They rode by night and they rode by day, the job was hard but they found a way, the Pony Express, they carried the mail.
Boys and girls, it was on November the 8th, 1860, at a point on the Platte River opposite Fort Kearney, Nebraska,
that a young Pony Express rider by the name of Pony Bob Haslam was handed a message, a very important message.
He quickly thrusted into his saddlebag, leaped to the back of his pony and dug home his spurs as he thundered away toward the setting sun.
There was news for California, big news, and it must be delivered in the shortest possible time.
That was the code of the riders of the Pony Express.
On and on rode Pony Bob over barren wasteland and through swollen streams.
As night began to fall, he took the quiet sandy trails, for this was Indian country.
Hostile Indians who hated all white men, and especially the riders of the Pony Express.
Suddenly, a coyote howled in the darkness.
But was it a coyote? Pony Bob's keen ears detected something very suspicious about that coyote howl.
He listened.
This time he was sure.
The Indians had seen him and were using the coyote call.
Pony Bob broke the buck's skin with his spurs and sped on through the night.
While down from the hills on both sides of the canyon came a howling avalanche of Indians.
An arrow thudded home in Pony Bob's shoulder, he lurched in the saddle, almost fell, but with a terrific effort he regained his balance.
An Indian warrior on a big black stallion thundered up closer and closer and closer, gaining on Pony Bob his Tommy Hawk poise for the kill.
Pony Bob wounded and swaying in the saddle, with a desperate effort, pulled his .45 and snapped a quick shot over his shoulder.
That Indian had chased his last Pony Express rider.
Then, bending low over his brave pony, Bob galloped on through the night.
Though his head reeled and his eyes were dimmed, there was but one thought in the mind of this brave man.
The brave man said,
The message must get through. The Pony Express would not fail.
As his sweating horse roared into a relay station, young Bob tumbled from his saddle.
Another courageous rider quickly mounted and was away, on to another station and another rider.
From station to station, until on the sixth day a tired rider swung from his horse in front of the interline telegraph office at Fort Churchill, Nevada,
and filed a message that all California was breathlessly waiting for.
The United States of America had a new president.
His name was Abraham Lincoln.
Through the rain and the sleet and the snow and the hail, they never did stop and they never did fail.
The Pony Express, they carried the mail.
Therd day time, Bob and Bob W��게요 had no touristco performers outside for a week.

So Bob was at the front of the Pony Express, matched by Bob, whereby Bob and theerville saw of Bob.



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