We have been invited to take a trip to California by the railroad
company. We can transport ourselves to Omaha; then all our expenses are
to be defrayed by the lavish company. We have all accepted. Who could
refuse such a tempting invitation?
CALIFORNIA, _Spring, 1877_.
Dear M.,--The rendezvous was to be at the third station before reaching
Omaha, where we really did all meet. On arriving at the next one, some
of the party asked the conductor how long the train would stop, and he
answered, "Twenty minutes"; so off they started on foot to see the
town. We wise ones stayed in the train, which also started off, leaving
our truants behind, but their bags remained with us.
When they returned to the station, before the twenty minutes had
expired, they found the train gone! They hired a special train at great
expense and delay, hoping to overtake us at Omaha. But before they
reached Omaha an official appeared and said that he had received a
telegram from headquarters at Chicago, acknowledging that the conductor
had been at fault in starting a little earlier than he had said;
therefore the company felt itself responsible and insisted on refunding
the money the extra train had cost.
Where else but in America are mistakes so quickly and nicely remedied?
Perhaps in this instance it could be explained by the fact that one of
them was a prominent member of the Republican party, and the other no
less than the Assistant Secretary of State. We were glad to receive our
penitent wanderers, who promised to be more careful another time. We
slept at Omaha, which is the jumping-off place, and to-morrow morning
early we are going to "jump." We have already traveled seventeen
hundred and fifty miles, and have not yet begun our real trip. Omaha
has still wooden sidewalks and muddy roads; the post-office,
school-house, and churches are all built on a grand scale, and the
streets laid out in squares and broad avenues. Probably they have
already designs for a grand-opera house. One can see FUTURE written all
over it.
Mr. Cadwalader had bought in Philadelphia the best comestibles that it
could provide, and had them stowed away in big hampers and put in the
baggage-car. When the train stopped an hour for food, which it did
three times a day, we preferred to spend that hour looking about us and
(as Mr. Kasson said) stretching our legs rather than going into the
overcrowded eating-rooms, which were reeking of food, loud talk, and
ravenous passengers. The stations were always low wooden buildings with
a piazza; sometimes no other houses were to be seen. On wooden boxes
were enthroned the loafers, who must have ridden miles just to see
passengers get in and out of the train. To show how kind these rough
people must be when they are not engaged in killing people, chickens
foraged about between their huge boots, and I saw a dog quietly asleep
within an inch of a kick. As soon as the train started we went into the
baggage-car and, seated about on the trunks, enjoyed our delicious
feast.
We occupied almost one entire parlor-car. There were only two extra
seats, and those were filled by two men surrounded by a mountain of
newspapers and magazines of all kinds. I said, nodding toward one of
these, "What a handsome man that is!"
"Do you know who it is?" asked Mr. Cadwalader.
"No. How should I?"
"That is the famous scout, Buffalo Bill."
"Really!" I exclaimed. "I had fancied him quite different from that. He
looks like the pictures of Charles the First. His eyes are so soft, and
he has such lovely brown curls and a could-not-hurt-a-fly look about
him."
"Well," said Mr. Cadwalader, "he has killed more men than he can count
on his fingers when he tries to go to sleep."
"I can't imagine it," I said, gazing with admiration at Buffalo Bill's
fine and kind face and splendid figure. "His friend does not look so
amiable."
"I should think _not_. That is the celebrated Mr. Holmes of Texas. He
is a terror in this part of the world."
"He looks it," I said. "See all the pistols he has about him. I can see
one in his coat pocket, and one in his vest pocket, and..."
"And many under his coat which you can't see."
Just at that moment the "terror" got up, and, lo! a pistol fell out of
his clothing on to the floor. Fortunately, it did not go off, but it
frightened us almost out of our senses (the ladies, of course). Buffalo
Bill picked up the weapon and handed it back to Mr. Holmes, who put it
quietly in his pocket, seeming rather abashed.
Buffalo Bill and his friend walked down the middle of the car, and we
were somewhat agitated when he stopped in front of Johan and said in a
soft, cooing voice, "Would you take a drink with me, sir?"
We gasped when we saw Johan shake his head and say politely with a
smile, "No, thank you." We expected a volley of pistol-shots and the
speedy wiping out of us all, but Buffalo Bill merely gave Johan an
inquiring look and a tired but sarcastic smile.