“Yes, that’s so; but it will soon shake the life out of you,” said he.  “However, if that’s what you’ve got your mind set on, you had better come to Atchison with me and see Mr. Russell, who I’m pretty certain, will give you a situation.”

I replied that I would do that.  I then went home and informed mother of my intention, and as her health was very poor I had great difficulty in obtaining her consent.  I finally convinced her that as I was of no use on the farm, it would be better and more profitable for me to return to the plains.  So after giving her all the money I had earned by trapping, I bade her good-bye and set out for Atchison.

I met Mr. Russell there and asked him for employment as a pony express-rider; he gave me a letter to Mr. Slade, who was then the stage agent for the division extending from Julesburg to Rocky Ridge.  Slade had his headquarters at Horseshoe Station, thirty-six miles west of Fort Laramie and I made the trip thither in company with Simpson and his train.

Almost the very first person I saw after dismounting from my horse was Slade.  I walked up to him and presented Mr. Russell’s letter, which he hastily opened and read.  With a sweeping glance of his eye he took my measure from head to foot, and then said: 

“My boy, you are too young for a pony express-rider.  It takes men for that business.”

“I rode two months last year on Bill Trotter’s division, sir, and filled the bill then; and I think I am better able to ride now,” said I.

“What! are you the boy that was riding there, and was called the youngest rider on the road?”

“I am the same boy,” I replied, confident that everything was now all right for me.

“I have heard of you before.  You are a year or so older now, and I think you can stand it.  I’ll give you a trial anyhow and if you weaken you can come back to Horseshoe Station and tend stock.”

That ended our first interview.  The next day he assigned me to duty on the road from Red Buttes on the North Platte, to the Three Crossings of the Sweetwater—­a distance of seventy-six miles—­and I began riding at once.  It was a long piece of road, but I was equal to the undertaking; and soon afterwards had an opportunity to exhibit my power of endurance as a pony express rider.

One day when I galloped into Three Crossings, my home station, I found that the rider who was expected to take the trip out on my arrival, had got into a drunken row the night before and had been killed; and that there was no one to fill his place.  I did not hesitate for a moment to undertake an extra ride of eighty-five miles to Rocky Ridge, and I arrived at the latter place on time.  I then turned back and rode to Red Buttes, my starting place, accomplishing on the round trip a distance of 322 miles.

[Illustration:  I IMMEDIATELY CHANGED HORSES]

Slade heard of this feat of mine, and one day as he was passing on a coach he sang out to me, “My boy, you’re a brick, and no mistake.  That was a good run you made when you rode your own and Miller’s routes, and I’ll see that you get extra pay for it.”