g was lifted with one
movement from the last horse to the relay animal. When one of these
messengers came within earshot of a station he always raised his voice
in the long shrill coyote yell, and by day or night, as that signal
came down the wind to them, the men who were on duty scrambled to get
the waiting horse into its place.

Many of these half-breed mustangs were unbroken; some were famous for
their ability at bucking. There is a man in my town, Joe Hand--he
would hate to acknowledge that he is getting on in years even now--who
used to ride the western end, and he said:

"They'd hold a bad horse for a fellow long enough to let you get the
rowels of those big Mex spurs fastened in the hair cinch. Then it was
you and that horse for it. The worst of it was that the pony would
usually tire himself out with his pitching, and you'd lose time. I
remember one that left me pretty badly stove up for a while, but I had
the satisfaction of knowing he'd killed himself trying to pile me."

But bad horses were a part of the game; like bad men every one in the
business expected them and took them as a matter of course. The riders
of the pony express hardly recall such incidents because of the larger
adventures with which their lives were filled.

There was the ride of Jim Moore, for a long time famous among the
exploits on the frontier. His route went from Midway station to old
Julesburg, one hundred and forty miles across the great plains of
western Nebraska. The stations were from ten to fourteen miles apart.
Arriving at the end of that grueling journey, he would rest for two
days before making the return trip.

One day Moore started westward from Midway station, knowing that his
partner, who carried the mail one way while he was taking it the
other, was sick at Julesburg. It was a question whether the man would
be able to take the eastbound pouches, and if he should not be there
was no substitute on hand.

Realizing what might lie ahead of him, Moore pressed each fresh horse
to its utmost speed during that westward ride. A man can endure only
so long a term of punishment, and he resolved to save himself what
minutes he could at the very beginning. He made that one hundred and
forty miles in eleven hours.

The partner was in bed, and there was no hope of his rising for a day
or two. The weary messenger started toward one of the bunks to get a
bit of rest, but before he had thrown himself on the blankets, the
coyote ye