One of Kelley's worst rides, in addition to the episode just related,
was the stretch between Cold Springs and Sand Springs for thirty-seven
miles without a drop of water along the way.

Once, while dashing past a wagon train of immigrants, a whole fusillade
of bullets was fired at Kelley who narrowly escaped with his life. Of
course he could not stop the mail to see why he had been shot at, but on
his return trip he met the same crowd, and in unprintable language told
them what he thought of their lawless and irresponsible conduct. The
only satisfaction he could get from them in reply was the repeated
assertion, "We thought you was an Indian!"[28] Nor was Kelley the only
pony rider who took narrow chances from the guns of excited immigrants.
Traveling rapidly and unencumbered, the rider, sunburned and blackened
by exposure, must have borne on first glance no little resemblance to an
Indian; and especially would the mistake be natural to excited wagon-men
who were always in fear of dashing attacks from mounted Indians -
attacks in which a single rider would often be deployed to ride past the
white men at utmost speed in order to draw their fire. Then when their
guns were empty a hidden band of savages would make a furious onslaught.
It was the established rule of the West in those days, in case of
suspected danger, to shoot first, and make explanations afterward; to do
to the other fellow as he would do to you, and do it first!

Added to the perils of the wilderness deserts, blizzards, and wild
Indians - the pony riders, then, had at times to beware of their white
friends under such circumstances as have been narrated. And that added
to the tragical romance of their daily lives. Yet they courted danger
and were seldom disappointed, for danger was always near them.