f us rushed off with the mail,
others at home would address the local list of papers and put them in
the mail boxes by the time the return mail came in for distribution.

Our U. S. mail transport was our old topless One-Hoss Shay--repaired and
repainted for the purpose--with the brown team hitched to it. It was a
long, hot drive, eight miles, to meet the stage, which reached McClure
at noon, jolting along under a big cotton umbrella wired to the back of
the seat for shade. I slapped the brown team with the lines and consoled
myself that if roughing it put new life into one's body I should be good
for a hundred years.

When we were behind time and the mail was light or there was money going
out, we ran Lakota through as a pony express. Lakota was a gift from the
Indians, whose name meant "banded together as friends." One day Running
Deer had come over to Ammons, leading a little bronc. He had caught her
in a bunch of wild horses which roamed the plains, a great white
stallion at their head. "One day--two day--three day--I have made run,
so swift like eagle. Then I rope her and make broke for ride."

She was a beauty. Graceful, proud--and lawless. "Good blood, like Indian
chief," said Running Deer with pride in this gift from the Sioux. "But
white squaw--she throw um, mebbe. Rub like fawn--" and he stroked her
curved neck.

There was no "mebbe" about throw um white squaw. One had to be on the
lookout or "swift like eagle" she would jump from under one at the
slightest provocation. But we trained her to carry the mail, and though
there was no banditry in that section, we had to be on our guard with
money coming in. No man would ever grab the mail sack from Lakota's
back. That little outlaw would paw him to death.

Whether we caught the mail stage or not often depended upon the mood of
the stage driver. If he felt tired and lazy he patiently sat in front of
the Halfway House at McClure and "chawed" and spat until he saw the
Ammons mail coming over the trail. If he were out of sorts he drove on.

All we got out of the post-office job was the cancellation of stamps, as
it was a fourth-class office in which the government furnished the
stamps and we kept the money for all stamps canceled in our office. But
the settlers were too busy to write letters, so the income was small and
the incoming mail, for which we received no pay, weighed us down with
work. For months after the settlers came west they ordered many
commodities