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