The Chronicles of Nicholas Clemens

First Ride

The horse's hooves thundered under him. Dust billowed behind him and the sun beat on his back, through his dark jacket. The cold wind bit at his cheeks and made his eyes water. His hat had blown off his head some time ago, but was held on his back by a leather string that attached around his neck. His black hair whipped wildly in the chilly, dry air and his blue eyes sparkled with life. The rocking back and forth of the horse had become a part of him, as much as if he'd been running himself.

Blond grass, with tuffs of sage brush flew by as they galloped across the land scape of the wilderness. They galloped over hills, passed groves of sleeping cotton woods, on their journey. He knew if he looked back, he wouldn't be able to see the Station that he'd just left, just outside of Fort Laramie. The grumpy man there that had given him a fresh horse to ride for the next 10 miles...Well, 8 miles now. 8 miles to the end of his 100 mile journey. It was a long distance, but he loved it. Being able to ride a horse as fast as possible all day or night, depending on when he started, was so fulfilling that he wouldn't change it for the world.

Nick remembered the first time he saw an ad for the job. It had read: Pony Express. St. Joseph, Missouri to California in 10 days or less. WANTED: young, skinny, wiry fellows not over eighteen. Must be expert riders, willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred. Wages $25 per week." Sounded perfect for him. He still had a year till he turned 18, and he'd always been teased for being smaller than the other boys. Now he could put his skinny body to use. He wasn't an orphan though, just an adventurer. He loved traveling, but his parents, not so much.

Movement in a nearby grove of silent tree's caught his eye. He scanned the shadows, around fallen tree trunks and dead grass as they passed. Nothing. He was about to shrug it off when something flew passed his ear, followed by a stinging pain. His heart jumped to his throat. He gingerly touched his ear and his fingers came back bloody. He sucked in a breath and looked back at the grove. There definitely was movement now.

Three horses exploded out from behind the trees and bushes, flying towards him. Three, painted, scowling Indian Braves rode bare back on them, all holding bows and arrows. One drew back and fired. The arrow just barely missed Nick's shoulder. His heart jumped and he gasped through his teeth. He whipped around and kicked the horse, urging it to go faster. The Indians curved behind him to follow yelping and hollering wildly. Through the wind in his ears, he could hear the whoops and hollers of the warriors behind him.

The horse whinnied and shook its brown main. Nick looked down to see a thin line of blood on its shoulder. He let out a breath. It was just a small cut...so far. He crouched down, laying on the horse with his head beside its neck. An arrow whizzed past the place his back used to be, barely missing the horses ears. Nick grabbed one of the revolvers at his hips and tucked it under his chest, pointing it back, looking over his shoulder. The horse better not decide to turn any time soon or he'd fall off. He fired. The Indians jumped, then ducked, but nothing happened. The first shot was a miss. Nick cocked it and fired again. Another miss. He cursed under his breath. One of the Indians drew back his bow. Nick cocked his revolver again. The Indian fired first. The arrow slammed into Nick's jacket, ripping through it, and scraping the skin underneath, then getting stuck halfway through. Nick gasped and tried to grab on to the horses neck but the force of the arrow catching on his jacket unbalanced him. With a yelp, he tumbled off the horse. Pain shot through his back and shoulders as he rolled several feet on the grassy, yet rocky ground. He finally came to a stop on his side, facing away from the Indians. Instead of getting up, he laid there, discreetly grabbing his second revolver.

Both guns had been provided by the Pony Express and he was very grateful for them right now. He cocked it back and waited. His heart thundered in his chest and ears, and it took all his self-control to not look behind him. He could hear the Indians holler as they got closer and could feel the horse's hooves through the ground. His own horse kept running, towards Horseshoe Station-its final destination. He hoped it made it, even if he didn't. That would be humiliating. The first rider to die on the Pony Express, and on his first ride even. Splendid.