In 1860, St. Joseph was a sprawling frontier town on the muddy banks of the Missouri River, and its send-off of the first Pony Express rider was even wilder than San Francisco's.

A late train -- and a few nearby saloons -- helped the celebration along. By five o'clock on April 3, a big crowd of frontiersmen had gathered in front of the Pony Express office, but the mail train from the East was more than two hours late. The crowd was thirsty, and Jeff Thompson, the colorful and popular Mayor, was full of oratory. With so long a wait, the frontiersmen quenched their thirst often, and with each drink their cheers grew louder.

The Mayor would not be outdone. As the noise of the crowd increased, he raised his voice to a bull-like bellow. After introducing Mr. Russell and his business partner, Mr. Majors, he talked on and on, until the train came in, and he ended in a burst of flowery phrases and waving arms.

"The mail must go through," he shouted. "Hurled by flesh and blood across two thousand miles of desolate space...neither storms, fatigue, darkness, mountains or Indians, burning sand or snow must stop the precious bags. The mail must go!"

The mail did go, but less than half of the crowd knew who carried it. Just as the mail train pulled in, Bill Richardson, a hostler at the livery stable, rode up on the bay mare that was to make the first Pony Express run. By this time it was growing dark, torches had been lighted, and the crowd was in a wild uproar. A newspaper reporter, anxious to be the first out with the news, rushed back to his office and wrote the thrilling story of Bill's grand take-off, but it was a young man named Johnny Frey who carried the first Pony Mail.

And thus began the adventure of it all!!