Henry stretched out on the cot he’d moved outside. The noise of the town was distracting at first, but then not so much as he relaxed. He huddled under the two worn and ratty blankets, hoping there wouldn’t be any bugs looking for a new home.
Henry awoke in the grayness of dawn to hear harsh voices nearby. He kept his eyes closed as he determined the voices were coming from around the corner of the station.
“I’m not riding with a boy. I need real backup. Butterfield will win the contract for his stagecoaches if we lose this one.”
Henry recognized Landy’s voice in reply. “What am I supposed to do, Tom? We’ve already sent the others away to come back later. The package will be here any minute.”
“You didn’t know what was in it before now?”
“I just got the telegraph. Lincoln’s trying to tell the nation that things won’t change before the South goes and starts a war. That address needs to get to California soon.”
Landy spoke again after a short pause. “The boy’s got a Pegasus. That’s got to mean something.”
“I reckon,” Tom said. “But if we get ambushed, that mustang will need wings. And I saw her just now. No wings.”
“They’re all you’ve got,” Landy said.
Tom snorted. “Might as well be nothing.”
Henry was sitting upright rubbing his face when Landy came barreling around the corner. He saw that Henry was awake.
“Guess you heard that, huh?”
Henry nodded. “We’re lots better than nothing.”
“We’ll see,” Landy said. He tossed Henry a biscuit, two hard pieces of bread separated by a slice of cured ham. It would fill his stomach nicely, tasty or not, though probably not, judging by the hardness of the bread.
“There’s a pile of hay and grass around the corner for your horse. Feed her and be ready to leave in thirty minutes.” Landy glanced back as he turned to leave. “And take that cot back inside.”
Henry spent his time preparing for the ride. He checked the load in his six-shooter and saddled Mazie. A Pegasus rider rode up in front of the horse’s body to allow room for the wings when spread. It took some getting used to, but Henry had taken to it quickly. He always saddled for wings even though Mazie didn’t have them yet. It was a crapshoot as to when they would sprout, and he wanted to be ready.
When he and Mazie reported to the front of the station, Henry stopped short. The Pegasus standing there was magnificent. He was a pure black mustang, almost 17 hands high, tall for his breed. His blackness was almost blue, the color so dark and rich.
Henry closed his mouth as realized he was gawking at the wings. He couldn’t see their span since they were down and layered against the body, but they lay like a second skin. Their coal color held an almost ghostly glow that swirled freely within its own splendor.
Henry assumed the man placing the mochila over the animal’s saddle was the unseen but reluctant Tom. He moved with confidence as he arranged the blanket-like carrier to his satisfaction. There were four pockets, or cantinas, padlocked at each corner of the small leather blanket. Tom’s weight would keep the carrier in place as he rode.
He turned and tossed Henry an identical mochila. Henry stood holding it, unsure of what to do with it.
“It’s a decoy, boy,” Tom said. “Put it on your horse like I’ve got mine.”
Henry did so, adjusting the blanket so the weight would be even. He then turned and approached the blond stranger to hold out his hand.
“We haven’t been introduced. My name’s Henry Sun Cloud Orr. This here’s Mazie,” he said as he nodded her way.
Tom paused, his head cocked slightly as he moved forward to take Henry’s hand. His clear blue eyes met Henry’s light brown ones with interest.
“Tom Sneads,” he replied. “And this is Shame. Your first ride?”
“Yep. But this is supposed to be a land route for a regular horse.”
“It is. This route’s rider broke his arm yesterday. Me and Shame are just filling in.”
“We’re ready for anything,” Henry said.
Tom smiled. “That’s good, ’cause it could get ugly. You know what we’ve got to carry?”
“I do,” Henry said. “We’ll get it to the next station.” He gulped, hoping it would be true. He didn’t want to be the one to muck up the most important delivery in the history of the Pony Express.
“Let’s ride,” Tom said as he mounted Shame and trotted to the road. Henry followed as they aimed their steeds to the west of town. They pushed the horses hard but not full out, both of them kicking up dirt and leaving a trail.
Land routes existed because Pegasi were still horses and therefore better runners than fliers. The Express only designated a route as an air route when there were mountains, canyons, water, or snow blocking the way.
Henry saw some canyons in the distance, but they mostly passed through prairies which had their own beauty. He especially loved the purple coneflowers that carpeted the plains in the spring and summer. He remembered spending many happy days gathering these plants with his grandmother for her remedies. The Cheyenne used them to fight mostly fevers and infections but also any snakebites that came along. The flowers weren’t in bloom yet, but Henry wondered if Brown Deer might be in this very field come harvest time.
He hadn’t been allowed to see Brown Deer since his mother had died two years ago. Stanley Orr told Henry that the Cheyenne didn’t want him because he was a half-breed. He said that Brown Deer’s respected position was the only reason the tribe had tolerated him as long as they did. Henry wasn’t sure what to believe, but he had no way to find out. He did know that, even if so, the Cheyenne wouldn’t be the only narrow-minded folk who thought that about him.
“Boy! Look!” Henry startled from his reverie as he whipped his head around to face Tom and Shame. The sun was now hot and high, with the previously damp air now being dry. He noticed Tom’s sweat seeping through the seam of his leather hat.
Tom jerked his head to face behind them, and Henry turned to see what had his attention. He saw a billowing, growing cloud of dust.
“Oh, no,” Henry said quietly. They were being followed fast, and from the size of the dust cloud, it was probably by five or six men. They were too far away for Henry to see them individually, but he knew they were there, hidden somewhere within the oncoming haze.
“What do we do?” Henry hollered.
“We ride!” Tom settled forward, tapped Shame with his spurs, and leaned into the motion.
They rode full out for the next few minutes. Henry knew who it was behind them, and he was sure Tom knew it, too. It had to be the Butterfield men.
John Butterfield’s Overland Mail Company was in competition for the U.S. mail contract for their stagecoaches. Their desperation today wasn’t so much about having influence on the direction of the nation, but about money. They were certain to win the million-dollar contract if the Pony Express lost Lincoln’s Inaugural Address. Butterfield was only months away from being put out of business by normal competition, and this contract meant his survival.
“They’re not getting this package.” Henry’s face hardened as he considered the stake. He slapped Mazie lightly with the reins to urge her on. “Yeee haaa!”
He could barely see Tom through the fine, dry dust he was now choking on. Tom kept looking back, apparently anxious to have Henry and Mazie catch up with them. Henry had to admit that Tom and Shame were quite able to go faster, or even fly, but they hung back, probably not wanting to leave Henry and Mazie to this band’s mercy.
Henry heard a gunshot from behind him. The bunch was getting close enough to shoot at them? Well, that meant one thing for sure. They were close enough to shoot back at.
Henry pulled out his Colt, aimed behind him as best he could, fired twice and then twice again. He heard a howl of pain, but he didn’t take the time to see who fell back.
He then heard the whine of more bullets as they whizzed past his head, but Henry startled as he realized they
were going in the opposite direction. He looked up to see Tom shooting past him through the dust. Henry hoped Tom could see him better than he could see Tom.
“I’ve got an idea, Mazie,” Henry said. When Tom looked back again, Henry motioned to him.
Tom slowed down enough to let Henry pull alongside of them. Henry waved his hand forward, motioning for him and Shame to go on.
“Let’s split up,” he said loudly. “You go ahead with the package, and I’ll draw some of them off of you by heading to the canyons yonder.” He pointed to the north. “That way you can fly.”
Henry tried to push the thought of the outlaws catching him alone to the hindquarters of his brain. There was no telling what they would do to him. He’d probably want a gunshot to the head by the time these men were finished.
Henry was grateful to know Mazie would be safe, no matter what. It was rotten bad luck to hurt a Pegasus. Everyone knew it would provoke the wrath of thousands of warrior ghost Cheyenne, the keepers of the Pegasi. He’d heard horrible stories around the card tables about the bloody vengeance they wrought on anyone that foolish. Henry counted on the thieves having heard the same stories.
His fear for Mazie was that she’d be forced to do their bidding. Her soul would be sullied by what was certain to be plebeian activities. The best Mazie could hope for under their possession would be to become part of a stagecoach team. While that was fine for a normal horse, it was degrading to a creature born of such noble breath. Oh, yes, the white man called these creatures Pegasi because of their own, ancient myth, but this particular bloodstock had royal Cheyenne origins to which outsiders weren’t privy.
Right now, as they were being determinedly dogged, separating themselves from Tom and Shame in order to split the bandits’ power was the only option Henry saw. He waved forward again to Tom.
Tom grimaced and shook his head. “I can’t go ahead! You’ve got the real package, not me. There’s no time to switch.”
Henry’s stomach rolled heavily. He had the real package? Why would the Express give him the real package? Yes, the thieves would expect the older and stronger rider to have the mail, but how stupid was that to actually put it with him, a greenhorn without even a winged horse?
He looked back to the individual riders now. He saw five of them, and they’d be on top of him and Tom in a matter of minutes. What should he do?
He yelled to Tom again, trying not to suck in the surrounding and suffocating dust. “You fly! They don’t know you don’t have the real package.” He knew that at least two men would follow Tom and Shame on the ground, hoping to keep up until they landed. That would leave three chasing him, and maybe he could lose them in the canyons.
Tom shook his head sideways as he responded. “You don’t know where the next station is.”
“I’ll find it. Five more miles west, right?”
“Yep! Good luck, kid! You’ve got heart.”
Shame unfolded his wings as he ran and raised them off of his body. He spread them skyward to create a glorious width-span. Henry almost lost his focus on the chase at hand as he marveled at the sight of feathered midnight. When Shame put his wings into motion, they literally blocked the sight of the landscape past them. Henry watched for a few seconds more as the beast lifted from the ground and soared. What a beauty.
Henry shook his head to reclaim himself, and then he jerked the reins to his right, northward. Mazie left the trail easily and headed to the canyons. They were only a mile or two away, but Henry still wasn’t sure they were going to make it.
He glanced back to see that three riders had followed Tom and two had stuck with him. Henry had the odds with him, and he hoped it would be enough. The duo seemed to be closing the gap though as he could now hear their shouts.
“Jones, go to his right. I’ve got his left.”
Henry rode as if his life depended on it, knowing he couldn’t allow them to hem him in. They might only take the package, or they might kill him out of meanness.
The sound of the pounding hooves joined the rhythm of the blood rushing through his ears. He was relieved to now be breathing air instead of Tom’s dust, but his chest was still burning. He wondered how Mazie was holding up under the increased stress. Mustangs were a hearty lot, but she’d never been put to the test like this before.
“Are you okay, girl? Can you make it? We’ve only got a little farther to go before we hit the canyons.”
Henry felt the slam into his right shoulder before he heard the shot. Only by instinct did he manage to not pitch forward from the impact. He’d never been shot before, and Henry let out a loud grunt before he gained control of his voice again. He didn’t want to scare Mazie, so he rode for a few seconds in silence.
Then the pain hit. It was all he could do to not succumb to the delicious temptation of blacking out. Things in front of him started to swirl, and he felt dizzy. His body leaned at a slight tilt, and Henry knew he was in serious danger of falling off. He quickly considered the consequences, and made a decision. He spoke, as much to himself as to Mazie. It helped him clear his thoughts.
“Mazie, I’m going to jump off in a minute. I want you to keep going. You’ll have a better chance to get away without my weight. You can find your way back to the station after you lose the bandits. The package will be late, but the Express will send it out again.”
Henry swallowed down a surge of pain as he readied for his fall to the ground while Mazie was running at top speed. This was going to hurt. Just as he started to let go, he heard a voice.
No. You can’t jump. The mochila won’t stay on the saddle without your weight to hold it down.
“What?” He must be losing more blood than he thought. That was Brown Deer’s voice coming from inside his head, but it was Mazie at the same time.
Stay in the saddle. We’re going to fly.
“You need wings to fly.”
Hold tight. It won’t take but a minute.
Henry considered this with what reason he had left. “You let me get shot before you did this?”
Until now you were only a rider. The Breed requires a sacrifice before we can truly bond. Once you show a commitment to someone or something else, we will fly for you.
“Let’s get gone then before I pass out.”
As they spoke, Henry felt the heat coming off of Mazie’s body. He didn’t know if Mazie felt the same kind of burn as the one blazing in his shoulder, but Henry worried for her, the heat so intense. There was also a thick, charring smell, like a fire raging through brush. Henry thought he might be sick, but he tried to quell the nausea, not wanting to defile his Pegasus friend in her moment of glory.
In the corner of his vision, he could see a bright golden glow coming from Mazie’s brand. He also thought he heard a humming noise, but he might have only imagined it. Henry knew his senses weren’t reliable right now.
Mazie’s white and cinnamon wings, painted as well, literally emerged from under her hide to lie on top. It was as if they had been hibernating, just waiting for the right moment to exist. Through his fog, Henry could hear more shouts behind him.
“She’s going to fly!”
“Shoot before they’re gone. But don’t shoot the horse!”
Henry heard more shots ring out as Mazie began her liftoff. Another bullet grazed his right arm, the one attached to the injured shoulder. A stinging pain erupted just above his elbow, but it was manageable. He tried not to drop his gun.
Henry only had two shots left, but he might as well use them. Gritting his teeth, he was able to lift his arm enough to empty his gun in the general direction of somewhere behind him. He heard a loud curse in response, and Henry smiled with satisfaction.
He and Mazie were now high enough to be out of shooting range. Henry carefully holstered his empty gun and leaned forward for stability, letting Mazie do the work. She circled back around to the trail they’d left, and headed westward again. Henry looked behind and under him to see the men and their horses standing still, watching. He hoped they w
ere figuring out what they were going to tell Butterfield.
Rest, Henry. It won’t take long in the air.
“Are you really Brown Deer?”
The voice chuckled. No. I’m still Mazie. Brown Deer lent me her voice so that you would be comfortable.
“Does she still live?” Henry asked, afraid to hope. He’d just gotten used to not having his father around. He wasn’t sure he could withstand another loss quite so soon.
She does, Henry. She awaits your visit. Rest now. I’ll get us to town.
Henry knew she would, so he closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound of Mazie’s new wings pushing against the air. It was a soothing whooshing sound, and the only distraction was the occasional bird or two.
He rather liked this flying thing, Henry decided. He would definitely do more of it, but next time, he’d try not to get shot. It would be easier all around.
Gold at the End of the Railroad
Elizabeth Ann Scarborough
There is little documentation of the critical role played by immigrant supernaturals when their various peoples came to the shores of America looking for a better life, but here is one account, told by an eloquent Irish friend of my family, about how the Irish and the Chinese, and hence the entire transcontinental railroad, were assisted by otherworldly beings from their native lands.
And what is it you think you’re doing here?” Patrick Finnegan asked the new man on the job. The short fellow with the red muttonchop whiskers didn’t look as if he could drive a nail, much less a railroad spike. But that wasn’t the cause of Finnegan’s distrust of him. “I thought we left your kind with your blarney and your tricks back in Ireland to bedevil the landlords.”
“Now, Paddy, don’t you go bein’ that way,” the little man said in a brogue even thicker than Patrick’s own. “I’m from the Auld Sod. I’m here to help you.”
“Auld Sod my arse. Sod off, you,” Finnegan said. “The bosses are already on our backs without the likes of you stirring up trouble. They don’t want to pay us fair wage for our labor and are threatening to bring in Celestials to replace us. They’d leave us stranded out here without wage, food, or water if I know bosses, and I think by now I do.”
Ages of Wonder Page 20