The Slower Road

I haven’t yet received photos from the CAA group in Windsor (I’m sure they’re too busy having fun to send me any photos!), but I’ll post them here as soon as I do get any. For now we’ll continue with Mr. Johnson’s tale …

“I left Beowawe on the morning of the ninth [of September 1882]. I was awakened by a passing train from the west, and on getting up I found it was a little past three o’clock. I fed my cattle and got ready for an onward move; it was four when I started for Carlin. The first part of the road was on the river side, which soon I had to ford, a good gravelly bottom. After journeying about a mile I came to a fine Eastern-built house. A half mile beyond there were many horses feeding by the road. After passing them, they fell in my rear and continued to follow me; I attempted to drive them back, but they took no notice either of me or my dog, whom I set on them. They kept following close behind the cow, which annoyed her.

“I thought it best to turn back to the house, this being the best way to get rid of them. I returned, they following me, and drove up to the house, but could not see anyone around, so I called out loud and strong. This brought a man to the door. I told the man I was traveling East and in passing nearly two hours ago, those horses fell in [behind me]; I tried to drive them back but could not, so I had returned with them as I did not know how far they would go with me, thinking best to get rid of them. ‘Well, stranger, I am sorry they have given you this trouble. How far are you traveling?’ ‘I belong East, in Massachusetts.’ ‘That is my home also.’ ‘What part of Massachusetts is your home?’ I asked. ‘Fall River was my home. Where are you from with this outfit?’ ‘I am from California, more than three hundred miles north of San Francisco.’ ‘You have come a long distance, and led that cow all that way?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘That beats the devil all hollow.’

“[I asked,] ‘How is the road from here to Carlin?’ ‘Most of the way is good — you will find it rough through the canyon. I came through a few days ago on horseback, there is no trouble traveling that way. You have a wagon, it will be hard for you to get through with it. There are some washouts, but you will be able to get over them. Stop and get some breakfast with us, we are late this morning, but it will be ready soon. I will give your horse some oats.’ ‘I will stop for the grain for my cattle as they need it. I think a great deal of the cattle and have to take great care of them, or I shall not be able to get them through this tramp.’ ‘Go in and get a dish of coffee. By the way, will you take something that will help you along?’ ‘Yes, I will, there is nothing better than a good cup of coffee, and I want nothing more. It is just what I need this morning; anything else would be out of place.’

“I had breakfast with them, it was a good one, and with strangers from my own State of Massachusetts. It was seven o’clock as we bade each other goodbye, he hoping that I would get through my journey all right.”

… to be continued …

When we last checked in with Mr. Johnson, he was preparing to leave Battle Mountain.

“On the morning of the 8th [of September 1882] I left Battle Mountain, about three o’clock, intending to reach Beowawe the same day, traveling a distance of thirty-three miles. On leaving Battle Mountain I followed the railroad to my right for over a mile, then following the river for some ten miles, when I again came to the right of the railroad to Shoshone station. In making Beowawe I pass two stations, Argenta and Shoshone. I traveled twenty-three miles in nine hours, making only one stop, the road being one of the best. On arriving at Shoshone, twelve miles, I introduced myself to the station agent …”

After the two chatted for a bit, “[the station agent said,] ‘Stranger, take your horse and cow and turn them into the grass, give them their dinner and come in and take dinner with me, and when you get home, you can say that you dined with John Briggs, of Shoshone, formerly of New York City.’ I did not wait for a second invitation. Our dinner consisted of bacon and eggs, bread, butter and coffee; you will remember I have always milk with me. After dinner we talked awhile. I inquired the distance to the next station. He replied, ‘It is ten miles to Beowawe. About a mile from here, take the right trail, leading you over the mountain, it is a less distance, and you will not have to ford the river, which is more mud than water.’

“I left him with good wishes and went on. On coming to the trail I hesitated whether to go over the mountain or ford the river, but concluded to cross the mountain. When about halfway up I stopped. I left my horse and went to the top, came back and said to the horse, ‘Fanny, can you get up this hill with your load? It is a hard pull, but let us try.’ We went about four rods further, then halted, and then made one more pull for the top, which we accomplished. This saved some three miles and we ran no chances in fording the river. The descending was much easier; making the descent we cross the railroad, and from this crossing to the station the road is good. The course of the railroad from Wadsworth to this mountain is north by east. Then turning to the right, making three-quarters of a circle, in reaching Beowawe, a distance of ten miles, where I arrived about six o’clock in the evening.”