January/February 2002

Abby heard a long, distant call, somewhere out there in the night. A trumpeting call, like a bugle or maybe it was only the wind. Snow whirled past the cabin window in an endless parade of white, and the wind moaned as it blew around the corner of their house. There had been blizzards like this last March, but this year was different. Abby didn’t feel content inside, as Mama sewed and Papa whittled in the flickering light of the fire, as their old draft horse James slept peacefully in the barn. This year something inside her felt unsettled as she looked out at the wild blur of snowflakes. There was something bigger and better she could be doing. Something more important than knitting stockings, more interesting than sitting inside on these long, long winter evenings. It was because of the Pony Express, of course. Ever since that exciting day last April, when the first delivery boy in that amazing new mail system had come galloping into the station, Abby had known that she wanted to be one of those fearless Pony Express riders. That sunny day Papa and Abby had ridden James to one of the stations, where the station keeper and the stock tender kept food and fresh horses for the boys who rode the Pony Express. James plodded along so slowly that the trip took them nearly an hour. There were only two small log cabins there, alone in the middle of the prairie. One was a stable for the horses; the other served as a storeroom and a place for the men to stay. Abby noticed that the windows were small squares of grease paper instead of glass. Soon Abby saw the Pony Express boy, charging across the prairie Two wagons were parked in the shadow of the stable; they had been used to bring supplies from the city of St. Joseph. “This whole thing was one man’s invention,” Papa told Abby. “Mr. William Russell decided that the western territories needed a system that would get the mail to them faster than stagecoach, and so he organized the Pony Express and invested just about all the money he had in it. The man’s probably hoping for a government grant eventually, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave it to him. Supposedly these ponies can get the latest news from St. Joseph to Sacramento in ten days.” Abby shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed at the sky, the long, waving grass, the emptiness in every direction. But it didn’t really feel empty or deserted. It felt as if the land had flattened itself down to make way, and the two little station buildings were the only things brave enough to stay where they were, waiting for whoever was coming. “I bet the Pony Express will get the mail through faster than that someday,” she said. “All the riders have to do is travel a little bit faster!” Suddenly a rider’s bugle had echoed across the prairie, warning of his approach. The station keeper, a big, important-looking man with a big, important-looking mustache, hustled Abby and Papa out of the way as he brought out a restless mustang pony, already saddled and prepared for the rider. Soon Abby saw the Pony Express boy, charging across the prairie on his horse, stirring up a tiny cloud of dust. Papa bent down close to Abby’s ear, his beard tickling her neck. “That rider’s name is Johnny Fry,” he whispered. “He’s the first boy to ever travel for the Pony Express. Today he has ridden all the way from St. Joseph.” When Johnny Fry got to the station he leaped off his horse, threw the saddlebag full of mail onto the new mustang, jumped up to the mustang’s back, and rode away again, toward far-off Sacramento. It all happened so fast that for a moment Abby was stunned. “That’s all you get to see,” the station keeper had grunted, as he removed the tired horse’s saddle and led the horse into the stable. “You people just think the Pony Express is a whole heap of cowboys and Indians, don’t you? Well, you’re not going to see any Indians here.” But Abby had seen enough to decide that she loved it. Now she shivered in excitement as she pressed her nose against the frosty glass of the cabin window. She could be a rider for the Pony Express! She had ridden lots of horses before. What a wild, adventurous, wonderful life to lead! She would ride through the prairies and mountains and deserts of the West, just her and her faithful pony. She would have a hero’s welcome wherever she went! And if the war over slavery really broke out, she would carry secret messages for their new president, Abraham Lincoln, to help him make the United States into one country again. Abby examined her reflection in the window. Curling red hair, a little bit bushy; long, but she could gather it into a bun and tuck it under a cowboy hat if she wanted to, out of the way. Hers was a tall, skinny figure; she would certainly be light enough for the horses to carry her long distances. She was only fourteen, but lots of boys that age were working for the Pony Express, and earning over one hundred dollars a month, too! She wasn’t afraid of a snowstorm, she thought defiantly. If only she had been born a boy. “You neglect your knitting, Abby,” Mama reminded quietly. Abby jumped and quickly picked up the long needles in her lap. “Ah, let her daydream,” Papa said, winking at her. “She has enough days of snow ahead to finish my socks.” Abby smiled into her lap and then looked up again. “Papa,” she asked carefully, “do you think California will secede along with the southern states? And will the Pony Express become a mail carrier for the South, then?” Papa kept whittling. “Ah, President Lincoln will set