Yep, it's time for the annual January Quiz! I hope you are read. :) Not only do we have the usual question, but a new one has been added.
Question One: How many books to we have? (Don't count cookbooks, song books or ones we're getting rid of.) Here are some hints to help you. And no, we haven't counted them yet.
In 2009 we had 4,011
In 2010 we had 4,262
In 2011 we had 5,215
In 2012 we had 5,610
Question Two: How many "new" books did I read in 2012? (These are all chapter books. No little kids books counted.) Hints to help.
1994 - 30
1995 - 82
1996 - 54
1997 - 35
1998 - 52
1999 - 76
2000 - 48
2001 - 43
2002 - 18
2003 - 42
2004 - 53
2005 - 75
2006 - 41
2007 - 40
2008 - 58
2009 - 57
2010 - 74
2011 - 77
2012 - ?
Put you guesses as comments and next week I'll give you the correct answers. :)
This story was written many years ago as part of a letter I was writing to a friend. We were pretended it was 1872. :) I hope you enjoy it.
. . . This month has been rather interesting because we have had a visitor, Pony Bob Haslam. He was traveling west, but the storms stopped him. He rode for the Pony Express years ago and has been with us now for two weeks. He is a great favorite especially since he told David that Storm was one of the finest horses he has seen in years. He tells the most interesting stories in the evenings about his life and even a few about the Pony Express. The boys said I have to tell you the story that Mr. Haslam told us last night. And they say I have to write it in story form. I told them that I wasn’t sure I could or that you would be too interested in it, but Ben asked, “She has brothers doesn’t she?” So, I will do my best.
It was a beautiful mid summer morning in Nevada when Pony Bob turned his steps in the direction of the Pony Express station. He had been a rider for some time and enjoyed it. Of course there were times of great danger and times when great wisdom was needed, but on the whole what could be more exciting then carrying the mail through snow & hail, cold & heat, outlaws & Indians? At the station Pony Bob waited for the rider to come in from the east. Soon he came, and Pony Bob was on his way west. His mustang made pretty good time, and Pony Bob saw no sign of Indians. He had ridden for quite awhile and just up ahead was the Reese River Station. There he would change to a new horse and continue on his way. His first horse was getting worn out. It had already carried him seventy-five miles that day. Just a little farther down the road was the station. Pony Bob blew his horn to let the station master know he was coming, so that he could get a new horse ready. But alas, when he rode up, there was the station master but no horse! “Sorry,” the station master said. “Don’t have any horses ‘round here a’tall. Not even a mule.” “What!” Pony Bob exclaimed. “What’s happened to ‘em all?” “Gone to fight the Indians,” was the reply. There was nothing for Pony Bob to do but get back on his weary horse and head for the next station.
Upon arriving at Bucklands, he found much to his great relief, a new rider and horse. But his relief was short lived. Richardson refused to go. Nothing like that had ever happened before. “I weren’t quite sure if he was sick or just plain scared. All’s I know is he dumped the blanket,” Pony Bob later reported. So after switching the mochila (the special pouch that holds the letters) to a fresh horse, Pony Bob mounted and rode off. Thirty miles later, he got a new horse. Then thirty -seven more miles and another change of mounts. Finally he rode the last thirty miles to the next station where Jay Kelly relieved him. Pony Bob had come one hundred ninety miles and was ready for a rest. He went into the station and collapsed on the floor for some much needed sleep.
A little later, “Hey Bob, wake up!” roused him from a deep sleep. Pony Bob yawned and opened his tired eyes. “Eh,” he said, “What’s up?” “The western rider is, or rather he’s down. He fell off his horse and is too crippled to ride farther. Will you take the mochila, Bob?” Pony Bob yawned again and stretched. “How long have I been sleeping?” “’Bout an hour and a half,” the station master replied as he helped the injured rider to a cot. “Long enough,” Pony Bob said. “Saddle up.” In less than five minutes Pony Bob was in the saddle and was riding back over the same route that he had started on.
As he neared Cold Springs, the station where just a few hours before he had changed horses, he began to have a strange feeling that all was not right. He saw the station just ahead, so he sounded his horn. Nothing happened. He rode up to the door. All was quiet. Too quiet. Not a horse or a man was to be seen or heard. Pony Bob slowly opened the door and looked in. Much to his horror, he found five men dead. The Indians must have raided the station soon after he was there, killed the men and run off the horses. What should Pony Bob do now? Should he risk everything by riding his weary horse through the country that was alive with the red men? He decided to try, for the mail must go through. As he rode off from Cold Springs, he kept his eyes open for any sign of Indians.
At Bucklands, an hour or so later, division Superintendent Morley had just ridden in when Pony Bob arrived on his exhausted and foam covered horse. Morley listened with a grim face as Pony Bob recounted the story of Cold Springs. “Lay low until evening.” Morley ordered. “You’ve got no chance of escaping those Indian bands in daylight.” Pony Bob nodded and headed into the cabin to sleep until evening while Morley kept watch.
Nine hours later, Pony Bob was on a young & highmettled mustang riding off into the gathering dusk, A few miles later he suddenly spotted some Indians! He lay low in the saddle, quietly urging his horse on, but at the same time keeping his eyes on the Indians. They didn’t see him. But a little later, Pony Bob suddenly heard something to his right. Glancing quickly over, he noticed several Indians on horseback coming his way. Just at that moment they also noticed him and began to chase. Pony Bob thought quickly, could his horse outrun the Indians’ mounts? He was pretty sure he could, so leaning forward in the saddle, he urged his horse on faster & faster. After chasing for several miles, the Indians left Pony Bob and disappeared into the darkness.
Finally, as dawn began to break, Pony Bob arrived safely back where he had started, and another rider took the mochila on. Pony Bob had ridden three hundred eighty miles with only ten and a half hours sleep, and safely delivered the mail.
. . .
And the letter goes on.
What did you think?