the station and set back into the chair. With his sleeve he wiped his brow. A streak of brown marked the shirt. Then he remembered the envelope in his hand and reached to deliver it to the manager.

"It's got yer' name on it," he said. The manager opened the folded paper and read for a moment then pushed it into his pocket.

"Thank you, son. I believe you'd like to get paid now?"

"Y'all don't pay me 'till the end of the week right?"

"That's true, but I needed a special rider for today and today only. You see that was a list from my wife of things to buy at the general store before I head home later."

"Oh," he said with a sigh looking down at his dusty boots. Suddenly he felt plum tuckered out and a little bit sad.

"How old are you, Jimmy?"

"I just turned eleven," he said kicking his boot against the floor.

"Well, I believe that just might make you the youngest rider we've ever had.

"Really?"

"Really. You did a fine job. The Pony Express thanks you." A hand stretched over the desk and handed him a whole dollar bill. He thought he'd be making a trip to the general store on his way home too.

"Thank you, sir. If yer' ever needin' any help again. I'd be much obliged."

"I'll keep it in mind. Have a good day there rider." With a final firm shake of hands he departed across town. Everyone was looking at him differently. In the store, he loaded up on gumdrops and lollipops, some bubble gum and still had fifty cents left. Walking down the boardwalk, he passed the poster and grinned. He might be skinny and wiry, but he was brave. He was a Pony Express rider. And, he rode fast, real fast.