THE BOY STAGE DRIVER OF THE OVERLAND.
After six months longer of Pony Riding over the dangerous trail of
seventy-six miles, ridden by day and night in all kinds of weather,
Buffalo Billy met with an adventure that was the cause of his again
finding another occupation.
The Indians had become very troublesome as fall came on and a number of
pony riders had been killed and stations burned along the route until
there were few who cared to take the risks.
The stage coaches also were often attacked, and on one occasion the
driver and two passengers were killed and several others were wounded.
But Billy did not flinch from his long, lonely and desperate rides, and
seemed to even take pleasure in taking the fearful chances against death
which he was forced to do on every ride out and in.
One day as he sped along like the wind he saw ahead of him the stage
coach going at full speed and no one on the box.
At once he knew there was trouble, and as he drew nearer he discovered
some Indians dash out of a ravine and give chase.
As he heard the clatter of hoofs behind him he looked around and saw a
dozen red-skins coming in pursuit, and felt confident that he must have
dashed by an ambush they were preparing for him, by suddenly changing
his course and riding _around_ instead of _through_ a canyon.
The stage coach was now in the open prairie, and dashing along the trail
as fast as the horses could go, while the Indians in close pursuit
numbered but three.
Billy was well mounted upon a sorrel mare, and urging her with the spur
he soon came in range of the red-skin furthest in the rear and hastily
fired.
Down went the pony, and the Indian was thrown with such violence that he
was evidently stunned, as he lay where he had fallen.
Another shot wounded one of the remaining Indians, and they hastily sped
away to the right oblique in flight, while Billy dashed on to the side
of the coach.
There were five passengers within, and two of them were women, and all
were terribly frightened, though evidently not knowing that their driver
lay dead upon the box, the reins still grasped in his nerveless hands.
Riding near, Billy seized his mail bags and dextrously got from his
saddle to the stage, and the next instant he held the reins in his firm
gripe.
He knew well that Ted Remus, the driver, had carried out a box of gold,
and was determined to save it for the company if in his power.
His horse, relieved of his weight and trained to run the trail, kept
right on ahead, and he, skillfully handling the reins, for he was a fine
driver, drove on at the topmost speed of the six animals drawing the
coach.
Behind him came the Indians, steadily gaining; but Billy plied the silk
in a style that made his team fairly fly, and they soon reached the
hills.
Here the red-skins again gained, for the road was not good and in many
places very dangerous.
But once over the ridge, and just as the Indians were near enough to
fill the back of the coach with arrows, Billy made his team jump ahead
once more, and at breakneck speed they rushed down the steep road, the
vehicle swaying wildly, and the passengers within not knowing whether
they would be dashed to pieces, or scalped by the Indians, or which
death would be the most to be desired.
But Billy, in spite of his lightning driving, managed his team well, and
after a fierce run of half an hour rolled up to the door of the station
in a style that made the agent and the lookers on stare.
But he saved the box and the lives of the passengers, and several days
after was transferred from the Pony Rider line to stage driving on the
Overland, a position he seemed to like.