The Overland Stage to California.

Rough Experiences.

557

a distance of about seventy-five miles-mostly from Virginia Dale west to Cooper Creek, and the overland stage passengers and employees enjoyed many a good venison steak and roast brought down by him. On the North Platte there was a famous hunter named Al. Houston, and the two were warm friends. Such game as antelope, blacktail deer, elk and bear were the varieties of wild fresh meat brought in by these intrepid hunters.
As the Indian excitement began gradually to die out, the stage men were meeting with new and often more dangerous enemies. The cry of "Hold up your hands!" with the muzzle of a death-dealing gun in the hands of the road-agent, pointing in your face, was something not pleasant to look at. Few passengers ever went over the stage road by the primitive Concord coach without realizing now and then the terrible consciousness that their lives were at the mercy of a party of cutthroat desperadoes, who apparently valued life as nothing, but who worked with less noise and more tact than the prowling redskin scalpers. It was on the Bitter Creek division that a most phenomenal robbery occurred, following the relentless and bloody raids of the Indians. The stage carrying the express was held up for no less a sum than $60,000. That and often larger amounts were carried across the Rockies on a single coach. On a regular express coach, it was customary to have the safe securely fastened on the inside, in the front end of the vehicle; but where passenger coaches were used in carrying the express, the treasure box (made of strong sole leather and iron-bound) was placed in the front boot, under the driver's box, and chained down. Without the slightest warning, five road-agents appeared from the sage-brush near the headquarters of Bitter Creek and called a halt. There was a single passenger on the stage, besides the division blacksmith; hence resistance was useless. The masked robbers at once tore loose the box, carried it off into the brush, and broke it open. One of the robbers driver Edam noticed particularly, whom, from the build and carriage, he felt satisfied was a woman.
At the time of this hold-up Stewart and Spotswood were at Fort Steele, but Edam telegraphed as soon as he reached a station, advising them of the facts, and urging them to come at once to the scene of the robbery. The two superintendents organized a small force, which struck the trail; but, unfortunately for them, the fugitives had gone over the lava rock; therefore further search

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The Overland Stage to California.

was useless, and the pursuing party was forced to return. Two years afterward "Broncho Jack," a noted California stage-robber, was arrested in Texas, and taken back to California for a number of crimes, and, when given a life sentence, confessed to having taken part in the stage robbery at Bitter Creek, when such a vast amount was secured. Another robber, who went by the name of Jack Hughes, was also implicated in this hold-up, and the following year was killed in a stage-coach by a deputy-sheriff, after refusing to surrender.
   Bob Spotswood was a somewhat noted character on the "Overland." I knew him first in 1860, when he was whacking oxen and mules across the plains with wagon freight-trains. He went into the employ of the overland stage line as messenger from Atchison to Denver in 1862; and was afterwards promoted to division agent between Denver and Julesburg, and, later, on the Salt Lake road from Latham and Denver northwest, known as the North Platte division. He was engaged several years on the great overland line, and was one of its most capable and efficient men. After the railroad had put an end to staging across the continent, Spotswood and W. C. McClelland went to staging on their own hook. They ran several lines into the mountains and made a good deal of money. The Denver & Rio Grande and the Denver & South Park railways were afterwards built, and penetrated every mining camp in the state, and this long since put an end to the old-time Concord stage routes.
   There were a great many bad characters in the vicinity of Bitter Creek, and scattered along the region were some thieves and robbers who had been guilty of other high crimes. When the drivers, stock tenders and division agents from other portions of the stage line had occasion to speak of a fellow they despised, they would usually allude to him as "a 'son of a gun' from Bitter Creek"; often their remarks were in language not so chaste, but yet decidedly more forcible.

   Ben. Holladay's "Hold-up." A great many interesting episodes, occasionally some of them laughable, happened on the overland line; and hairbreadth escapes were, in the later years of staging across the plains, of frequent occurrence. While nearly every one was apparently on the lookout, still no one could tell but that the very next time he might be the victim. The ma-

Ben. Holladay's "hold-up."

559

"Keep your hands still and I'll scratch it for you." Page 560.

rauders, in almost every instance, unlike the Indians, were after valuables instead of human scalps. However, they were no respecters of persons, but would rob indiscriminately. They did not even spare Ben. Holladay, the proprietor of the great stage line, who they knew was rolling in wealth, and he was caught at a time when he least expected it. Upon being interviewed by a New York reporter after he had returned from an overland trip, Mr. Holladay said:

    "One night I was bouncing over the plains in one of my overland coaches. Mrs. Holladay and myself were the only passengers. Several stages had been robbed within two months, and the driver was ripping along as though a gang of prairie wolves were after him. Suddenly the horses were thrown on their haunches and the stage stopped. I was heaved forward, but quickly recovered, and found myself gazing at tile muzzles of a double-barreled shot-gun.
   ""Throw up your hands and don't stir!' shouted the owner, in a gruff voice.
   "Up went my hands, and I began to commune with myself. The fellow then coolly asked for my money. I saw that he did not know who I was, and I was afraid that my sick wife might awake and call my name. My coat was buttoned over my bosom, but scarcely high enough to hide a magnificent emerald that cost me over $8000 a few weeks before in San Francisco.

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The Overland Stage to California.

I scarcely breathed through fear that light might strike the stone, and its sparkling brilliancy attract the attention of the robber. I had about $40,000 in a money belt and several hundred dollars in my pockets.
   "Suddenly my friend shouted: 'Come, shell out quick, or I'll send the old 'un a free lunch.' I passed out the few hundreds loose in my pockets and handed him my gold watch and chain. They were heavy. I think the chain alone would weigh five pounds at least.
   "'There,' said I, 'there is every cent I 've got! Take it and let me go. My wife is very ill, and I do n't know what would happen to her if she knew what was going on.'
   "'Keep your hands up!' was the reply, while a second robber received my watch and money.
   "Then a search was made for the express company's box, but the double-barreled shot-gun did not move. It's muzzles were within a foot of my nose. For my life I did not dare to stir. My nose began to itch. The stiff hairs of my mustache got up, one after another, and tickled it, until the sensation was intolerable. I could stand it no longer.
   "'Stranger,' I said, 'I must scratch my nose! It itches so that I am almost crazy!'
   "'Move your hands,' he shouted,' and I'll blow a hole through your head big enough for a jack-rabbit to jump through!'
   "I appealed once more. 'Well,' he answered, I keep your hands still and I'll scratch it for you.'"
   "Did he scratch it?" asked one of Ben.'s interested listeners.
   "Sure," said Mr. Holladay.
   "How?" asked the breathless listener.
   "With the muzzle of the cocked gun," said the great overlander. rubbed the muzzle around my mustache and raked it over the end of nose, until I thanked him and said that it itched no longer.
   "The robbers soon afterwards took their leave, with many apologies, and I continued my journey to the Missouri river, with the big emerald and $40,000."

   An Honest German Farmer's Loss. In the fall of 1864, while returning to Atchison from a trip to Denver by stage, an ox train of seventy-five or eighty loaded wagons bound for the mountains was met, stuck in the mud, a few miles east of the Kickapoo Indian reservation. The train was from Leavenworth, and, having been caught in a protracted rain, had become stalled, on the old military road between Atchison and Kennekuk. The wheels had sunk to the hubs in the mud, and even with the four or five yoke of cattle to each vehicle it was impossible for the beasts to pull them out. All that could be done under the circumstances was to unyoke the cattle and turn them loose. This was done, and the place where it happened was near a corn-field belonging to an

A German Farmer Looses $250.

561

honest German farmer. The cattle had had a hard day's haul and were hungry; they evidently knew a good thing, however, when they saw it; for as soon as they were unyoked and let loose they made a mad rush, broke down the farmer's fence, and took up quarters in the corn-field. All attempts to drive the hungry animals out proved useless. They not only stayed there all night, but, for the next forty-eight hours or more, used the field for a corral. In all there were between 500 and 600 bead of oxen, but neither the farmer nor the drivers could do anything with them.
   The farmer naturally protested, in broken English, more forcible than elegant, but that didn't get the cattle out of the corn-field. He finally withdrew, consulted some of his neighborhood friends, and, after making a careful examination, they estimated that the cattle had injured him to the amount of $250.
   He then called on the wagon boss and said: "You owes me $250. Your oxen eats up mine corn-field and me damaged dot much; I vants mine pay."
   "All right," said the wagon boss; "I am going to Leavenworth on the first stage and will report the facts to headquarters."
   The train boss left, but returned the following day, bringing the pleasing information that the owner of the train would be up the next day and settle. He came, and the German was promptly on hand to meet him.
   "Good morning," said the owner of the train. "I notice that my cattle have not been lacking for something good to eat the past three days."
   "Dot ish so," said the German, "and you owes me $250," he said, as he handed his bill to the freighter.
   "All right," said the owner of the cattle as he pulled out one $50 and two crisp $100 greenbacks, telling the farmer to receipt the bill, which was promptly done. The freighter politely thanked the honest German because his corn-field was so close by and that the account was so reasonable, adding: "If you had made the bill $500 I would have paid it just as quickly, and thought, under the circumstances, I was getting out of the dilemma extremely easy. Good day, sir."
   "Good day," said the German, "but I vants to say, mister, dot I'm one tam Dutch fool. I now see I've lost $250 by mine ignorance. I vish some one vould kick me."
   The freighter went to his train, and the honest farmer started
   -36

AN HONEST GERMAN FARMER LOSES $250. Page 561.

Whisky Run Mail Robbery.

563

to the house with his $250; but nearly every step of the way he made the air blue with his German-English maledictions, as he hurried to report to his frau. She was equally interested with her husband in knowing that his bill of $250 was so promptly paid. She saw him coming and met him at the gate. He had the money in his hand, and, shaking it before her eyes, said: Katarina, did you know dot I ish von tam Dutch fool? I vants you to kick me off this blace. I lose $250; dot man tell me he pay $500 shoost so quick as he pay $250. Eef I been a Yankee I'd been a rich man instead of being a poor tam Dutch fool. Kick me, Katarina, for not being a Yankee. I feel shoost like I take the gun and shoots the top of mine head off. Such tam foolishness make me sick; $250 lost shoost because I vas one honest man. All I know now ish dot I vas one tam Dutch fool."

Whisky Run Mail Robbery. The only robbery or loss of Government and stage property sustained by me during all my overland experience was on one of my return trips from Denver to Atchison. The robbery occurred in November, 1864, late one night, at a small stream called Whisky Run (near Grayson's station), about 150 miles west of Atchison. That night, as usual, I was riding on the box alongside the driver, and inside the coach were a half-dozen or more passengers. One of the straps on the hind boot was by some one unbuckled and a sack of way-mail pulled out, but the theft was not discovered until the stage had reached the company's office at Atchison, when it was found that there was a sack missing. A couple of days later a letter came to me from Ray Grayson (keeper of the station bearing his name), that he had discovered on the prairie, in a ravine some rods from the station, a mail-bag with the strap cut, and scores of letters and papers torn open and lying loose on the ground, which he had carefully gathered up, placed in the bag and all were taken to the station.
I made preparations at once, and took the first coach westward from Atchison to the scene of the robbery. I spent a day there at the station getting what I could of the mutilated contents in a condition to forward to their destination, noting on each letter the fact that the mail had been robbed, as already explained. All the letters that could be were sent forward as directed, but the most of it was in such condition that I was obliged to send it,

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The Overland Stage to California.

with a letter of explanation, direct to the dead-letter office. I never felt more mortified than over this robbery, especially as it had occurred while I was on the same coach.
It is quite natural, however, that I should also feel some pride in the fact of my connection with the first great daily Overland mail; for, while engaged with "Uncle Sam" in the Post-office at Atchison and on the plains, during that eventful period from the spring of 1861 to the spring of 1865, I personally handled not less than 10,820 sacks of this mail, with the loss of only one sack, and that was recovered, as above stated, inside of four days.
The division agent sent in the following letter:

"BIG SANDY, NEB., December 10, 1864.
W. A. Gillespie, Agent Overland Stage Line, Atchison, Kan.:
"DEAR SIR--I think I have got a clue to the mail robbery that took place at Whisky Run. The robber is a man that G. G. Wheeler receipted for from Rock Creek to Atchison on the 17th or 18th of November. He gave his name as J. C. Read, of Omaha. I engaged George Hulbert to go to Atchison to give Frank Root the description of the man, as he had taken full description of the place.

Yours truly,

SAM'L O. JEROME, Div. Agt."

Concerning the robbery of the mail near Grayson's, I at once reported all the facts known to the department, both by letter and wire, and in due time received the following:

"POST-OFFICE DEPARTMENT,

(CONTRACT OFFICE--INSPECTION DIVISION,)

WASHINGTON, December 24, 1864.

"Frank A. Root, Esq., Mail Agent, Atchison, Kan.
"SIR--Your letter of the 17th inst., addressed to the Third Assistant Postmaster-general, is received. Your telegram of the 20th November, and also your communication of the 19th, giving the particulars of the robbery, were duly received, and a case made up and sent to Special Agent Carter, presuming he would give you the necessary instructions in regard to the matter. As that, however, has not been done, it will be well to send the mutilated letters to the dead-letter office, and forward to their destination any that are in a condition to be mailed.
"Hoping you will be successful in endeavoring to secure the arrest of the perpetrator of the robbery, I am, very respectfully,

Your obedient servant,

R. K. SCOTT,

For Second Asst. Postmaster-general."

I also communicated the facts of the robbery to Special Agent Davis, at St. Joseph, and, at the same time, asked for advice concerning the disposition to be made of the mutilated letters, and

"Uncle John's Store."

565

also of the like condition of the mail-pouch. The following reply came duly to hand:

"POST-OFFICE, ST. JOSEPH, MO., December 29, 1864.
"F. A. Root, Esq., Overland Mail Agent:
   "SIR-In reply to yours of 27th I would say, that, without claiming any authority to give instructions in the case mentioned, I would advise that the sack and contents should be sent to the inspection office, P. 0. dept., Washington, D. C.                      Most respectfully, your obedient Servant,
                                              WM. A. DAVIS, Special Agent."

   Old "Uncle John's Store." On the old overland route, during staging days, a number of years before the railroad had been built through the northern-tier counties in Kansas between St. Joseph and Marysville, a good one was told on "Uncle John," whose surname was O'Laughlin, and who was postmaster in the early days of Kansas at a ranch between Seneca and Guittard's called. "Ash Point." O'Laughlin kept a small stock of goods in connection with the post-office, and over the door of his building was a prominent sign which read: "Uncle John's Store." His goods consisted of such articles as are usually needed by people crossing the plains and some of the staples required to supply the wants of the neighborhood ranchmen, One of the necessary and principal articles kept in stock and sold over the counter by Uncle John was whisky. In the early days, some of the travelers spoke of the place as a sort of oasis on the prairies.
   While the civil war was in progress Congress passed a revenue law, and a stringent tax was immediately imposed on all ardent spirits. Instead of selling by the drink, it became necessary for certain dealers to dispose of the stuff in original packages only. One day it happened that Judge Nate Price, of Doniphan county--a noted Kansas character in the '60's and '70's--with a number of lawyers, were on their way to Marysville by stage to attend court. Price was then judge of the second judicial district. On reaching "Uncle John's store," and having heard the old man kept "something good to take," the jolly disciples of Blackstone suddenly become "awful thirsty." While the stage stopped for a few minutes to change the mail, the lawyers crawled out of the coach and, single-file, followed the judge into the post-office. After politely passing the time of day, the judge inquired of Uncle -John if he kept anything "good to take." Being answered in the affirmative, he ordered "eye-opener" cocktails for the crowd.

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The Overland Stage to California.

Where some thirsty lawyers "practised at the bar."

   "I would like to accommodate you, but I can't sell it by the drink," said the old man; adding, "Since Congress has passed this 'infernal-revenue law.' I can dispose of it only in original packages."
   "Original packages be d---!" chimed in the judge; "by the great horn spoons, we must have something to drink, if we have to buy your entire outfit or a barrel. What do you want for your place? What will a barrel of the stuff cost? or, perhaps, you may have some smaller packages."
   With a broad smile on his face, Uncle John reached down under the counter and brought forth a quart bottle of genuine "old Kentucky bourbon," and, for a few minutes following, those thirsty lawyers were happy practicing at the old man's "bar."

   "All Good Methodists Here." While residing up in the Rocky Mountains, some years after the days of the overland stage line, I chanced to make the acquaintance of Rev. Mr. Chamberlain, of Denver, who at one time was presiding elder of the Methodist Episcopal Church for a part of the mountain district of Colorado. I found the elder a genial, warm-hearted gentleman--a