After we last saw Mr. Johnson, he traveled through Rose Creek, Winnemucca, Golconda, and on toward Stonehouse. And then, unfortunately, he had a mishap in which one of his carriage’s rear wheels was crushed.
“This was done about half-past five o’clock and seven miles from Stonehouse station. I had nothing to fix it with. I got a short piece of board that I use when greasing the axles of my carriage to raise it up. I lifted up the axle and put the board under, thus keeping the carriage in its proper position and left it for the night.”
The next morning, Mr. Johnson walked the seven or so miles to the Stonehouse station, found a 2 x 4 board at a corral near the station, sawed it to a length of fourteen feet, and with help from the station master, made “one end fast to the rocker, letting the timber run under the axle to take the place of the wheel.” Using this setup, they managed to get everything to the train station at Stonehouse, and he shipped the heaviest part of his outfit to Battle Mountain. He wrote, “I thought I would do this as it would be a very hard job for my horse to pull the wagon with only three wheels and a shoe for the fourth.”
The next day, Mr. Johnson, Fanny, Bessie, and the crippled carriage made their way to Battle Mountain, nineteen miles from the Stonehouse station.
“It was just half-past five when I left and reached Battle Mountain at half-past twelve o’clock. In reaching this place, my road has been good, being hard and solid, the day very fine and hot. On my arrival I went direct to the depot, where I found the freight I had shipped from Stonehouse. I then went to a carriage shop where I found two men at work, one at the forge and the other at the bench. I asked for the proprietor and the man at the bench was pointed out as the person, so I went up to him saying, ‘Are you the proprietor?’ ‘I am, sir.’ ‘I am in a bad fix and would like to be helped out of it. I am traveling and come from California on my way East, and have broken one of my wheels and am not able to any further until it is repaired.’
“He asked where my wagon was, I told him and fetched it so that he could see what was needed. Then I asked him what it would cost to repair it. ‘There has got to be fourteen new spokes, seven dollars; setting tire, two dollars; painting, one dollar; the job will cost you ten dollars,’ he replied. ‘I am in a tight place, all the money I have is eleven dollars and forty cents; you want ten dollars. Will you do the job for nine, under the circumstances?’ ‘No sir, not a cent less.’ ‘Will you repair the wheel without painting for nine dollars?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘When can I have it?’ ‘Tomorrow morning,’ was the reply.
“The morrow came, I was feeling anxious, blue, and everything looked discouraging. I did not like the place, nor its surroundings; I passed up and down the street, stopping in front of the shop. At noon he had not touched the wagon, but I thought best under the circumstances to keep mum. About four o’clock he commenced work and finished the wood part. The setting of the tire was not done, so I could not start on my journey as I intended and was obliged to remain.
“I held my temper — said not a word — my horse and cow I kept continually in my sight. While [I was] obliged to stop, a reporter came up to me asking many questions, where I was from and where going, which I answered most respectfully. After he had got through with his questions, I thought, perhaps he might befriend me. So I told him how I was situated and the amount I was to pay for repairing my carriage. He answered, saying, ‘He is a mean, contemptible scoundrel, in taking advantage of a man in this manner. Why, he ought not to charge you half that amount.’ I told him I had but eleven dollars and forty cents, and could not get more until I arrived in Ogden, where I expected to get a check that I had ordered to be sent and retained until my arrival.
“[The reporter] said, ‘Come with me.’ I went with him and he introduced me to a person who he said was a deputy sheriff of the county, and related my circumstances to him and how I was being treated by the man who was repairing my carriage. ‘When does he say it will be done?’ asked the sheriff. ‘He agreed to do it yesterday, but it is not done yet, the tire is not set.’ ‘What does he say about it?’ ‘I have not said anything about it, I dare not.’ ‘When he gets it done, do not pay him, let me know and I will go down with you; we will talk this matter over with him. I think he will make a reduction; at any rate, we will see what he has to say about it.’ ‘It is now about half-past nine o’clock; I will go down and report soon,’ I said.”
… to be continued tomorrow …
The Slower Road 