Onward The Pony Rushed

Onward, onward, he rushed, dutifully bringing the tidings, glad or sad. Fearlessly, his rider explored the unknown desert, crossed the raging streams and swept through the pathless forest. He shined on mountain tops and raced with the wind through narrow valleys. Day and night, in rain or sleet, under blue skies or in blinding snow, his footsteps never paused, save in the pitiless agony of savage death. He bridged a vast gulf and made a continent, and he thrilled a waiting people with news of faraway places. He kept the vigil of needed trust. And in each generation the imperishable legend is born anew, as muffied hoofbeats once more echo the romantic story of the Old West.