A Shadow on the Plains

Misunderstandings

Author's Note:

I want to offer a sort of apology. In my writing, I occasionally use derogatory racial terms but that does not mean I condone such language. This is simply to present the views of certain characters. If a character of mine says "redskins" or "negroes", that does not mean I support that. It is the view of my character and in keeping with the tone and setting of the story. I do my best to present all people equally and fairly, as you can see in this chapter, the settlers and the native americans are equally in the wrong. The account of the Paiute girls' kidnapping by white traders is a true one, as is the Paiute raids on the Pony Express in retaliation. Both sides were at fault in this conflict. I believe in the equality of all men and women, as created by God. If at any time you feel that I have presented someone unfairly, please let me know and remain polite and fair in your critique. I will do my best to remedy all faults of this nature in my writing. Thank you for reading and please leave a review!!

oOo

Not surprisingly, John had asked about Eliana's necklace. Also not surprisingly, he had been more than a little annoyed when he learned who had given it to her. They quarreled over it and both went off in their separate ways, in a terrible huff. But the next evening, John had shown up at the Carter's front door, hat in one hand and prairie wildflowers in the other, to apologize. Eliana's heart melted at the flowers and she forgave him on the spot. That night, they began to make plans for their future.

And although she felt happy, Eliana was surprised that she felt a sense of uneasiness... discontent. She knew that presently, John would ask her to marry him. And she had made up her mind to say yes. Why, then, did she feel so... what was it? Hesitant? Did she really love him? But that was silly. She wouldn't allow herself to even think about it.

And so the days went slowly by. The express rider galloped through town, always on schedule... that never changed. And Eliana was always there to meet him, regardless of what John said.

But then something did change.

Word was, that down in Nevada, a couple of Paiute girls had been kidnapped by white traders. The Paiutes were on the warpath... and the Pony Express stations were being burned to the ground. The rumor was that express rider Bob Haslam... the only express rider's name Eliana had ever heard mentioned... had ridden 380 miles in just 36 hours on account of the Indian raids at the station.

Nevada was a long ways from Wyoming. And there were no Paiutes in the North Platte area. At first, no one really worried about it. But then the rumors started circulating that the Comanches just over the North Platte river were uprising. Whether it was related to the Paiute raids in Nevada or not, the settlers began to get nervous. Although nothing had happened... yet... it could happen.

People began to speak in whispers, moving slowly through town with grey, drawn faces. Eliana noticed it most at the supper table, when everyone sat quietly, just picking at their food, rather than chattering merrily as they shoveled their food down.

She even got into another argument with John over it.

"If those fool traders down in Nevada hadn't gone an' kidnapped those girls, then nobody would even be in any danger," she had fumed. "Why they gotta go an' stir up trouble, I can't understand."

"But those redskins were just waitin' for a chance to go an' murder us all," John had returned, heatedly. "They'd a done it anyway. You know that, Ellie."

"No, I don't," she had shot back. "We were in the wrong this time. An' now people are bein' killed over... plain stupidity."

Both had retained their firm opinion on the subject and had stayed mad at each other for three whole days, this time around. But then they decided there was no point in arguing over it and simply put the issue aside, not speaking of it at all.

John hadn't yet asked Eliana to marry him, at least formally, but in spite of that one minor fact, he was already beginning to look at places were a house could be built. Not just a mere cabin, like Elliana's sisters and brothers had started out in, but a real two-story house with glass windows and wooden floors.

"It'll be the grandest house in town, sweetheart," he had told her with a smile. "And you'll be the grandest lady in town." But then he had added, teasingly, "Of course, when you're Mrs. John Halliday, there won't be any more gallops down Main Street with the Pony Express. Or standin' on the street with doughnuts, for that matter."

"I can't remember you askin' me to be Mrs. John Halliday," Eliana shot back, teasingly.

"Maybe I haven't," John grinned. "But you never know."

Eliana hadn't said anything to his comments about the express rider. She had found it didn't really pay to argue with John. He was almost more stubborn than she was.

oOo

It wasn't until a chilly morning in mid-October that trouble struck... and really only minor trouble at that. The Comanches had no intention of plundering the town... but they certainly had an intention of targeting the Pony Express.

The express rider that took the route over the North Platte River knew this well and he was prepared for anything that might happen. And determined... the mail must go through... and at absolutely any cost. Even that of his life. But he wouldn't go down without a fight.

He set out that morning from the station in Apache Flats and ten, twenty, thirty miles slipped quickly by without a single problem. But when the North Platte River loomed into view, he began to grow alarmed. Dark shadows were slipping by in the distant trees and it seemed as if far-off riders were crossing the plains... towards the river.

He drew his rifle from the scabbard, laying it across the pommel of the saddle. It was already loaded and held fifteen good, solid rounds. And the six-shooters in his belt were good for another twelve. He was prepared to hold his own against as many as would dare to go up against him.

They closed in on him just as he reached the river's edge. Seven Comanche warriors, all mounted on horses just as swift as the rider's own mountain pony and armed with a dizzying array of bows and rifles and tomahawks. There was no cover.

The conflict didn't last long but it made up for its shortness with ferocity. The rider emptied his rifle, all the while backing toward the river. He shot without the intention to kill, going after the warrior's horses instead. Killing someone's horse was a surefire way of disabling them. If he could just make it across the river, then it would be a quick stretch to the town of North Platte.

In one wild, sudden impulse, he plunged his spurs into his horse's sides, urging the pony into the rushing river. That mail just had to get through. He could hear the cries of the warriors behind him, heard the arrows and the bullets whizzing just over his head. As he made it at last to the opposite bank, he felt for one moment a sudden sharp pain raging through his back and along his side. Winding the reins around his hands and leaning forward, he urged the pony faster, faster, into a wild gallop across the plains. Riding faster than ever he had ridden before.

But he could feel himself slipping from the saddle... everything seemed to be growing dim. He shook his head fiercely, trying to clear his vision, but to no avail. In one last, desperate effort, he slowed his pony as he dug a rope from his saddlebags and tied himself to the saddle, ensuring that the mochila was secure. No matter what happened, that mail would get through. The pony knew the route well. And so he let the pony run on as he slumped forward into the saddle, feeling his strength give way.