It will be understood that when the Pony Express was organized, it was necessary to establish relief stations at intervals of a dozen miles or so. Now and then these were separated by greater distances, when it was impossible to have it otherwise. Between the stations, the rider kept his horse at the highest possible speed. The average time scheduled was ten or twelve miles an hour, but where the route was favorable, the ponies held a speed of twenty and sometimes of twenty-five miles. Thus, as has been stated, the rider from the east and he from the west thundered toward each other at the incredible rate of fifty miles an hour――equal to the speed of an express railway train. There were portions of the trail where no rider dared show himself and pony during the daytime, because of the Indians on the alert for his scalp. The intrepid fellow and animal remained in hiding till night. When darkness came the man stealthily re-saddled his horse, led him out from the covert in which they had been crouching, climbed silently into the saddle and resumed his headlong ride. The late Major Chorpenning, remembered as one of the most prominent of freighters across the plains, told me that more than once he had labored through the mountains in the depth of winter when the snow under his feet was sixty feet deep! He was in Salt Lake City, talking with Brigham Young, when word came that the mail rider westward had been killed by Indians. The fiery-tempered Major bounded to his feet and swore he would follow up the rider, recover the mail and carry it to Sacramento. When he refused to take any companion with him, President Young forbade him to go, insisting that it would be sure death. “I’m serving the United States and not _you_,” replied the Major, laying his hand on his revolver; “I don’t think it will be healthy for either you or any one else to try to stop me.” So it was the daring Major rode out of Salt Lake City alone. Being perfectly familiar with the route, he made good progress. He had decided in his mind where the rider had met his death, and there sure enough he came upon the body. It was shockingly mutilated, and it was evident the man had made a brave defense. Chorpenning found his watch, which strangely enough had not been taken away by his slayers, and within a rod of where he lay were the mail pouches, unharmed. The pony, of course, was gone. The Major strapped the pouches in place and resumed his ride westward. “From that hour,” said he, “until I came in sight of Carson City, it seemed to me I was playing hide and seek with the Indians. The first thing that caught my eye was what looked like a crow sitting on the edge of a rock only a little way in front. A second glance showed that it was the topknot of a redskin, who dropped down before I could draw bead on him. He wasn’t the only one of his kind in the neighborhood, for I caught glimpses of several, and believe I winged one of them.