After crossing the Smoky Hill River, I felt comparatively safe as this was the last stream I had to cross.

I had the best buffalo horse that ever made a track.

My wife was delighted with the home I had given her amid the prairies of the far west.

I felt only as a man can feel who is roaming over the prairies of the far West, well armed, and mounted on a fleet and gallant steed.

Excitement was plentiful during my two years' service as a Pony Express rider.

My debut upon the world's stage occurred on February 26th, 1845.

On reaching the place where the Indians had surprised us, we found the bodies of the three men whom they had killed and scalped, and literally cut into pieces.