A Shadow on the Plains

Wild Ride

A moment later Eliana was climbing into the wide western saddle... a man's saddle... the like of which she had never ridden in before. The mail bags slung over the saddle and the gun belt she had buckled around her waist only complicated matters. She hadn't taken the time to change out of her blood-stained dress... though she felt later on it would have greatly benefitted her to borrow a pair of Jacob's jeans.

Her mother couldn't seem to stop thinking up things to warn her about, but there wasn't time. The express was already an hour late and before long, Eliana had kicked the flighty pony into a swift gallop and was thundering across the prairie, leaving the town far behind.

The first station she came to was the North Platte station, scarce five miles from the town. The station master was standing out front, holding the reins of a fresh horse. The new horse was even more skittish than the one Eliana already rode, prancing sideways as far as the station master would let him, throwing his head back, the eyes rolling wildly. Eliana reined to a halt and slid from the saddle as the station master hurried over, his eyes wide with shock.

"What're ya doin' here, gal? Where's th' rider?"

"He was shot by Comanches, back by the river," Eliana answered hurriedly as she unfastened the mail bags from the saddle and crossed over to the new horse. She didn't even stop to think for fear that the skittishness of the horse would cause her to lose her nerve. Ignoring the station master's protestations, she fastened the mochila to the saddle and clambered onto the pony, taking the reins and kicking the pony's sides hard. And so she galloped off, leaving the station master thunderstruck, gaping after her with eyes and mouth wide open.

It was that way at every one of the four stations where she stopped along the way. And each time she explained, breathlessly, that the rider had been shot, not even bothering to go into detail about the incident. And as she thundered on, with every mile that passed beneath her horse's hooves, she prayed. Prayed that she would make it safely... that her family back in North Platte would be all right... that the express rider wouldn't die.

It was rough riding, and she took it slower than the express rider did, although she regretted every minute that flew past that she couldn't put those mail bags into the hands of the next rider. The wind whistled past so roughly and the land was so rugged that she expected at every moment to be torn from the saddle. She lay low on the horse's neck, clinging for dear life as the Wyoming landscape flashed dizzily past. Her eyes stung from the force of the wind and the dust flying up from beneath the pony's hooves. Her head ached, her chest ached, her stomach ached and... for some reason... she didn't know why... her nose was bleeding. The sheer exertion of the ride was nearly enough to kill her, or so she felt.

When she reached the badlands, her heart sank. Bridger Valley, it was called, but it seemed too tame a name for the rugged nightmare that met her eyes. She couldn't even bring herself to look at those terrible peaks so she did something crazy. Half-witted, some would call it. She shut her eyes tight, pressed her head to the horse's neck, and prayed as hard as she possibly could, while at the same time, kicking the horse into motion. She kept her eyes closed all through that bone-jarring half-hour's ride through Bridger Valley, trusting God and God alone to get her through it. When at last they stood on level ground again, her heart nearly burst with the relief. A miracle... that's all it was and all it could possibly be. There was no physical way that, unexperienced as she was, she could have made it through Bridger Valley alive and safe.

Rock Creek station lay seven miles beyond Bridger Valley. When at last, weak with relief, Eliana spotted it in the distance, she began to unfasten the mochila from the saddle. She was three hours late. The next rider was mounted, leaning forward in the saddle impatiently. The station master paced back and forth in front of the crude log building, scanning the horizon anxiously. When at last he saw Eliana coming, the rider gave a whoop and galloped forward to snatch the mailbags from Eliana's outstretched hand, his jaw dropping in surprise when he saw the girl in the saddle. But he didn't stop, just spurred his horse faster as he galloped further west. Eliana didn't have the strength to rein her horse in, but the pony stopped anyway as the station master came running to lift her from the saddle.

"What in heaven's name are ya doin', gal? Ya look half-kilt... how much o' that blood is your'n?"

"I'm sorry," Eliana laughed weakly as she gasped for breath. The station master was supporting her, else she would have fallen, for she simply could not remain upright. "I... I know I... look... an awful... mess. But I'm... fine."

"Where is the express rider?"

"He... he was... shot... by Comanches. But he's... still alive... or was... when I... left."

"You from North Platte?"

"Yes." She let her head droop wearily, wanting only to collapse onto the ground and sleep as long as she could. Sensing the girl's exhaustion, the man picked her up and carried her into the station. She was asleep by the time he laid her on the cot.

How long she slept, Eliana didn't know. But when she opened her eyes again, the sun had risen and the station master was frying bacon.

"You all right, gal? Ya gave me a scare, last night, I thought ya were agoin' t' up an' die on me. But ya slept soundly enough."

"I feel as if I just fought an entire battle single-handedly," Eliana murmured dully, staring ruefully at the ceiling, for she had as yet made no move to sit up. Everything hurt too much.

"You must be th' Sunshine Girl," the station master continued, matter-of-factly.

"You know about that?" Eliana laughed in spite of herself.

"Yup. Shore do. An' ye're even prettier than he said."

"He... he said..." Eliana sat up then, her cheeks flaming. "He... did he?"

The station master just laughed.

"Better come an' eat while th' eatin's good. I'll take ya back t' North Platte soon as ye're done."

oOo

Eliana was grateful when she found that the station master, whose name, apparently, was Jackson, had a wagon. No way did she want to climb back into the saddle after her ordeal the day before. But in a wagon, the fifty-mile trip took nearly all day. Especially since, as Jackson informed her, "Ain't no way this wagon's makin' it through Bridger Valley. We gotta take th' long way 'round. Cain't see how ya made it through Bridger Valley either. Doesn't make no sense. Man, ya got guts, gal. Ain't never seen no gal as brave an' tough as you."