The Stage Coach.
Previous to 1863 there was no regular line of transportation through
Bannock county, the mails being carried by pony express, which made
the postage on letters cost from fifty cents to one dollar each,
and the few people whose business called them across southern Idaho
traveled singly or in groups, in the saddle, or by wagon, as suited
their convenience and opportunity. But, however they traveled, they all
followed the line of the old Oregon trail.
In 1863, Oliver and Conover stocked a road from Virginia City, Montana,
to Salt Lake City, the impetus given to transportation in these parts
by the development of the mines in Montana promising to make such a
venture successful. The trail through Bannock county followed closely
the present tracks of the Oregon Short Line running north from Fort
Hall along the Montana division. The stations were from twelve to
fifteen miles apart, there having been one at Fort Hall, another near
the Lavatta ranch, another at Pocatello creek and a fourth just west of
McCammon, formerly called Harkness.
The freighting season opened in April and lasted until November. The
bottom lands to the west of Pocatello were a favorite wintering resort
for the freighters because of the facilities they offered in the way of
protection, water and food.
The freight wagons were drawn by either mules or oxen, and so slow
was their progress that they made only from three to five trips a
season. The more costly and perishable merchandise, such as drugs and
chemicals, was usually carried on the passenger stages.
A mule train was made up of from eight to twelve animals attached to
two or three wagons; an ox train of about fourteen animals. These
cumbrous outfits traveled about twelve miles a day.
The passenger stages, however, traveled about one hundred miles in
twenty-four hours. They were drawn by from four to six horses, who
were changed every twelve or fifteen miles, while the drivers changed
every fifty miles. They were usually accompanied by a messenger, who
was a kind of guard and rode beside the driver. Most of the stages were
of the thorough-braced type, the bodies resting upon leather straps
instead of springs, which gave them an easy, swinging motion. They
were usually fitted with three seats and carried nine passengers, and
were very comfortable to travel in. A few post stages, which would
accommodate twenty-six passengers, were run over this road, but the
traffic was not heavy enough to bring them into general use.
In 1864, Ben Halliday, whose name has been given to a street in
Pocatello, secured a contract to carry the United States mails, and
bought out Oliver and Conover. This line was later called the Halliday
Overland Mail and Express, a name retained in the Overland Limited of
today, on the Oregon Short Line and Union Pacific railroads.
Ben Halliday was well known throughout the far west fifty years ago,
and his name is linked inseparably with her early history. Mr. Hiram T.
French, in his History of Idaho, says: “Ben Halliday was a prominent
figure in the development of the country west of the Mississippi, and
filled a place that no man lacking in courage, judgment or character
could have held. To one who knows the west, ‘Overland’ is even yet a
word to conjure by. In fancy one sees the dashing horses and lurching
coach, and hears the crack of the driver’s whip.”
Hon. John Hailey writes from personal knowledge of the famous stage man
as follows: “Ben Halliday was a little over the average in size, strong
in stature, fine looking, sociable, generous, energetic and far-seeing.
In conversation his intellectual face and eyes would fairly shine.
He was open and frank in all his dealings. He was brave, quick and
daring in engaging in any legitimate business that tended to open the
resources of this great western country.
“At the time Mr. Halliday established his Overland Stage Line from the
Missouri river to Salt Lake City, and from Salt Lake City to Helena,
Montana, and to Boise, the country through which his stages must
run was wild, inhabited by none save Indians, usually hostile, and
a few white men who were equally dangerous. Few men would even have
entertained the idea of engaging in such a dangerous and hazardous
business, which involved the investment of several hundred thousand
dollars to build substantial stations, and fit up the road with the
necessary live and rolling stock, forage, provisions, men, arms,
and ammunition for the protection of life, property and the United
States mail, but Mr. Halliday did it successfully. He opened the great
Overland Route and transported mail and passengers from the east to
west and return with reasonable celerity and security, besides making
the route much safer for others to travel and blazing the way for the
Union Pacific railroad, which was commenced soon after.”
The stage line through Bannock county passed from the hands of Ben
Halliday to the Wells Fargo Express company, and later to the firm of
Gilmore and Salisbury, who continued the service until the opening of
the Utah and Northern railway made stages a thing of the past.
The mountain fastnesses along the Portneuf canyon, made this the most
dangerous stretch of road between Salt Lake City and Butte. It was
very difficult to trail men over the lava rocks that abound along this
route, and the wild nature of the country beyond them offered road
agents a fair chance of safety. The gold bullion brought down from the
Montana mines made a tempting prize, and encouraged highway robbery to
such an extent that the outrages in time gave birth to the vigilantes,
who gave the robbers short shrift and in time succeeded in practically
ending their operations.
The first hold-up in Bannock county occurred in 1863, about a mile and
a half west of Pocatello creek, when Jack Hughes, a Denver man, was
robbed of $6,000 by Brocky Jack, at that time a well-known character
along the stage road. The trick was easily turned and Brocky Jack
escaped with his booty without firing a gun.
In 1865, a far more serious affair was perpetrated near Robbers’
Roost Creek, a few miles west of the present town of McCammon. A
stage of the Concord type, carrying several passengers and $60,000
of private money, was betrayed by its driver, Frank Williams, to a
gang led by Jim Locket. As he rounded a steep hill, Williams turned
his horses suddenly, breaking the reach of the coach, and the road
agents, concealed in the brush, which was so thick at this point that
it scratched the sides of the stage, gave the word to halt. Among the
passengers were two wealthy St. Louis merchants, David Dinan and a
man named McCausland. These men were apprehensive of being held up
and carried their guns in their hands, ready for instant use. This
precaution probably caused their death. At the cry, “Hands up,” the
passengers discharged their guns into the brush, shooting too high to
wound their opponents, but thereby bringing upon themselves a volley
that killed both Dinan and McCausland and two other men, one of them
being Lawrence Merz, a passenger who was sitting by the driver. Charles
Parks, a messenger, riding within the coach, was shot in the foot,
while one man, whose name is variously given as Brown and Carpenter,
escaped unhurt. The murdered men were buried in a gulch near the scene
of their death and the coach, riddled with bullets, was taken to Malad.
None of the members of this gang were apprehended, but Williams, the
driver, was arrested and hung. He retained his position for some
ten days after the hold-up, and then, actuated perhaps by a guilty
conscience and the fear of detection, resigned and went to Salt Lake.
Here it was noticed that he spent money very freely, and he was seized
later in Denver. Jim Locket was a man of such notorious character that
no attempt was made to trail him, the few settlers in the neighborhood
at that time preferring to give him as wide a berth as possible.
Three men, named McCay, Jones and Spangler, followed a stage out of
Malad City in 1870, and held it up some six or seven miles from that
city. Spangler and Jones were afterward captured, but Jones escaped
from jail, and Spangler cleared himself by giving information that led
to the recovery of $6,000 of the $9,000 taken from the coach.
Two weeks later, in 1870, a very daring hold-up was made by two men
near the top of the Malad divide. One of the men was variously known
as Ed. Flag, Frank Long and Frank Carpenter. The other, whose name was
Stone, was said to belong to a good family in Louisville, Ky.
These two men placed three dummies in a half-exposed position near the
road and succeeded in making off with $36,000 in gold bullion without
firing a shot. The stage carried no passengers.
The driver returned to Malad and said that he had been held up by
a gang of five men. After some deliberation, J. N. Ireland, now a
resident of Pocatello, Tom Oakley, Daniel Robbins and four others,
set out to trail the bandits. This was not a difficult matter in the
early days, provided the fugitives took to the brush, which they were
obliged to do in most cases in order to find concealment. Their horses,
in pushing a way through the growth, left a well-defined track that
a child could follow, and as travelers were few, there was little
danger of hitting the wrong trail. But while it was sometimes an easy
matter to follow up a gang of robbers, few men cared to undertake
the task. A road agent knew that capture probably meant death and
his very occupation was a sufficient guarantee that he would kill
without scruple. He had the advantage, too of being able to ambush his
pursuers, and shoot them before they could seek cover.
The posse of seven men took up the trail of the bandits at the spot
where the hold-up occurred and traced them to Birch Creek. As evening
came on and darkness closed in, and when they had ridden some twenty
miles, the pursuers came within a half mile of the robbers, whom they
found to be on the opposite side of the creek. In the early morning
they crossed the creek, and were close upon Flag and Stone, before
those men were aware of their proximity. Not expecting pursuit, the
highwaymen were not on their guard. They concealed themselves in a
steep hollow, where slender willows, about the thickness of a man’s
finger, and seven feet high, grew in such profusion that they formed an
impenetrable hiding place.
Mr. Ireland and his party rode past this hollow to the robbers’ horses,
where a council of war was held. At last Mr. Ireland and Dan Robbins
volunteered to trail Flag and Stone while three of the party remained
with the horses, and Tom Oakley, armed with a very fine rifle belonging
to Mr. Ireland, took a position on the hillside behind a rock, where he
could pick off the road agents if they emerged from the brush.
Cautiously, with every sense alert, the two daring men worked their way
into the hollow. They knew they were within a few feet of their quarry,
but could see nothing of them. Presently Mr. Ireland said: “Dan, here’s
where we’re close upon them, because they have trampled these willows
down and they have sprung up again.”
At the same moment Oakley’s voice called a warning from the hill, “Look
out! You’re close on them!”
Simultaneously a shot rang out and Daniel Robbins fell, riddled with
shot. Flag and Stone made a dash from cover, but Oakley brought them
both down with two well-directed shots from his rifle. The two men
lay side by side, Flag dead, and Stone with a wound in his leg that
necessitated its amputation.
Mr. Ireland and his companions tried to get Stone to tell where the
$36,000 taken from the coach was hidden. Stone at first insisted that
the stage had been held up by five men, three of whom had in turn
robbed himself and Flag, who were left empty-handed. These three men,
Stone said, had the money. Tom Oakley, after whom the town of Oakley
in Bannock county was named, was a man of forbidding appearance and
a bad man to trifle with. He took a hand in the matter and Stone
finally confessed that the money was hidden near Elkhorn, where it was
afterward found.
After the fight, which occurred in the early morning, Mr. Ireland rode
back to Malad and returned the same day with a doctor, having traveled
over forty miles after his harrowing experience.
Mr. Robbins recovered from his wounds and died a few years ago in Salt
Lake. At the time they entered the willow thicket, Mr. Ireland was
wearing a grey and Mr. Robbins a white shirt. Stone said afterward that
he and Flag saw the gleam of the white shirt through the foliage, and
were thus enabled to shoot Robbins, although they could see no other
portion of the two men.
Stone was sent to the penitentiary at Boise, but after a short
imprisonment secured a pardon and became a preacher.
Not until after their return from this expedition did Mr. Ireland’s
party learn that a large reward had been offered for the capture of the
two road agents. A quarter of the $36,000 stolen was divided among the
seven men, who received $1280 each.
Another successful use of dummies was made by a lone bandit, who placed
several at a turn in the road not far from Malad, and succeeded in
relieving a coach, driven by James Boyle, of several bars of gold.
There were no passengers in the stage.
One night during the summer of 1873, a stage manned by Charley Phelps
and Joe Pinkham was ordered to stop by a road agent, while passing
through Portneuf canyon. Instead of obeying the order, the stage-men
fired in the direction of the voice. The fire was returned and Phelps,
who was driving, fell back, mortally wounded. Pinkham caught up the
reins and the stage dashed on without stopping. Phelps was buried in
the cemetery at Malad, where the following inscription stands over his
grave:
“In memory of Charles Phelps, of St. Lawrence County, New York. Driver
on the Overland Stage Line, who was mortally wounded, July 16, 1873,
in an attack on his coach by highwaymen, in Portneuf Canyon, Idaho,
and died on the following day.
“Age 43 years.
“He fell, as all true heroes fall,
While answering to his duty’s call.
“This stone is erected by his friends and companions, who loved and
respected him, and sincerely mourn his death.”
The days of the stage coach have passed, and with them the incidents
that we class under adventure and romance in the reading, but that
meant hardship, danger and exposure in the making. The advent of the
railroad was the beginning of a new era in Bannock county--an era of
prosperity and growth, but also, let us not forget, an era for which
the way was paved by the hardy pioneers who faced the wilderness
unafraid, and tamed it for the uses of civilization. These men,
following their humble lot in life and performing their toilsome duties
from day to day, were in truth empire builders, to whom is due the
respect and honor of all right-feeling men.