THE JOURNEY OVERLAND.
The distance from 'Frisco to New York overland, is over three thousand
miles, and by water it is much more than that, but such little trips are
a trifle to me, as they are to every well-conditioned wayfarer. I
started out happily enough one fine day at dawn to make the long journey
and though I did feel a qualm or two the first few days after leaving
Billy, the feeling soon wore off. I chose the central route, which is
the shortest via Sacramento, Reno, Ogden, Omaha, Chicago, Niagara Falls
and New York, and I anticipated having lots of fun along the way. I was
out for sight-seeing and adventure and believed I would have a good
time. I didn't have any money to speak of, for, though I had worked
several months I had saved nothing. Anyway, it wasn't safe to travel
hobo style with money, for if anyone suspects you have any, it may be
possible that you'll get knocked on the head or murdered outright for
it. Such things are a common occurrence.
I got as far as Sacramento in good shape and when the freight train I
was riding on got to Newcastle, which is a town in the foothills of the
Sierra mountains, a long halt was made to attach a number of
refrigerator cars to it. These cars were laden with fruit. Had I wished
I could have crawled into one of them and made the journey east in ten
days, or less, for they are laden with perishable goods and travel as
fast, almost, as a passenger train, but I didn't care to travel that
way, for the reason that I didn't like it. These refrigerator cars have
heavy air-tight doors at the sides which are hermetically sealed when
the cars are loaded, making the cars as dark as a pocket. When in them
one can't see anything and can hardly turn around. There are no
conveniences whatever. One must take a sufficiency of supplies with him
to last during the trip in the shape of food and water, and one must go
unwashed and unkempt during the journey. Lots of hobos travel that way,
and think nothing of it, but I didn't care to do so. It is almost as
bad, if not worse, than being in jail, for one can take little or no
exercise, and the only light and ventilation afforded is from the roof,
where there is an aperture about two feet wide, over which there is a
sliding door. This can be shoved up or down, but it is usually locked
when the train is en route. The cars must be kept at an even temperature
always, and must not be too hot or too cold. A certain number of tons of
ice is put into a compartment at either end of the car, which keeps the
temperature even. The side doors, as I said, are hermetically closed and
sealed. Thus the fruits, meats, vegetables or whatever the car may
contain, are kept fresh and sweet. I slipped into one of these loaded
cars and had a look around, but one survey was enough for me. I didn't
like the prospect at all. Ten days of imprisonment was too much.
Any hobo may ride over the Sierra Nevada Mountains as far as Reno
without being molested, for it is a rule of the Southern Pacific
Railroad Company not to incur their ill-will. Some hobos have been
known to set fire to the snow sheds in revenge for being put off a train
in the lonely mountains. Fires occur in the snow-sheds every year, but
of course it is hard to tell who or what starts a fire. The sheds are of
wood and have always had to be rebuilt, for without them the road would
be blocked every winter and traffic stopped. There are miles of them and
wonderful creations they are. They are roofed over and very strongly
built.
I held down the freight train until we reached Reno, where I was glad to
hop off for rest and refreshment. Refreshments of all kinds are
plentiful in Reno. The railroad runs through the main street of the town
and the town is a wide open one. Across the track along the main street
are restaurants, saloons and gambling houses. The gambling is not done
secretly for it is licensed and anyone may play who wishes. One may step
into, at least, one of these places from the street, for the gambling
room is on the ground floor. It is a handsomely appointed apartment. The
floors are of marble, the drinking bar is elaborate, the fittings
superb. In front, as you enter, is the bar and behind it a back bar with
the finest of glassware. The liquors are of excellent quality. Opposite
the bar, near the wall, are faro and crap tables. At the rear of the
long apartment is a horseshoe shaped lunch counter, where the best the
market affords can be had at reasonable rates. The bar and restaurant
are patronized by gamblers and by outsiders who never gamble. Anyone
over the age of twenty-one may step inside and play, and no questions
are asked. The crap game is interesting. It is played with dice and
anyone may throw the dice. The way some fellows throw them would make a
horse laugh. Some throw them with a running fire of conversation, their
eyes blazing with excitement. Others, like the coons, keep a saying as
they throw the dice, "Come seben, come eleben!" "What you doin' dar?"
"Roll right dis time for me you son of--" etc., etc. It is interesting
to watch the players. Many refined men visit these places and sometimes
take a little flyer. These men are quiet, open-handed fellows, who seem
to regard their little indulgence in the play as a joke, whether they
win or lose. They seem to have plenty of money and don't care--at least
one would judge so from their manner. While observing them I thought it
must be a fine thing to have plenty of money, so as not to care whether
you win or lose.
Westerners, as a rule, are free and generous, and seem to be just as
ready to spend their money as they are to earn it.
Bootblacks, waiters, cooks, newsboys and all sorts of men are always
ready and willing to take a chance in the games. Sometimes they win and
sometimes they lose, but win or lose they are always ready to try their
luck again.
Another gaming place I went into was situated on the first floor above
the street in a building facing the railroad, and it, too, was palatial.
On the ground floor was the saloon and above were the gambling rooms. A
pretty tough crowd was in them at the time of my visit and the crowd was
so dense it was rather difficult to move about. I was jostled
considerably and found it difficult to get near the gaming tables. Craps
and roulette were the main games here, too.
Fights and shooting scrapes are common in the gambling places, but the
Reno officers are alert and fearless, and soon put obstreperous people
where the dogs won't bite them.
Notwithstanding its gambling and recklessness, Reno is a good business
town, and full of orderly, respectable people. There are many wholesale
and retail establishments in the town; ice plants, machine shops,
breweries, ore reduction works and lumber yards. Besides, it is a great
cattle shipping center.
Many of the streets are broad and well-shaded, and the Truckee River, in
which are any number of speckled beauties in the shape of mountain
trout, flows through the town. Surrounding Reno are tall mountains which
form a part of the Sierra Nevada range, but they seem bare and lonely.
I landed in Reno during the afternoon and steered straight for the
Truckee River, as I needed a bath. I quickly espied a sequestered nook
under a wagon-bridge on the outskirts of the town, and from the looks of
things in the vicinity could tell that it was a hobo camping place. Old
tin cans were strewn about, and down the bank near the water was a
fireplace made of stones. One lone Wandering Willie was in camp and he
greeted me as effusively as if I were a long-lost brother. A hobo can
tell another hobo at a glance.
"Hello, pardner; how's tricks?" was the greeting of my fellow wayfarer.
"Fair to middlin'," responded I.
"Where you bound for?"
"Just got to Reno; and I am going to hold the town down for a while,"
said I. I was cautious and didn't want this chance acquaintance to know
too much about my affairs.
"Where'd you come from?" inquired I.
"Me? Oh, I've been hittin' the line all the way from Bloomington,
Illinoi', and I'm going to take a flier to the Coast."
"You are, hey? I just came from there."
"The hell you did; how's things out that way?"
"Fine and dandy; ever been there?"
"No," laconically answered the chap and began to question me about the
Coast.
I gave him all the information I could and then told him I was going to
take a wash-down. He had just done the same and as he seemed anxious to
go to town he soon left me. I stripped and had a glorious bath in the
cool, swift-flowing river. The river was neither broad nor very deep but
so clear that I could see every stone at the bottom of it. Not a fish
could I see but doubtless they were plentiful. After the clean-up I
leisurely strolled along the railroad track into town and steered for a
restaurant, where I had a good supper for twenty-five cents. I then lit
my pipe and strolled about taking in the sights.
I remained in Reno a day or two, and did not find time hanging heavy on
my hands. There are extensive cattle corrals about half a mile from the
town where I put in a whole afternoon watching the loading of cattle
into cars.
It was better than seeing a circus. A chute ran from the corral to the
car to be loaded and the animals were made to walk the plank in great
shape. No harm was done them unless they grew obstreperous, in which
case there was a great deal of tail twisting done, punching in the ribs
with long poles, yelling and shouting, which soon brought a refractory
animal to terms.
The railroad depot in Reno is a lively spot, too.
The S. P. R. R. trains and the Virginia & Truckee Railroad use the same
depot, and at train times there is always a sizeable crowd on hand. The
Virginia & Truckee road, which goes from Reno to Virginia City, a
distance of about sixty miles, is said to be the crookedest road in the
country. It winds around bare mountain sides to a great height and is
continually going upward. It was built in the early Bonanza mining days
when times were flush and is said to have cost a lot of money. It has
paid for itself many times over and was a great help to Gold Hill,
Carson and Virginia City. Although it has been in existence over a
quarter of a century and though it winds over almost inaccessible
mountain peaks, not a human life up to the writing of this book (1907)
has ever been lost on this road.
Indians may ride on the road free, and as they are aware of the fact,
hardly a day passes but they may be seen in the smoking car or on the
platform of a car taking a little flier to Carson, Virginia City,
Washoe, Steamboat Springs or any other place along the line they care to
go to. There is a State law in Nevada which permits any Indian to ride
free on any railroad. What the object of this law is, I don't know.
I noticed that the passenger trains going eastward over the S. P. R. R.
leave Reno between eight and nine o'clock at night, so I concluded to
beat my way out of town on one of them. I noticed that others did it and
that it was easy. All a fellow had to do was to let the train get a good
move on, then swing underneath to the rods, or jump the blind baggage.
"The blind baggage is good enough for you, Windy," says I to myself.
Accordingly, one very fine evening I permitted a passenger train to get
a good move on, and then boarded her a little way out, before she began
to go too fast. I was onto my job pretty well. I made it all right, but
as soon as I swung onto the steps of the blind baggage I found I wasn't
the only pebble on the beach for a number of other non-paying passengers
were there who must have got on before the train pulled out. There were
just seven deadheads on the car, excluding myself, and they were not a
bit glad to see me. Seven on the platform of a car is a good many, but
eight is one too many; so my fellow voyagers assured me by black looks.
They were greasers, every one of them, and cow punchers at that, most
likely. I was an American. There was no welcome for me. The greasers
jabbered among themselves about me, but what they said I could not
understand, for I don't understand Spanish.
Finally one of them said to me in fairly good English: "It's too much
crowded here; you better jump off."
"Jump off while the train is going like this; not much! Jump off
yourself and see how you like it," said I angrily.
Not only was I angry but apprehensive, for I felt there was going to be
trouble. I was not armed and had only a pocket knife with me. Even had I
been armed what could I have done against seven men in close quarters?
Nothing was said to me for quite a while after that and the train
clattered along at a great rate.
The cold, swift-rushing night wind blew keenly against us, making the
teeth of some of the greasers chatter. They could stand any amount of
heat but a little cold made them feel like hunting their holes. After
riding along for an hour or so through the bare, cheerless plains of
Nevada, the engine whistle blew for the town. The cow-puncher who had
addressed me before spoke up and said: "It is more better you get off at
the next station."
"No, I won't; get off yourself," said I.
Before I knew what had happened two of the greasers grabbed me around
the throat so I couldn't holler, and two others pulled off my coat,
which they threw from the train. The fellow who had spoken to me told me
that if I didn't jump off the train as soon as she slacked up they'd
throw me off. I knew they would do so when opportunity offered, so off I
hopped, mad as blazes. As I didn't want to lose my coat I walked back to
get it and I had to walk a mile or so to do so. Luckily, I found my coat
not far from the track and after putting it on, I faced eastward again
toward the station. It is no joke to hike through an unfamiliar
wilderness at night with no habitation or human being in sight or
anyways near.
The night was a fine one, clear, cold and star-lit, so I managed to walk
along the ties without serious mishap. In the sage brush, as I walked
along, I could hear the sudden whirr of birds as they flew off startled,
and the suddenness of the noise startled me at first for I didn't know
what made the noise. But I quickly caught on.
In the distance I could hear the melancholy yelp of a coyote which was
quickly answered from all points by other animals of the same species.
One or two coyotes can make more noise than a pack of wolves or dogs.
They are animals of the wolf species and are death to poultry, sheep,
little pigs and small animals generally.
I got to the little town safe and sound but it must have been after
midnight when I reached it, for there wasn't a soul to be seen in the
streets and all was quiet. The town was Wadsworth.
I walked to the pump-house of the railroad, which was situated along the
tracks and where I could hear the pump throbbing, and talked to the
engineer, who didn't seem averse to a chat. His vigil was a lonely one,
and anything to him was agreeable to vary the monotony. During the
course of the conversation I learned that an eastbound freight would be
along in a few hours.
I made the freight all right by riding the brakes. The train was made up
of closed box-cars and there was no other way to ride except on the
bumpers. I preferred the brakes.
It was pretty cold riding during the early morning hours, but luckily I
had my overcoat with me once more, which helped to keep me warm.
Beating one's way is a picnic sometimes, but not always. During the
summer time there is dust and heat to contend with, according to how one
rides, and in winter time there are cold winds, snow and frost.
I rode the brakes all night and was glad when day broke. I was quite
numbed.
The scenery was still the same--plains and alkali. At Lovelock I had
time to get a bite of breakfast and a cup of hot coffee, and then the
train was off for Humboldt. The distances between towns were great,
about a hundred miles or so.
Finally the train stopped at Winnemucca, a town which, for short and
sweet, is called "Winnemuck" by the knowing ones. At this place I
concluded to hop off for a rest. Winnemucca is quite a sizeable town,
and is the county seat of some county. It contains about two thousand
inhabitants, and used to be as wild and woolly a place as any in the
West, but it has tamed down some since. Saloons are plentiful and all
drinks are ten cents straight, with no discount for quantity. A pretty
good meal can be had for two bits, but short orders and such things as
life preservers, sinkers, or a bit of "mystery" with coffee, are all the
same price--two bits. I found no place where I could get anything for
less.
There was a river or creek at the further end of town wherein I wished
to bathe, but the water was so intolerably filthy that I deemed it wise
to wait until I found a more suitable place along the route.
I noticed a bank in Winnemucca and was informed that it had been robbed
recently of many thousands of dollars by bandits. Soon after the robbery
a trellis-work of structural iron was put up from the money-counters
clear to the ceiling with mere slots for the receiving and paying out of
money, so that the next set of bandits who call there will have to crawl
through mighty small holes to make a raise.
The next town along the line which amounted to anything was Elko and I
made it that same day on a freight. I found it a pretty little town with
good people in it, who treated me well. I learned there were some
wonderful natural hot springs about a mile or so from town, so that
afternoon I hiked out to see them. I shall never regret having seen them
for they are one of nature's wonders.
Out in the wilderness, near where they were situated, I came upon an
amphitheater of hills, at the base of which was a little lake about 100
yards in diameter. The hills were bare and lonely and near them was no
house or habitation. All was wild, lone, still.
I climbed down one of these hills to the lake and had a good survey of
it. The water was clear and pure as crystal but near the banks were
sulphur springs which bubbled up now and then. The water was so hot it
was impossible to put a finger in it.
I walked around the banks and at one end of the lake there was a hole so
deep I couldn't see bottom. This is a crater-hole so deep that bottom
has never been found, although it has been sounded to a depth of several
thousand feet. The entire place looks like the crater of an extinct
volcano. A single glance would lead anyone to suppose so.
Indian men, women, boys and girls go to the lake during the warm seasons
to bathe, and many a daring buck who has swum across the crater was
drowned in it and his body has never been recovered. I needed a bath
myself so I disrobed and plunged in. The water was neither too hot nor
too cold but half way between the two. It was just right. Where I swam
was not in the crater but near it. The water there was part crater water
and part sulphur water from the springs. The bath was delicious.
The ride eastward from Elko was uneventful. There was nothing to see but
bare plains and mountains and a few border towns. The towns were very
small, and hardly more than railroad stations. They were composed of a
general store or two, several saloons, a blacksmith shop, drug store,
bakery, butchershop, barbershop, and that is all.
I boarded a freight train at Wells and rode the brakes through the
Lucin Cutoff to Ogden. The trains used to run around Salt Lake, but now
a trestle has been built through it, which saves many miles. The trestle
is forty or fifty miles long, I should judge, and as I clung tightly to
my perch on the brakebeam and looked down into the clear blue water
through the ties I got kind of dizzy, but met with no disaster.
After a long and tedious ride of several hours I reached Ogden, the end
of the S. P. line. As funds were low I remained in Ogden several days
and went to work.
Ogden is in Utah and full of Mormons. It is a beautiful city, surrounded
by lofty mountains, the Wasatch range, and contains about 50,000 people.
It has a Mormon tabernacle, tithe-house, broad streets, fine stores,
elegant public buildings and is quite a railroad center.
I happened to discover a Mormon lady who had a wood-pile in her back
yard and she was needing a man to chop the wood, so we struck a bargain.
I was to receive a dollar and a half per day and my board for my work
and was given a room in an outhouse to bunk in. The terms suited me. The
board was plentiful and good, and the sleeping quarters comfortable. I
never saw a man about the place and wondered whether the lady was
married or not. She was old enough to be. I knew she was a Mormon
because she told me so, and possibly she was the plural wife of some
rich old Mormon. I didn't like to ask too many questions for I might
have got fired for being too nosy. The lady was sociable and
kind-hearted and treated me well.
The Mormons like apples, cider and ladies, and they are an industrious
people. The Bible says they can have all the wives they want, but the
United States law says they can't have 'em, so what are the poor fellows
to do? Sh! They have 'em on the sly. Don't give me away. Can you blame a
rich old Mormon for having a big bunch of wives if he can support them?
If I had the price I'd have two, at least, one for week days and one for
Sundays, but if the mother-in-law is thrown in, I pass. One good
healthy mother-in-law of the right sort can make it mighty interesting
for a fellow, but a bunch of them; whew! Excuse me! During my stay in
Ogden I didn't see any funny business going on, and wouldn't have
suspected there was any, but from what I could learn on the outside,
there was something doing. I saw lots of rosy-cheeked Mormon girls in
the tabernacle one day when I was there, but they behaved just like
other girls. The tabernacle is a church and it ain't. It is an immense
egg-shaped building arranged very peculiarly, yet it is snug and cosy
inside. It can hold thousands of people. It must be seen to be
appreciated. I liked Ogden very much and would like to linger there
longer but I deemed it best to keep a moving.
After leaving Ogden the scenery became interesting. The country is
mountainous going eastward, and we struck a place called Weber Canyon,
which is a narrow pass between high mountains through which the railroad
winds. The mountains were pretty well wooded. In one spot I saw a place
called the Devil's Slide, which was made by nature and consists of two
long narrow ledges of rocks that begin high up on a mountain side and
run down almost to the bottom of the mountain where the car tracks are.
These rocks form two continuous lines that run down side by side with a
space of several feet between them, and they are rough and raggedy on
top. Imagine two rails with about four or five feet of space between
them running down a mountain side several hundred feet and then you will
have some idea of the formation of the slide. How in the devil the devil
rode it, gets me. He must have been pretty broad in the beam, and I
would like to have seen him when he performed the act. He must have come
down a-flying, for the slide is nearly perpendicular.
This kind of scenery, though wild, was a relief from the bare and lonely
plains of Nevada, and I appreciated it. A little variety is the spice of
life, they say, and after seeing dullness it is nice to see beauty.
I was now on the Union Pacific Railroad and was in an empty cattle car,
through the slats of which I could see the scenery on both sides of me.
During the daytime it was nice, but at night the weather grew cold and
the long watches of the night were dreary. A companion then would have
been agreeable. I missed little Billy. At a small station in Wyoming
called Rock Creek, I was put off the train one afternoon and as I hadn't
a dime left, I felt it was incumbent on me to go to work. I saw a bunch
of cattle in a corral near the railroad station that had probably been
unloaded from a train, and as there were some bull-whackers with them I
struck them for a job.
"Kin you ride?" asked a chap who looked like the boss.
"Ride anything with hair on," replied I.
"Ever herd cattle?" asked the boss.
"I'm an old hand at the business," answered I.
"Where'd you do your herding?"
"In California."
I never herded cattle in my life, but I could ride all right, and as I
didn't consider bull-whacking much of a job, I thought I could hold it
down easily. The boss hired me then and there at twenty dollars per
month and chuck, and while on the range my bedroom was to be a large
one--all Wyoming. It didn't take the cowboys long to get on to the fact
that I was a tenderfoot, but as I was a good rider they said nothing.
They were a whole-souled, rollicking, devil-may-care set of fellows, and
the best they had was none too good for me. They treated me like a lord.
They knew, and the boss soon found out that I didn't know any more about
roping a steer than a baby did, but as they were not branding cattle
just then, that didn't matter so much. I got on to their way of herding
quickly enough, and that was all that was necessary just then. I didn't
ask where the outfit was bound for, nor did I care much, for all I was
after was to earn a few dollars.
There were a good many hundred head of cattle in the bunch and many of
the them were steers, but there were also many dried-up cows among them
and some yearlings. They had all to be herded carefully so they
wouldn't stray away, and to accomplish this we had to keep riding around
them all day long. At night after feeding, the cattle rested. On dark
nights they generally squatted down contentedly and chewed the cud, but
on a moonlit night they would keep on their feet and feed. The very
first moonlit night I was put on watch I got into trouble. The cattle
arose to feed, and do what I would, I could not keep them together. When
riding along on one side of the herd to keep them in, a few ignorant
brutes on the other side would wander away and at such times some hard
riding had to be done to keep them in. I could do it, but I couldn't
ride everywhere at once.
I did some pretty fast riding and kept yelling and hallooing at the
cattle, but one of the brutes got so far away from me that when he saw
me coming he raised his tail and bolted outright. By the time I got him
in others were scattered far and wide. I now saw that I was helpless, so
I went to camp and aroused the sleeping cowboys. They knew instinctively
what the trouble was and got out of their warm blankets cussing to beat
the band. They mounted their ponies and off we all rode to gather the
scattered herd. It was no picnic. There were four of us, and as the
cattle had strayed off in all directions, it is easy to imagine what our
task was. One of the boys and myself traveled together in one direction
and made for an ornery brute that shook his head when we gently told him
to "git in there." Off he shot like a rocket with a bellow of defiance,
and his tail in the air.
"I'll fix the ugly son of--!" yelled my comrade, as he uncoiled his rope
from his saddle and got it ready for a throw. His pony was after the
steer like a shot, for it knew its business, and got in range in a
jiffy. Out flew the rope and settled around the steer's neck. Quick as a
flash the steer flew in the air, turned a complete somersault and landed
on the turf with a jar that shook the earth.
"You will run away, you ----!" exclaimed the irate cowboy. "I guess you
won't do it in a hurry again, gol darn your ugly hide."
The animal got up meek as a lamb, trembled in every limb, shook his head
in a dazed way, and probably wondered what had struck him. We had no
trouble with him after that, and made off after the rest. It was long
after midnight before all the cattle were rounded up. The boss was mad
clear through. The next day he politely told me that I didn't understand
my business; that I didn't know any more about herding cattle than a
kid; that I had lied to him about being a cowboy and that I had better
skip. He cursed me up and down and kept up his abuse so long that I
finally got tired of it and fired back. That made matters worse. We soon
were at it, tooth and nail. He struck me with his fist and it was a hard
blow. I was taller and longer in the reach than he and kept him off from
me. The first blow was the only one he struck me, but it was a good one
and dazed me for a moment. "I knowed you was a Greaser," yelled he as he
danced around me, "and I'm going to put you out of business."
"Come on, you--," yelled I.
He wasn't in the mix-up at all. I was younger, stronger and longer in
the reach than he, and one of the blows I put in was a tremendous one,
for it knocked him down and he lay still for awhile. When he got up I
knocked him down again. I saw he was my meat.
"Now, pay me off, you--, and I'll get out of here pretty darn quick; if
you don't, I'll beat the life out of you," yelled I. The cowboys stood
by and said nothing. It wasn't their funeral.
The boss paid me off and I got out.
At Cheyenne, Wyoming, I ran across a gassy little red-headed Hebrew who
put me on to a good, money-making scheme. He had a lot of paste-board
signs with him on which were neatly printed such things as: "Our
trusting department is on the roof; take the elevator"; "Every time you
take a drink things look different"; "In God we trust; all others must
pay cash"; "We lead; others follow"; "Razors put in order good as new,"
etc., etc. The young fellow told me that he was beating his way to the
Coast and that he sold enough of these signs to pay expenses. He told me
also that the signs by the quantity cost him only five cents each, and
that he sold them readily for twenty-five cents each.
I thought the little chap was lying for I didn't think anyone would pay
twenty-five cents for such a sign, but he solemnly assured me on his
word of honor that he had no trouble selling them at the price. He
further told me that he would sell me a hundred of the signs at cost
price, adding that if I bought a hundred of them, he would give me the
address of the wholesaler in Omaha where I could obtain all the signs I
wanted. The little scheme looked good to me but unfortunately I had only
two dollars in my possession. This I offered him for forty signs with
the name of the wholesaler thrown in. He accepted. I soon found that the
little Israelite had told me the truth, for the signs sold readily for
two bits each, though in some places I had to do a deal of talking to
sell a sign, and in other places they laughed at me, when I told them
the price was twenty-five cents, and offered me ten cents. As I wasn't
sure whether I could purchase any more signs at the price I paid for
them, I was loath to sell them for ten cents each.
When I reached Omaha I found the address of the sign man, and learned
that I could buy all the signs I wanted in hundred lots at three cents
each. The little cuss had done me after all.
I bought a hundred signs and now felt that I had struck a good thing,
for I would have to do no more hard work. I sold many of the signs in
small towns and cities, and found little difficulty in doing so. No more
handouts for yours truly, no more wood-chopping, no more cow-punching. I
was a full-fledged merchant and able to hold my own with any of them. It
was easier sailing now.
The trip from Omaha to Chicago was interesting, but uneventful. At Omaha
I crossed the muddy-looking Missouri River on a bridge while riding the
bumpers of a freight, but was detected and put off on the other side of
the river.
That night I did rather a daring thing. Along toward nine o'clock there
came along a passenger train and as I had made up my mind to get on to
Chicago as fast as I could, I stepped upon the platform of one of the
passenger coaches and climbed upon the roof of the car, where I rode
along for many a mile. Bye-and-bye, however, the wind became so keen,
cold and cutting, and the rush of air so strong, that I became numbed
and was obliged to climb down for warmth. I walked boldly into the
passenger coach and sat down in a vacant seat near the door. I knew the
conductor would not be round again for some time, for he had made his
round, so for the present I felt safe.
When taking up tickets the conductor of a train usually starts at the
front end and moves along to the rear. After his work is ended he will
rarely sit down in any of the middle coaches, especially if every seat
has an occupant, but he and the brakeman usually go to the smoker and
sit down there. I was in the coach next to the smoker, and later on, I
saw the conductor coming around again for tickets, I leisurely strolled
to the rear platform of the car I was in and climbed on top again. I
watched the conductor and waited until he had made his rounds, and then
I returned to my seat in the coach.
In this way I traveled a long distance. I kept up these tactics for
hours, but bye-and-bye I noticed a young woman who was traveling with
her husband (a young fellow of about twenty-five), watch me
suspiciously. She put her husband on to my little racket, and he, most
likely, told the conductor, who laid a cute little trap to catch me.
After he had been through all the coaches on his next round he went to
the smoker, as usual, but when he came to the rear coach I was in he
locked the rear door behind him. It was through this door I had been
making my exit. He then passed slowly through the train again from the
front looking at the hat checks. When I saw him coming and the brakeman
following in the rear I tried the usual tactics but found the door
locked. I was trapped. The conductor came up to me and seeing no
hat-check asked me for my ticket. I pretended to look for it, but
couldn't find it. The conductor eyed me coldly and told me to follow him
to the baggage car. The brakeman acted as a rear guard. When we stepped
into the baggage car the conductor asked me a few questions which to him
did not seem satisfactory, whereupon he sternly warned me to get off at
the next station. "If I catch you on here again, I'll throw you off,"
threatened he.
I knew he dared not legally throw me off a train while it was in motion,
and that he was bluffing, but I got off at the next station just the
same. I concluded I had ridden far enough that night, anyway. My journey
to Chicago was soon completed.
I remained in Chicago several days selling the signs for a living but
found it difficult work. The sign that seemed to sell best in Chicago
was the one reading: "Every Time You Take a Drink, Things Look
Different," and it made quite a hit in the saloons, but I could only
get ten cents for it. The Chicago saloon keepers wanted all the money to
come their way. In the smaller towns this sign sold readily for
twenty-five cents, and no questions asked. I concluded to shake the dust
of Chicago off my feet in a hurry, for the grafting was too hard for me.
I had got onto it that there were easier places.
It was the Michigan Central that had the honor to yank me out of Chicago
and a hard old road she was to beat. Spotters were everywhere--fly cops
and bulls--and they gave me a run for my money. I gave some of them a
cock-and-bull story about trying to get to a sick relative in New York
City, and showed them the signs I was selling to help pay expenses. Some
laughed, and told me to "git," but one or two sternly told me they had a
mind to run me in. They didn't, though. I got along all right as far as
Detroit, where I crossed over to Windsor, Canada, on a boat which
ferried the whole train over at once. I was now in a foreign country,
but everything there looked pretty much as it did in the United States.
The Michigan Central took me clear through Canada to Niagara Falls,
where I concluded to remain a few days, for much as I had heard of the
Falls, I had never seen them.
I found that there is a big city of about 25,000 people at the Falls
called "Niagara Falls," and it is a beautiful place.
On the Canadian side there is a little city, too, the name of which I
forget. It is not nearly so large as the city on the American side, but
it is a quaint and pretty little place.
Niagara Falls City is something like Coney Island, only it is on an
all-the-year-round scale. Ordinary electric cars run through the place,
electric tourist cars that will take one over the Gorge Route for a
dollar are there, and so are hotels, boarding and rooming houses, plenty
of stores, an extensive government reservation called Prospect Park, a
Ferris Wheel, Shoot-the-Chutes, candy and ice cream booths, a hot
frankfurter booth, picture galleries, beer gardens, etc. The place is
lively and pretty, but full of grafters. Why wouldn't it be, when
suckers by the million flock there every year from all over the world?
I got to like the place so well that I remained there nearly a week and
learned a whole lot of things.
I wasn't a sucker and didn't get catched for I wasn't worth catching.
Small fry ain't wanted. Did I see the Falls? Did I? Well, you can bet
your sweet life I did. I saw them early, late and often, and every time
I saw them they made my hair rise higher and higher. They are
stupendous, tremendous--well, I can't say all I feel. They will awe
anyone and fill him chock full of all kinds of thoughts. I'll try to
give you an idea of them.
Niagara River is a stream about half a mile wide and about a hundred
miles long. It connects Lake Erie with Lake Ontario, and as the waters
of these great lakes form the river, the volume of its waters is great.
About twenty-five miles from Buffalo the Niagara River enters rocky
canyons, which are formed by Goat Island, and which divide the river.
The rushing, roaring and leaping of the waters on either side of the
island is tremendous. These rushing, roaring waters are called the Upper
Rapids. The waters rush along at cannon-ball speed almost until they
reach a hill about 165 feet in height. Down this they tumble. That
constitutes the Falls.
The river, as I said, is divided by Goat Island, so that one part of the
stream shoots along the American shore and the other part along the
Canadian.
By far the greater part of the river rushes along the Canadian side,
hence the falls on that side are much greater than on the American. In
fact, the American falls ain't a marker to the Canadian. I saw the falls
from both sides, and when viewed from the Canadian side they are
indescribably grand. No words of mine can describe them. You can hear
the thunder of the rushing, roaring, falling waters a mile off, and the
spray that arises from the depths below after the fallen waters have
struck the rocks can be seen at a great distance.
While the great lakes flow and the Niagara River runs, this scene of
rushing, roaring, tumbling waters will never cease. After the waters
take their tumble they flow on placidly enough until they strike another
narrow gorge or canyon, about a mile below the falls, which is called
the Lower Rapids. In them may be seen a wicked whirlpool, the Devil's
Hole, and other uncanny things.
Niagara is great, but the grafters who are there are greater. They will
fool the stranger who goes there so slick that he won't know he has been
fooled. The majority of visitors don't care, for they go there to spend
their money, anyway. Some do care, however, for their means are limited.
The grafters, who are not only hackmen, but storekeepers and others, lie
awake nights studying how to "do" you. It is their business to make
money, but how they make it don't worry them. If you go to the Falls,
beware of them.
People from every nation under the sun flock to the Falls every year, as
I said, and a million visitors a year is a low estimate, I am sure.
There are some people who believe that this great work of nature ought
to be preserved intact, but there are others who do not think so. The
latter think the Falls were created for their benefit, so they can make
money. I am not now speaking of the grafters, but the manufacturers who
have established factories along the banks of the Niagara River and
utilize its waters for running their machinery, etc. These people would
drain the river dry were they permitted to do so, and were doing so
until stopped by the Government. I make no comments on this but simply
state the facts and let others do the commenting.
After I had done the Falls pretty thoroughly I concluded to go to
Buffalo, the beautiful city by the lake (Erie). It can be reached in
several ways from Niagara Falls by trolley and by several lines of
railroads. It cannot be reached by water, however, for the reason that
the Upper Rapids in the river extend a mile or so from the Falls toward
Buffalo, rendering navigation impracticable. The trolley line running
from Buffalo to the Falls is one of the best patronized roads in the
country, and is crowded every day and overcrowded on holidays and
Sundays. The fare is fifty cents the round trip and the scenery, through
which a part of the road passes, is very fine. The road runs pretty
close to the Niagara River for quite a distance, and along the banks of
the river may be seen manufacturing establishments, such as cyanide
plants, paper mills, chemical works, etc., nearly all of which empty
their refuse into the stream, polluting its waters considerably. All of
these establishments can easily be seen near the river as you ride along
in the trolley.
In the town of Niagara Falls itself are quite a number of very large
manufacturing plants, which use the waters of the river for their
purposes.
Buffalo is one of the handsomest cities in the United States, to my
notion. Its water front along the business section of the town is pretty
punky, for there is a vile-smelling canal in the vicinity, and
malodorous streets and alleys, but otherwise the town is away up in G.
She's a beaut, and no mistake. Delaware Avenue is a corker. Imagine a
thoroughfare about 150 to 200 feet wide, with driveways in the center
shaded by fine old trees, and ample sidewalks also shaded by fine trees.
Along the sidewalks, but set far back, are roomy mansions that are set
in ample gardens, and then you will have a faint idea of the beauty of
Delaware Avenue. And there are many other streets in the vicinity of
Delaware Avenue that are just as beautiful. Boulevards and fine streets
abound in this fair city.
The people of Buffalo are quite like the Westerners in disposition, for
they are sociable and free, and not too busy or too proud to talk to
you. They are like their city, lovely, and I speak of them as I found
them. There are many Canadians in the city (for Canada is only across
the Niagara River and can be reached by ferry-boat) and I think they are
a very desirable class of citizens. There are all sorts among them, of
course, as is the case with Americans.
My signs went well in Buffalo, especially the one reading, "Every Time
You Take a Drink, etc." It went well in the saloons along the water
front and on Main Street, the leading thoroughfare. Lots of people
laughed when they read it and said it was a good one. There is nothing
like a laugh to put people in good humor.
I liked some of the Canadians very well and loved to listen to their
queer accent. It is nothing like the American, but peculiarly their own.
I thought some of the Canadian ladies were very nice.
I liked Buffalo so well that I concluded to remain there until I grew
tired of it. After I had been there a day or so I became acquainted with
a young girl whose front name was Rose. She was of an auburn type and
very artless. She had a decided penchant for milk chocolates.
She was as pretty as a rose and it was awful hard for me to resist her.
She was a poor, but good, honest, hardworking girl. She had been hurt
in a street car collision and was just recovering from its effects. She
craved chocolates but was too poor to buy them herself. I pitied her.
She told me in her frank and artless way that she had thought a great
deal of a certain young fellow, but he was in another city at present,
working, and that she hadn't seen him for a long time. She didn't know
whether she ever would see him again, but she hoped to, for he was a
very sweet fellow, she said.
"If he thinks anything of me don't you think he'll come back to me?" she
asked, turning up her soulful blue eyes at me.
"He would be a brute if he didn't, Rose," responded I, with considerable
warmth. The girl surely loved him.
"Why don't he write to me?"
"Maybe he hasn't got the time or ain't much of a writer," said I. "Some
people don't like to write."
"I guess that's true," said she, sadly.
Though she had a sneaking regard for the young fellow, she didn't object
to me buying milk chocolates for her, nor to going to a show with me,
nor to taking a ride to Crescent Beach on a cosy little lake steamer. In
fact, Rosie was out for a good time, and evidently wasn't particular who
furnished the funds. As I fancied the poor girl I was not averse to
giving her a good time. We went to Delaware Park and spent several whole
afternoons rowing on the little lake. We fed the ducks, walked in shady
groves, and the time flew swiftly by in her company. During the morning
I sold signs and in the afternoon I went with Rosie. I put in a whole
lot of time in Buffalo with her, more than I should have done. One day I
told her that I would have to go and then there was a kick. She wouldn't
have it. She could not and she would not let me go, she said. I argued
the case with her, but she wasn't open to argument. She was one of these
kind of girls who are apt to forget the absent one when the present
charmer is nigh. It was the hardest job in the world for me to leave
her, but I finally did so. Rosie, farewell; and if forever, then
forever, fare thee well.