By and by Carson City was pointed out to us. It nestled in the edge of a
great plain and was a sufficient number of miles away to look like an
assemblage of mere white spots in the shadow of a grim range of
mountains overlooking it, whose summits seemed lifted clear out of
companionship and consciousness of earthly things.
We arrived, disembarked, and the stage went on. It was a “wooden” town;
its population two thousand souls. The main street consisted of four or
five blocks of little frame stores which were too high to sit down on,
but not too high for various other purposes; in fact hardly high enough.
They were packed close together, side by side, as if room were scarce in
that mighty plain. The sidewalk was of boards that were more or less
loose and inclined to rattle when walked upon. In the middle of the
town, opposite the stores, was the “plaza,” which is native to all towns
beyond the Rocky Mountains—a large, unfenced, level vacancy, with a
liberty pole in it, and very useful as a place for public auctions,
horse trades, and mass meetings, and likewise for teamsters to camp in.
Two other sides of the plaza were faced by stores, offices and stables.
The rest of Carson City was pretty scattering.
We were introduced to several citizens, at the stage-office and on the
way up to the Governor’s from the hotel—among others, to a Mr. Harris,
who was on horseback; he began to say something, but interrupted himself
with the remark:
“I’ll have to get you to excuse me a minute; yonder is the witness that
swore I helped to rob the California coach—a piece of impertinent
intermeddling, sir, for I am not even acquainted with the man.”
Then he rode over and began to rebuke the stranger with a six-shooter,
and the stranger began to explain with another. When the pistols were
emptied, the stranger resumed his work (mending a whip-lash), and Mr.
Harris rode by with a polite nod, homeward bound, with a bullet through
one of his lungs, and several through his hips; and from them issued
little rivulets of blood that coursed down the horse’s sides and made
the animal look quite picturesque. I never saw Harris shoot a man after
that but it recalled to mind that first day in Carson.