By western author Nick Brumby

“Alrighty boys, mount up and ride. Get that mail where it’s goin’. Oh, and one other thing – last one to Missouri has to stay there.”

Pony Express riders Billy Richardson, Johnny Fry, Charles Cliff, and Gus Cliff pose for a group shot in a rare spare moment from delivering America’s mail across the Frontier.

Eighty riders, 190 way stations, 500 horses. The Pony Express was the first “express” mail line across the United States. For its time it was a marvel of innovation, organization, ingenuity and sheer plain guts.

Riders received a Bible, a pair of Colt revolvers and $125 a month to ride at high speed through some of the roughest and most dangerous terrain known to man. It operated only from April 1860 until October 1861, but in its short life forged a legend that will last as long as the legend of the Wild West itself.

Before the advent of the Pony Express, the railroads and telegraph lines extended no further west than St. Joseph, Missouri, and mail traveled west by stagecoach and wagons, a trip that could take months if it arrived at all.

This new way of mail delivery carried mail between Missouri and California in ten to thirteen days, an astonishing speed for the time.

The route stretched out on horseback for nearly 2000 miles. One hundred ninety stations in 5 divisions were established, 40 to 100 miles apart depending on the terrain, complete with bunk beds and feeding facilities; relay stations were established every 10 to 20 miles with small shelters, horses and stables.

The mail cost was first $5 per ½ ounce but was later reduced to $1 per ½ ounce. Closely following the Oregon-California Trail, the path diverted south of the Great Salt Lake and headed across the Sierra Nevada Mountains to save over 100 miles.

Nineteen months after launching the Pony Express, it was replaced by the Pacific Telegraph line. The Pony Express was suddenly obsolete.
However, the legend lives on.

“In rain and in snow, in sleet and in hail over moonlit prairie, down tortuous mountain path.. pounding pony feet knitted together the ragged edges of a rising nation.” — Frank S. Popplewell

About Nick Brumby

I like a good story. And of all stories, I love westerns the most.

As a kid, I spent far too many afternoons re-watching Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns, picking up ‘Shane’ for just one more read, or saddling up beside Ben Cartwright when ‘Bonanza’ was on TV each afternoon.

I’m a former journalist and I love horses, dogs, and the occasional bourbon whiskey. I live with my wife, daughter and our ever-slumbering hound in a 1800’s-era gold mining town – our house is right on top of the last working gold mine in the area. There may not be much gold left, but there’s history wherever you look.

I hope you enjoy my westerns as much as I enjoyed writing them!

Happy trails,

Nick