The first time I met Billie the Kid was in Antonshico, New Mexico, in a

saloon, when he asked me to drink with him, that was in 1877. Later he

hired to Pete Galligan, the man in whose employ I was. Galligan hired

the Kid to drive his buck board between the White Oaks, the nearest

town, and Galligan's ranch with provisions for the boys, and the Kid

told me himself that one these trips he would drive the team, on a dead

run, the whole distance of 30 miles to the Oaks in order to get there

quick so he would have more time to stay around town before it was time

to start back, then when he would arrive home the team was nearly dead

from exhaustion. He remained in the employ of Galligan for about eleven

months, then he was hired by John Chisholm to rustle cattle for him.

Chisholm agreed to pay the Kid so much per head for all the cattle the

Kid rustled. When the time came for a settlement, Chisholm failed to

settle right or to the Kid's satisfaction, then the Kid told Chisholm he

would give him one day to make up his mind to settle right, but before

the Kid could see Chisholm again, Chisholm left the country going east

where his brother was. The Kid then swore vengeance, and said he would

take his revenge out of Chisholm's men, and he at once began killing all

the employ of John Chisholm. He would ride up to a bunch of cowboys and

enquire if they worked for Chisholm. If they replied in the affirmative,

he would shoot them dead on the spot, and few men were quicker with a 45

or a deadly shot than "Billie the Kid". The next time I met the Kid was

in Holbrook, Arizona, just after a big round up. The Kid, Buck Cannon,

and Billie Woods were together. I was on my way to Silver City, New

Mexico, in the fall of 1880 when I met them, and as they were going

there also, we rode on together The "Kid" showed me the little log cabin

where he said he was born. I went in the cabin with him, and he showed

me how it was arranged when he lived there, showing me where the bed sat

and the stove and table. He then pointed out the old postoffice which he

said he had been in lots of times.

He told me he was born and raised in Silver City, New Mexico, which is

near the Moggocilion Mountains, and at that time the Kid was badly

wanted by the sheriffs of several counties for numerous murders

committed by him mostly of John Chisholm's men in Texas and New Mexico.

The Kid bid me good bye. He said he was going to the mountains as he

knew them well, and once there he was all right as he could stand off a

regiment of soldiers. The three of them departed together. I never saw

him again until the spring of 1881. I was in the city of Elmorgo, New

Mexico, and saw him the morning he was forced to flee to the mountains

to escape arrest. We could see him up there behind the rocks. He was

well armed having with him two Winchesters and two 45 Colts revolvers

and plenty of ammunition, and although the officers wanted him badly, no

one dared go up after him as it was certain death to come with range of

the Kid's guns. Later on he escaped and the next time I saw him was in

Antonshico, New Mexico. It was in June, and we had come up from Colonas

after some saddle horses, and I met and talked with him.

The next time I saw him he was laying dead at Pete Maxwell's ranch in

Lincoln county, New Mexico, having been killed by Pat A. Garret at that

time sheriff of Lincoln county, New Mexico. We arrived in Lincoln county

the very night he was killed at Pete Maxwell's ranch and went into camp

a short distance from Maxwell's, and we saw the Kid a short time after

he had been killed. The Kid had been arrested by Pat Garret and his

posse a short time before at Stinking Springs, New Mexico, along with

Tom Pickett, Billy Wilson and Dave Rudebough, after arresting these men

which was only effected after a hard fight and after the Kid's

ammunition had given out. Garret took the men heavily ironed to Los

Vegas. When it became known that Billy the Kid had been captured a mob

formed for the purpose of lynching him. But Garret placed his prisoners

in a box car over which himself and deputies stood guard until the train

pulled out which was nearly two hours. During that time the mob was

furious to get at the men, but they well knew the temper of Sheriff

Garret so they kept their distance.

The men were tried and convicted. The Kid and Rudbough were sentenced to

be hanged. Rudbough for having killed a jailer at Los Vegas in 1880. The

judge on passing sentence on the Kid, said you are sentenced to be

hanged by the neck until you are dead-dead-dead. The Kid laughed in the

judge's face saying, and you can go to Hell, Hell, Hell. After the Kid

had been sentenced he was placed in jail at Los Vegas, ironed hand and

foot, and under heavy guard, but never lost confidence and was always

looking for a chance to escape. When the day of his execution was not

much more than a week off, the Kid saw his chance, while eating his

supper both handcuffs had been fastened to one wrist so the Kid could

better feed himself. He was only guarded by one deputy named Bell. The

other deputy, Ollinger, had gone to supper across the street from the

jail. Bell turned his head for a moment and the Kid noticing the

movement quick as a flash brought the handcuffs down on Bell's head,

stunning him. The Kid then snatched Bell's revolver, he shot the deputy

through the body. Bell staggered to the steps down which he fell and

into the yard below where he died. Ollinger hearing the shot rushed

across the street. As he entered the jail yard he looked up and saw the

Kid at a window. As he did so the Kid shot Ollinger dead with a shot gun

which was loaded with buck shot. The Kid then broke the gun across the

window sill, then going to the room where the weapons were kept the Kid

picked out what guns he wanted and broke the balance. Then he made the

first person he met break the irons from his legs and bring him a horse.

The Kid then took four revolvers and two Winchester rifles and rode

away. Sheriff Garret was at White Oaks at the time and as soon he as

heard of the escape he hurried home and organized a posse to recapture

the Kid, but the Kid was at liberty two months before he was finally

rounded up and killed at Pete Maxwell's ranch. At the time the Kid

escaped at Los Vegas myself and a party of our boys had our horses at

Menderhall and Hunter's livery stable, just a few doors from the jail

and I was standing on the street talking to a friend when the Kid rode

by. From Los Vegas he went to the borders of Lincoln county where his

ever ready revolver was always in evidence. Shortly after his escape he

shot and killed William Mathews and a companion whom he met on the

prairie without apparent cause, and several other murders were

attributed to him before he was finally located at Maxwell's ranch and

killed by Sheriff Garret.

The Kid was only 22 years of age when his wild career was ended by the

bullet from the sheriff's gun and it is safe to assert he had at lease

one murder to the credit of every year of his life. He was killed by

Sheriff Garret in a room of one of the old houses at Fort Sumner, known

at that time as Maxwell's ranch, July 12, 1881, about two months after

his escape from the Lincoln county jail, and Sheriff Pat A. Garret, one

of the nervest men of that country of nervy men and the only man who

ever pursued the Kid and lived to tell the tale, is at present at the

head of the Customs Service at El Paso, Texas, and to meet him and note

his pleasant smile and kindly disposition, one would not believe him the

man who sent Billie the Kid to his last account. But behind the pleasant

twinkle in his eye and the warm hand clasp there is a head as cool and a

nerve as steady as ever held a 45.

CHAPTER XVII.

ANOTHER TRIP TO OLD MEXICO. I ROPE AN ENGINE. I FALL IN LOVE. MY

COURTSHIP. DEATH OF MY SWEETHEART. MY PROMISED WIFE. I MUST BEAR A

CHARMED LIFE. THE ADVENT OF PROGRESS. THE LAST OF THE RANGE.

On one of these memorable trips after cattle, and with cattle on the

trail, one that I will most likely remember, the longest was a trip to

Old Mexico after a herd of horses. It was on this trip that I fell in

love, the first time in my life. During my wild career on the western

plains I had met many handsome women, and they often made much of me,

but somehow I had never experienced the feeling called love, until I met

my charming sweetheart in Old Mexico. I had perhaps been too much

absorbed in the wild life of the plains, in the horses, and cattle which

made up my world, to have the time or inclination to seek or enjoy the

company of the gentler sex. But now that I had met my fate, I suppose I

became as silly about it as any tenderfoot from the east could possibly

be, as evidence of how badly I was hit. While on the trail with the herd

our route lay along a narrow gauge railroad, and I was feeling up in the

air caused no doubt partly from the effects of love and partly from the

effects of Mexican whiskey, a generous measure I had under my belt,

however I was feeling fine, so when the little engine came puffing along

in the distance I said to the boys I have roped nearly everything that

could be roped, so now I am going to rope the engine. They tried to

persuade me not to make the attempt, but I was in no mood to listen to

reason or anything else, so when the engine came along I put my spurs to

my horse and when near enough I let fly my lariat. The rope settled

gracefully around the smoke stack, and as usual my trained horse set

himself back for the shock, but the engine set both myself and my horse

in the ditch, and might have continued to set us in places had not

something given way, as it was the rope parted, but the boys said

afterwards that they thought they would have to send for a wrecking

train to clean the track or rather the ditch.

[Illustration: I Rope a Narrow Gauge Engine, my Lariat Settled

Gracefully Around the Smokestack and my Trained Horse Set Himself for

the Shock, but the Engine Set Both Myself and my Horse in the Ditch]

Roping a live engine is by long odds worse than roping wild Buffalo on

the plains or Uncle Sam's cannon at the forts. This incident cleared the

atmosphere somewhat, but my love was as strong as ever and I thanked my

lucky start she did not see me as they dragged me out of the ditch.

I first saw my sweetheart as we were driving the herd along the dusty

road, passing a small adobe house near the city of Old Mexico. I saw a

handsome young Spanish girl standing in the yard and I suppose I fell in

love with her at first sight, anyway I pretended to be very thirsty and

rode up and asked her for a drink. She gave it to me and I exchanged a

few words with her before joining the boys and the herds.

After that I saw her quite often during my stay in Old Mexico before we

again returned home. One day shortly before I was to leave for the North

I went to see her and overheard a conversation between her and her

mother, in which her mother said to her: "My daughter will you leave

your mother for to go with the wild cowboy?" And she answered no mother

I will not leave you to go with any wild cowboy. On hearing this I bid

her goodbye and a long farewell, as I told her I did not expect to ever

see her again. Then leaping to the back of my faithful horse I rode like

mad across the Mexican plains, until I had somewhat cooled down, but it

was a hard blow to me, as I truly loved her. After that I joined the

boys and returned up the trail with them. Six or seven months later we

were again in Old Mexico with a herd of cattle and went in camp some

distance out from the city, and as soon as she heard our outfit had

returned she rode out to the camp and after looking around and not

seeing me, she said to the camp boss, "Where is the wild cowboy that was

here with you last time? Did he not come up the trail with you". The

boss told her I had come up the trail but that I had not been seen since

crossing the last mountains as of course he knew whom she meant as my

little love affair was pretty generally known among the boys. When the

boss told her that I had not been seen since they had crossed the last

mountains, she hung her head and looked completely heart broken. I was

lying in the mess wagon at the time an interested spectator of all that

took place, and seeing her looking so downhearted I could hardly

restrain myself from jumping out of the wagon and taking her in my arms.

After a time she slowly raised her head and looked long and wistfully up

the trail. Then turning to the camp boss again she said, "Camp boss tell

me truly if Nat Love works with you and did he come on this trip with

you". The boss answered her as before that I had not been seen since

crossing the last mountains, which was true as I had been riding in the

mess wagon. On hearing the boss' answer she took it as final and started

to ride away.

[Illustration: The First Glimpse of My Spanish Sweetheart]

I thought it high time to make my presence known, as with the sight of

her, all my old love returned, and I forgot every thing except that I

loved her. So I jumped out of the wagon exclaiming here I am, and in a

minute we were locked in each others arms and I believe I kissed her

before all the boys, but I didn't care, she was mine now. We became

engaged and were to be married in the fall and were to make our home in

the city of Mexico, but in the spring she took sick and died. Her death

broke me all up and after I buried her I became very wild and reckless,

not caring what happened to me and when you saw me in the saddle you saw

me at home, and while I saw many women since I could never care for any

as I did for her. And I vainly tried to forget her and my sorrow in the

wild life of the plains and every danger I could find courting death in

fights with Indians and Mexicans and dare devil riding on the range, but

it seemed to me that I bore a charmed life. Horses were shot from under

me, men were killed around me, but always I escaped with a trifling

wound at the worst. As time passed I began to recover from my

disappointment and to take my old interest in the work of the ranch, and

as my reputation had spread over the country I did not lack work, but

was kept on the go all the time, first with one large cattle owner, then

with another. Most of my working being in the round ups and brandings,

brand reading, and with large herds on the trail, as during my long

experience in the cattle country I had traveled every known trail, and

over immense stretches of country where there was no sign of a trail,

nothing but the wide expanse of prairie; bare except for the buffalo

grass, with here and there a lone tree or a giant cactus standing as a

lone sentinel in the wildest of long stretches of grazing land rolling

away in billows of hill and gully, like the waves of the ocean. Likewise

I could read, identify and place every brand or mark placed on a horse

or steer between the Gulf of Mexico and the borders of Canada, on the

North and from Missouri to California. Over this stretch of country I

have often traveled with herds of horses or cattle or in searching for

strays or hunting the noble buffalo on his own native feeding grounds.

The great buffalo slaughter commenced in the west in 1874, and in 1877

they had become so scarce that it was a rare occasion when you came

across a herd containing more than fifty animals where before you could

find thousands in a herd. Many things were responsible for the

slaughter, but the principal reason that they had now become so scarce

was that in 1875 and 1876 the Indians started to kill them in large

numbers for their skins. Thousands were killed by them, skinned and the

carcasses left as food for the wolves and vultures of the prairie. Many

were killed by the white hunters to furnish meat for the railroad

graders and the troups at the frontier forts.

[Illustration: "Does the Wild Cow Boy Work With You?"]

While the big cattle ranches were always kept well supplied with buffalo

meat, on the stock of my rifle is one hundred and twenty-six notches,

each one representing a fine buffalo that has fallen to my own hand,

while some I have killed with the knife and 45 colts, I forgot to cut a

notch for. Buffalo hunting, a sport for kings, thy time has passed.

Where once they roamed by the thousands now rises the chimney and the

spire, while across their once peaceful path now thunders the iron

horse, awakening the echoes far and near with bell and whistle, where

once could only be heard the sharp crack of the rifle or the long

doleful yelp of the coyote. At the present time the only buffalo to be

found are in the private parks of a few men who are preserving them for

pleasure or profit.

With the march of progress came the railroad and no longer were we

called upon to follow the long horned steers or mustangs on the trail,

while the immense cattle ranges, stretching away in the distance as far

as the eye could see, now began to be dotted with cities and towns and

the cattle industry which once held a monopoly in the west, now had to

give way to the industry of the farm and the mill. To us wild cowboys of

the range, used to the wild and unrestricted life of the boundless

plains, the new order of things did not appeal, and many of us became

disgusted and quit the wild life for the pursuits of our more civilized

brother. I was among that number and in 1890 I bid farewell to the life

which I had followed for over twenty years.

It was with genuine regret that I left the long horn Texas cattle and

the wild mustangs of the range, but the life had in a great measure lost

its attractions and so I decided to quit it and try something else for a

while. During my life so far I had no chance to secure an education,

except the education of the plains and the cattle business. In this I

recognize no superior being. Gifted with a splendid memory and quick

observation I learned and remembered things that others passed by and

forgot, and I have yet to meet the man who can give me instruction in

the phases of a life in which I spent so long. After quitting the cowboy

life I struck out for Denver. Here I met and married the present Mrs.

Love, my second love. We were married August 22, 1889, and she is with

me now a true and faithful partner, and says she is not one bit jealous

of my first love, who lies buried in the city of Old Mexico.

One year later, in 1890, I accepted a position in the Pullman service on

the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, running between Denver and Salida,

Colorado. The Pullman service was then in its infancy, so to speak, as

there was as much difference between the Pullman sleeping cars of those

days and the present as there is between the ox team and the

automobile.

[Illustration: My First Experience as a Pullman Porter]

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PULLMAN SERVICE. LIFE ON THE RAIL. MY FIRST TRIP. A SLUMP IN TIPS. I

BECOME DISGUSTED AND QUIT. A PERIOD OF HUSKING. MY NEXT TRIP ON THE

PULLMAN. TIPS AND THE PEOPLE WHO GIVE THEM.

After my marriage in Denver, I rented a small cottage which I

comfortably furnished and we, Mrs. Love and myself, started to

housekeeping in a modest way. Then I began to look around for a job, but

to a man who was used to the excitement and continual action of the

range and the cattle ranches, the civilized and quiet life of the city

is apt to prove stale and uninteresting. It was that way with me, and

after passing up several jobs offered to me I thought I would try

railroading for awhile, probably for the same reason that prompted me to

leave home twenty years before; I still wanted to see the world. With

that idea in mind, I went to the Pullman offices in Denver, and after

making some inquiries I was directed to the office of Superintendent

Rummels who was at that time superintendent of the Pullman service.

A Mr. Wright was his assistant. I found Superintendent Rummels in his

office, and I asked him if he wanted to hire any more porters. He asked

me if I had ever worked for the Pullman company. I told him no that I

had been a cowboy ever since I was 16 years old. He then asked me if I

had money enough to buy my pullman uniform. I asked him how much it

would cost and he said $22.00. I told him yes, I had the price. He asked

me if I knew any one in Denver. I told him yes and gave him the name of

Mr. Sprangler who had my money in his bank. Supt. Rummels told me to get

a letter from Mr. Sprangler and he would put me on. So I went and got

the letter and with it the money to pay for my uniform, after having my

measure taken and sending for my suit. I borrowed a uniform from one of

the other porters and the second day after I called on the

superintendent I was sent on the run between Denver and Salida. One of

the old men put me on to my duties and showed me how to make up my car

and the general run of things.

On my first trip I found a kind friend in the Pullman conductor, a Mr.

Keely, who helped me in many ways and I suppose I made many blunders as

the difference between a Pullman car and the back of a Texas mustang is

very great. However I managed to get around among the passengers in my

car, and attend to their needs in some sort of a way.

My first trouble commenced when I succeeded in getting the shoes of

passengers which had been given to me to polish, badly mixed up. The

shoes of a portly red faced man whose berth was in the forward end of

the car, I placed by the berth of a tall and slim western yankee at the

other end of the car, while a number 7 and a number 9 shoe were placed

decorously by the berth of a sour spinster from New York. This naturally

caused a good sized rumpus the next morning. And sundry blessings were

heaped on the head of yours truly. Nearly all the passengers were mad

and the tips were conspicuous by their absence. That made me mad and

thoroughly disgusted with the job. On returning to Denver I again called

on Superintendent Rummels and told him that I had enough of the Pullman

service, and would rather go back to the cattle and the range.

Superintendent Rummels tried to persuade me to stay with it saying I had

done all right, and would improve with experience but I was thoroughly

disgusted and wanted no more of it, so I turned in my keys, got my

uniform and walked out. So again I was without a job.

After going around Denver for several days, it struck me that there was

money to be made selling fruit, vegetables, honey and chickens around

the town. Accordingly I purchased a horse and wagon and an assorted

stock and started out on my new vocation. This proved profitable from

the start and I made good money which caused me to stay with it for

nearly a year, when my natural restfulness caused me to become

discontented and to yearn for more excitement and something a little

faster so I disposed of my stock, horse and wagon, and started out to

look for something else to do, but that something else was about as hard

to find as the proverbial needle in the straw stack, at that particular

time. Whether it was fate or the talk of the other porters whom I met I

finally concluded to give the Pullman service another try. Accordingly I

called on Mr. J. M. Smith who was now district superintendent of the

Pullman service and asked him for a job. He asked me if I had been in

the company's service before and I told him yes. He asked me how long

and I told him one trip, and I told him why I quit, and that the tips

were too slow for me. He asked me if I thought it was any better now,

and I said I did not know whether it was any better or not but that I

thought I could do better.

He told me the whole secret of success was in pleasing all my

passengers. I told him I thought it was all right about pleasing two or

three passengers but when it came to pleasing a whole car full of

passengers, that was another matter. He said to try anyway. He than

assigned me to a car running on the narrow gauge line between Denver and

Alamosa, Creed and Durango. This was the real beginning of my Pullman

service.

I ran on the Colorado roads under Superintendent Smith for a number of

years and always found him courteous and obliging, always ready and

willing to help us with advice and counsel, but what proved a mystery to

me for a long time was how the superintendent managed to find out things

that happened on my car when he was not present. Sometimes when I went

to report or met him he would question me about things that happened on

my run, such as pleasing the passengers and other things, which I did

not suppose he knew a thing about and inquiries among the other trainmen

only deepened the mystery.

I would ask the Pullman conductor if he told the superintendent such and

such a thing and he would say no. Then I would ask him how the

superintendent knew about them as he was not on the train. He would say

he did not know. This kept up until finally I made up my mind that if

there ever was a clairvoyant the superintendent certainly was one.

The fact that he was able to find out things that happened hundreds of

miles away without any one telling him, kept me worked up for a long

time until I finally tumbled to the special agents who are employed to

travel as common passengers and report how things are going to the

superintendent. That explained the whole mystery, but it did not in any

way make me move easy in my mind, because if a special agent was along

one trip, there was no reason to think that one was not along every

trip. At least I made up my mind there was, and governed myself

accordingly, but the increased attention given to my passengers as a

result caused an increase in the tips, that came my way. With the

increase in my earnings and the experience I was gaining I came to have

a liking for the service, which is in no wise diminished at this time. I

soon learned the knack of pleasing the greater number of my passengers,

and this reported to the superintendent by the special agents raised me

in the official's favor with the result that I was given more extensive

and more profitable runs and soon became one of the most popular porters

in Colorado. This brought with it increased responsibilities as well as

increased profits and favors enjoyed.

When I started to work it was for $15.00 per month this has been

increased from time to time until at present owing to my long service

and having gained a thorough knowledge of my business, I am often made

porter in charge. This position pays me as high as $40.00 per month. The

difference between a porter and a porter in charge is that a porter

generally has a car over which a Pullman conductor presides, which the

porter in charge owing to his long service and his knowledge of the

business is placed in full charge of a car, making the services of a

Pullman conductor unnecessary. A porter in the employ of the Pullman

company for ten years and giving good service for that time receives

from the company two suits of clothes per year, and other privileges not

enjoyed by the beginner.

A porter just beginning in the service has to purchase his own uniform,

the cost of which is never less than $20.00 for the summer suit or

$22.00 for the winter suit. After five years of good service a porter

is entitled to wear one white stripe on his coat sleeve to which one is

added for every succeeding five years of good service. Naturally the

porter that understands his business and gives his whole attention to

the passengers in his car and to his work, will make more money than the

porter who has not the patience to try and please his passengers. I have

had porters complain to me about the small amount they were able to earn

in the service and on questioning them I found it was wholly because

they did not think it necessary to try and make friends of the people in

their car. I early recognized the fact that if I expected to succeed in

the Pullman service I must make all the friends I could on my runs, and

the cases are very rare where I have failed to receive a tip of some

kind from my passengers, although as it happens sometimes I have people

in my car who are not very well blessed with this world's goods, and who

can ill afford to spend money in tips. To such people I always give the

same attention and care, as if I was sure to receive a $10 tip, and they

rarely failed to give me a kind thank you, on leaving my car. In the

course of our duties we naturally meet all manner of people, the

business man out for business or pleasure, the drummers who nearly

always give us a tip; the wife going to join her sick husband or the

husband hurrying home to the bedside of his sick child; the invalid in

search of health, or the family going home to attend the funeral of a

loved one; the young man going to be married, and the young couple on

their honeymoon; the capitalist, the miner, the sportsman and the vast

army of people that go to make up the traveling public, who like the

sands of the desert are forever shifting around from place to place, and

with whom we porters are brought in closer contact perhaps than any one

else on their travels. We must necessarily be good judges of human

nature to be able to please the majority of the people who travel under

our care. We nearly always receive a tip from those who ride with us for

any distance. The size of the tip often depends on the mode of the

passenger giving it. Even those who ride with us only a short distance

often give us a tip of more generous proportions than will the man who

has ridden with us several thousands of miles. The superintendent

himself when he rides in our car, we are sure to receive from him 25

cents or 50 cents for a day or a day's ride.

The smallest tip I have received from a passenger during my service was

2 cents. This amount I received from a rather cranky individual, who

when I went to brush him off handed me two copper cents and followed

them up with the remark that some of us porters needed calling down and

some needed knocking down. My opinion if what he needed caused me to

smile, wherein he wanted to know what I was smiling at. Needless to say

I did not feel like wasting any more breath on him so I bundled his

boxes and satchel out on the platform and left him to follow at his

leisure.

The largest tips I ever received from a single traveler was $25.00 given

me by one of the Rothschilds whom I brought from Chicago to Frisco, but

this has been largely surpassed several times in car tips or trips. The

Knights Templar one of whose cars I had charge of between Denver and

Boston made, up a purse of $150.00 and presented it to me with the

compliments of the passengers in recognition of the good service I had

rendered them. While in charge of the private car of General Manager

Fisher in a trip through California and Mexico, Mr. Fisher made up a

purse of $75.00 for me, in recognition of my attentions to the members

of his party. But the man who gave me 5 cents received as much attention

from me as the man who gives me $5.00. It is perhaps all he can afford

and the manner in which he gives it often makes up for the smallness of

the tip.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE PULLMAN SLEEPING CAR. LONG TRIPS ON THE RAIL. THE WRECK. ONE TOUCH

OF NATURE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD KIN. A FEW OF THE RAILROADS OVER WHICH I

HAVE TRAVELED. THE INVALID AND THE CARE WE GIVE THEM.

The modern Pullman sleeping car is a veritable palace on wheels

furnished in the best materials, without regard to expense, comfort,

convenience and the safety of the passengers being the main object. To

say that the builders of the Pullman cars have succeeded in attaining

this object is but a mild expression. Fine carpets cover the floors, the

seats and chairs are upholstered in the best and softest of material,

while every convenience is provided for the use of the lucky mortal who

is called across the continent on business or pleasure, and whose

pleasure it is to travel and sleep in the Pullman sleeping car of the

present day. The traveler of today when he has to go from Chicago to San

Francisco, simply throws a few things in a grip, is driven to the Union

terminal station in Chicago, where he secures a through ticket and a

sleeping car berth. At the car steps he is met by the Pullman porter who

relieves him of his grip and assists him on the train if necessary. From

that time until four days later when he arrives in San Francisco, he has

no more care. If he wishes to write letters there is a handy writing

tablet with stationery and everything needful. He can write his letters

and hand them to the porter to mail and continue his perusal of the

morning paper. If he gets hungry he has but to step in the dining car,

where he will find viands fit for a king. If he wants a shave or a

haircut, the barber is in the next car. If he wants to view the scenery

en route, the observation car is but a few steps away. When he gets

sleepy and wishes to retire he presses the electric button at his elbow

and the porter will do the rest, but if he prefers to lay in his

luxurious bed and read, he has but to turn on the electric light at his

bedside and he can read as long as he pleases, and when he arrives at

San Francisco he will be cleanly shaven, nicely brushed, with his shoes

freshly shined, and on the outside of a good breakfast, ready to tackle

at once the business or the pleasure that brought him across the

continent. Or, if the traveler prefers, he may swing aboard the

magnificently equipped and royally appointed Los Angeles Limited, one of

the finest through trains that this mundane sphere can boast. Catch this

train in Chicago, which you may do any day in the year, and it will

carry you with safety, speed and comfort over the fertile farms, meadows

and plains; through the City of the Saints on the second day; then

around the Great Dead Sea of America, over the sage brush plains and

grazing ranges of southern Nevada, and into the Land of Sunshine and

Flowers and the City of the Angels on the third day after leaving your

home in Chicago.

What a contrast to the mode of travel our grandfathers were forced to

adopt, a decade ago, when the old ox team and the prairie schooner

wended its slow way over the mountains and plains, over trails in every

turn of which lurked danger and death. "Verily the sun do move." During

my service with the Pullman company I have traveled from the Atlantic to

the Pacific and from the Gulf of Mexico to the borders of Canada, over

nearly all the many different lines of railroad that makes the map of

North America look like a spider had been crawling over it in search of

a fly. I have visited all the principal cities and towns where the sound

of the bell and the whistle is heard, and I have in a great measure

satisfied my desire to see the country. Among the great lines of railway

over which I have traveled are the Union Pacific, whose overland

limited, the Atlantic Express and the Portland-Chicago Special, are the

acme of quick, safe and comfortable travel. The overland limited is

electric lighted, steam heated and contains every known luxury and

convenience of travel. The Denver and Rio Grande Railroad is noted the

world over for its quick time, fine scenery, comfort and safety. The

Southern Pacific, the Baltimore & Ohio Southwestern, the Missouri

Pacific between St. Louis and all points east all electric lighted

trains with observation, parlor, cafe dining cars and Pullman sleeping

cars; the Chicago & Northwestern, whose through train service to Chicago

and the East from San Francisco, Los Angeles, Portland, Salt Lake, Ogden

and Denver is not excelled in any land; the Illinois Central Railroad,

whose eight track entrance to Chicago from the south along the lake

front is one of the triumphs of Yankee railroading, and whose train

service is elegant in the extreme. The Pennsylvania lines which will

take you from Chicago to New York in eighteen hours and make you feel

thoroughly comfortable while doing it. The Louisville and Nashville

Railroad, whose lines reach every town and hamlet in the solid South.

The Nickel Plate road, the direct line from Chicago to New York, Boston

and all points east, all trains of the Nickel Plate road arrive and

depart from the new LaSalle Street station, one of the finest railroad

stations in the country. The Santa Fe, from whose trains you can view

some of the finest scenery in the Rocky Mountains, including the Grand

Canyon of Arizona, a mile deep, thirteen miles wide, two hundred and

seventeen miles long and painted like a flower. The Lehigh Valley

Railroad to Chicago, New York and Philadelphia, from whose car windows

one may view the world-famous Niagara Falls. The Colorado & Southern,

the Colorado road over which travel is one continuous delight. The San

Pedro, Los Angeles and Salt Lake Railroad, one of the youngest but by no

means the least of railroads, the road that lies as straight as the crow

flies, linking together the City of the "Saints" and the City of the

"Angels." The snow-capped Rocky Mountains and the sun-kissed shores of

the Pacific Ocean, the dead sea and the live sea; the railroad that

makes it possible to have a sleigh ride with your second wife in the

City of the "Saints" on Sunday and pick flowers and eat oranges with

your first wife in the City of the "Angels" on Tuesday. Over this line I

am running at present, and while it has only been in operation a short

time, yet the time and service equals and in some cases surpasses the

time and service of the great Trunk Lines of the east. We often make

ninety miles an hour over the standard gauge roadbed, that equals any in

this country. The cars are all new, the engines are the latest

up-to-date kind. The cars are built for comfort and convenience, the

trains are all electric lighted, steam heated and have every modern

convenience for the safety and comfort of the passengers. This road, in

common with some of the eastern roads employs chair car porters in

addition to the Pullman porters. On all trains from Salt Lake to Los

Angeles there are three or four Pullman porters and one chair car

porter.

All trains have dining cars, which are in reality magnificent dining

rooms, where three times a day the dainties of the season are prepared

by a competent chef to satisfy the most discriminating inner man. The

furnishings of these cars, the fine linen, the artistic glass, china and

silverware, are guaranteed to make you enjoy your meal, even if you have

got dyspepsia. Besides the dining car and the Pullman sleeping cars,

there is attached to all overland trains on the Salt Lake route, a

through tourist sleeper, which differs from the Pullman sleeper only in

a slight difference in the furnishings. The service is the same, but the

cost of a berth in them between Salt Lake and Los Angeles is just

one-half that of the standard sleeper. I have never run on a road where

better service, more courteous treatment or better time was made than on

the S. P., L. A. & S. L. Railroad.

In these latter years, when progress is the watchword of the railroads

in common with the other industries of the country, no expense or pains

are spared by the railroad people to add to the comfort, enjoyments,

safety and convenience of the traveling public, until now it is about as

safe to travel as it is to stay at home, and not much if any more

expensive. But in spite of all safeguards adopted by the railroads a

wreck occurs once in a while the same as accidents occur at home.

The first wreck I was in the train struck a split switch with the result

that the cars turned over and piled up in a ditch. That happened in

Colorado. We were forced to crawl out through the windows, like a

prairie dog out of his hole. No one was killed but the passengers were

all pretty well shaken up and somewhat scared. As soon as the cars got

comfortably piled up and the passengers were able to speak they all

commenced yelling for the porter. But at that particular moment the

porter was busy rubbing his shins and assuring himself there was nothing

to be scared about. The passengers at such times are apt to forget that

the porter is as scared as they are, and has forgotten all about tips

and such commonplace matters as that, but after he gets his wits about

him he loses no time in looking after his flock, and rendering

assistance to such of his passengers as need it, and most of them do

need assistance of some kind if for no other reason than to be assured

that they are not hurt. The Pullman porter of today must be a very

versatile sort of a person, he must have plenty of patience, be a good

judge of human nature, quick, kind and observant. Many are the times a

gouty and crusty passenger has traveled in my car, who was in such a bad

humor that it was next to impossible to please him, yet before he had

ridden a hundred miles with me, I had him in good humor and laughing

with the rest of the passengers. "Laugh and the whole world laughs with

you."

It is by no means an uncommon thing for us porters to be called upon to

turn nurse for sick or invalid passengers in our car, and often have I

watched by the bedside of a sick passenger, feeding him, giving him

medicine, bathing him and in fact becoming for the time being a hospital

nurse, and many are the blessings I have received from my sick

passengers, both men and women, whose pain I have eased, and their last

moments on earth I have cheered. And this, dear reader, we do in the

name of humanity and not in the name of tips.

CHAPTER XX.

THE TOURIST SLEEPING CAR. THE CHAIR CAR. THE SAFEGUARDS OF MODERN

RAILROADING. SEE AMERICA, THEN LET YOUR CHEST SWELL WITH PRIDE THAT YOU

ARE AN AMERICAN.

The Pullman tourist sleeping car, which you can find on all through

trains of the different railroads throughout the United States, are to

the traveler of moderate means what the Pullman car is to the

millionaire traveler. They are designed for the comfort and convenience

of the traveling public to whom the expenditure of a dollar more or less

is a matter of moment, and who cannot afford or do not care for the

small extra show and tinsel of the Pullman sleeping car, but whose only

desire is to make their journey pleasant, comfortable and safe. This

they can do as well in the tourist as in the standard sleeping car.

There is a difference in price that will amount to a tidy sum in a long

trip across the continent, but that fact does not always appeal to the

traveling public, as I have had the poorest of passengers in the palace

car and at other times a millionaire and his family would be my

passengers in the tourist cars. It seems to me a matter of fact and one

which my long experience seems to verify, that the American traveler

does not care so much about his comfort as his ability to get there, as

the average American traveler is always in a hurry and in nine cases out

of ten, he is thinking more about the speed of the train than he is

about his immediate surroundings or the price he had paid for his

ticket. The railroads, knowing this, have made and are continually

making every effort to add to the speed and safety of their trains, but

traveling long distances is a tiresome matter at the best and for that

reason the railroads are continually making improvements with a view to

add to the comfort, convenience and pleasure of the traveler, and in a

journey such as one from Chicago to Los Angeles, for instance, there is

no time to stop for meals and such trivial matters as a shave, as time

is money lost to most of the passengers and to the railroad company

also. For that reason the sleeping car is provided that you may sleep

with as much comfort as if you were in your own home, the dining car is

provided to furnish you a good meal on the fly and at a price that all

can afford. The library and drawing room cars are provided, where you

can make yourself as comfortable as you can in your own house. The

porter will get your morning paper, furnish you with writing materials

or your morning high ball, and look after you like a hen after her

brood.

But on all railroads there are rules governing the passengers as well as

the employees, the same as there are in all lines of business. A

passenger may not, for instance, smoke in the body of the Pullman car,

but must retire to the drawing room or his stateroom. As an instance in

point, I had J. J. Corbett for a passenger in my car between Ogden and

Chicago, a gentleman who was at that time in the height of his career

and naturally thought he owned the earth or a large part of it, at any

rate he came in the sleeper from the dining car, lit a cigar, propped

his feet upon the opposite seat and prepared for a comfortable smoke.

But it was against the rules to smoke in that part of the car, so I

approached him and politely requested him not to smoke in that part of

the car. He regarded me a few moments and with a sneer said, "So you are

Mr. Pullman, are you?" I told him I was not Mr. Pullman, but I was in

charge of one of Mr. Pullman's cars, and for that reason I was a

representative of Mr. Pullman, and that it was strictly against the

rules to smoke in that part of the car, and that if he wished to smoke

he would have to go to the drawing room. He went, but the sleeping car

conductor, who had watched the incident, told me I had better look out

or Corbett would have my scalp. I told the conductor I was not scared

and that if Corbett hadn't gotten out I would have thrown him out, all

of which I meant, but the conductor shook his head and said to look out.

Sure enough the matter was reported to the superintendent, but that

official on hearing the facts in the matter said I had done perfectly

right, and what I was paid to do.

It is necessary that all passengers as well as all employees shall

observe the rules of the company, for the benefit, safety and enjoyment

of all the passengers and employees alike.

All the railroad men I have met from the president down have all proved

themselves jolly good fellows, kind, considerate and always ready to

render assistance and service to those in need, but at the same time

they are strict about the rules and discipline. Thoroughly understanding

their business themselves, they insist on the beginner obeying

instructions and the laws of the road, because on that depends the lives

of hundreds of people, and the value of thousands of dollars worth of

property, and for the same reason they are expending thousands of

dollars annually in new appliances, inventions and equipment, that will

add to the saving of time or insure the safety of the traveler. Among

the new inventions adopted by the modern railroads are the "Block"

System, which makes collisions between two trains approaching each other

on the same track almost an impossibility if the engineer is awake and

attentive to business. Under this system when the trains approach a

certain distance of each other a bell is rung in the cab of each

locomotive simultaneously, and will continue to ring until the danger is

over. This with the powerful electric headlights now used, with which

the roadbed is lit up for a distance of five miles, makes a head-on

collision almost impossible, while the air brakes, heavy rails, solid

roadbed, doing away with the sharp curves and heavy grades, all add to

the safety of the passengers and the saving of many miles in travel and

many precious moments. It has always seemed strange to me that so many

Americans rush off to Europe and foreign countries every year in search

of health and pleasure, or to climb the Alps in Switzerland, and to view

the scenery of the old world, when our own North America, the new world,

offers so many better opportunities to study Dame Nature in all her

phases, and I always say to the traveling American, "See America." How

many of you have done so? Only those who have seen this grand country

of ours can justly appreciate the grandeur of our mountains and rivers,

valley and plain, canyon and gorge, lakes and springs, cities and towns,

the grand evidences of God's handiwork scattered all over this fair land

over which waves the stars and stripes. Go to New York and view the tall

buildings, the Brooklyn bridge, the subway, study the works of art to be

found there, both in statuary and painting, ponder on the vast volume of

commerce carried on with the outside world. Note the many different

styles of architecture displayed in the palace of the millionaire and

the house of the humble tradesman, view the magnificent Hudson river and

the country homes along its grassy, tree-lined shores, note the ships

from every clime riding at anchor in the East river. Then speculate on

the changes that have been wrought in the course of the short time since

Manhattan Island was purchased from the Indians by Pete Minuts for a few

blankets and beads amounting in value to $24.00. Then board the

Pennsylvania Limited, whose trains are the acme of modern railroading

and go to Washington, the nation's capital city. Walk along Pennsylvania

avenue and note its beauty. Visit the capitol and let your chest swell

out with pride that you are an American. Visit the tomb of General Grant

and the thousand and one magnificent statues scattered throughout the

city. Visit Annapolis and West Point, where the leaders of the nation's

navy and army are trained. Walk over the battlefields of Fredricksburg,

Gettysburg and Lexington, and let your mind speculate on the events that

made modern history.

[Illustration: This is Where I Shine. Now I am Out for the Money]

Note the majestic Potomac and the Washington monument. Take a short trip

north and see the great Niagara Falls, listen to what they tell you in

their mighty roaring voice. Go to Pittsburg where the great steel works

are located, and see how the steel pen and the steel cannon are made. Go

to Chicago, that western hive of commerce. See the Great Lakes, or

better still take a cruise on them. Note the great lumber industry of

Michigan, and the traffic of the lakes. Go to Kansas City and Omaha and

see the transformation of the Texas steer into the corned beef you ate

at your last picnic, or was it chipped beef? See the immense stock

yards with their thousands of cattle, hogs and sheep, and think of the

thousands of people that they feed. Cross the Missouri river and enter

on the plains of the great and recently unknown west. Think of the

pioneer who in 1849 traversed these once barren stretches of prairie,

walking beside his slow-moving ox team, seeking the promised land,

breaking a trail for the generations that were to come after him as you

are coming now in a Pullman car. Think of the dangers that beset him on

every hand, then wonder at the nerve he had, then again let your chest

swell with pride that you are an American, sprung from the same stock

that men were composed of in those days. Note the grandeur of the Rocky

Mountains as they rise from the plains, their peaks snow-capped,

glistening in clear blue sky, breathe the pure essence of life, drink of

the crystal streams twinkling down their sides, then scorn the wine made

by man. Listen to the salute of the bells and the whistles as the trains

approach and pass that strange monument of nature's handiwork, the Mount

of the Holy Cross.

Go to the Yellowstone National Park and revel in the wonders thereof,

walk in the garden of the Gods and listen to the voice of the Giant

Geyser as it sends forth its torrents of boiling water. Bathe in the

life-giving springs and mud baths. Note the fantastic forms of the rocks

and trees, carved by the hand of nature, then go to Colorado Springs and

climb Pikes Peak and behold the world stretch out before you in valley,

mountain and plain. Visit the mines of Leadville and Cripple Creek, the

store houses of a part of the nation's wealth. Visit Denver and see the

strides made in the improvement of the west in a short time. Board the

Denver & Rio Grande train and note the magnificent scenery of mountain,

canyons, gorges and the beautiful mountain lakes and streams, note the

Grand Canyon of the Colorado, the royal gorge. Now note the great white

expanse of the great Salt Lake, as it lies glistening in the rays of the

setting sun, and think of the stories you have heard of it until the

conductor brings you back to earth with the cry of "Ogden."

Note this bustling railroad center in the heart of the Rocky mountains,

and acknowledge our country's greatness. Visit Salt Lake City, the "City

of Zion," the Canaan of the new world. See the beautiful city nestling

within the protection of the Warsatch and Oquirrh range of mountains.

Walk its wide tree-lined streets, visit the tabernacle and hear the

sweet strains of the world's greatest organs. See the Mormon temple.

Visit Saltair and sport in the waves of the briny sea. Board the San

Pedro, Los Angeles and Salt Lake westbound train and cross the end of

this same lake, one of nature's wonders.

Cross the desert of Nevada, which was only a short time ago a desert

waste, on and on until you smell the orange blossoms of sunny

California, and the train emerges from the mountains and brings into

view the grand Pacific Ocean. See the big trees of California, the seals

and the scenery of the Yosemite valley. Visit the orange groves and the

vineyards, and partake of the orange and the grape. Visit Catalina

Island in the Pacific Ocean, and try a couple of hours fishing in its

waters. Then take the Southern Pacific and return to New York by way of

Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, New Orleans, Florida and other southern

states. Then again let your chest swell with pride that you are an

American.

I think you will agree with me that this grand country of ours is the

peer of any in the world, and that volumes cannot begin to tell of the

wonders of it. Then after taking such a trip you will say with me, "See

America." I have seen a large part of America, and am still seeing it,

but the life of a hundred years would be all too short to see our

country. America, I love thee, Sweet land of Liberty, home of the brave

and the free.

CHAPTER XXI.

A FEW OF THE RAILROAD MEN UNDER WHOM I HAVE SERVED. GEORGE M. PULLMAN.

THE TOWN OF PULLMAN, ILL. AMERICAN RAILROADS LEAD THE WORLD. A FEW

FIGURES.

Among the large number of railroad men I have served under and worked

with during the fifteen years I have been on the road it gives me

pleasure to recall the names of a few with whom I was more intimately

acquainted and to whom I am indebted for many favors given and

courtesies extended, and the pleasant duty devolves on me to mention the

always courteous, obliging and most competent head of the Pullman

department in Denver, Mr. Runnells, and his assistant, Mr. Wright, who

sent me out on my first run in 1890. Next comes the well known name of

District Superintendent J. M. Smith, who one year later sent me out on

the run that marked the beginning of my Pullman service. To Mr. Smith

more than to any other railroad man I am indebted for advice, counsel

and countless favors shown me while I was in the service in the

department over which he presided so long. I always found him courteous

and obliging and never too busy to listen or to give a kind word of

advice or counsel to all who approached him on company business or on

the private affairs of the employees of the road. I had charge of a car

for several years in his territory and many a time I have had him for a

passenger and at such times he seemed more like an old friend than he

did like the superintendent of the Pullman service.

I next transferred to the Ogden division. Here I met and came to know

very well Superintendent Baker and his assistant, Johnnie Searce, and to

these two gentlemen I am also indebted for many favors shown me, as they

tried in every way possible to make my employment pleasant and

profitable while I was in their territory. I was sent out on runs that

covered the greater portions of the United States, and while on some of

my longer runs I often started from and returned to stations in

different districts under different superintendents, but I always looked

on Ogden as my home station and Superintendent Baker as my chief until

another superintendent was given charge of the district and I

transferred to Salt Lake and started to run on Senator Clark's new road,

the S. P., L. A. & S. L. road, between Salt Lake and Los Angeles, under

the superintendency of Mr. Twining and his assistant, Mr. Cotten, and

these gentlemen also during the time I have been with them have shown me

every favor and consideration, which goes far towards making my work a

pleasure. In this connection also I mention the names of Jim Donohue,

traveling engineer; W. H. Smith, trainmaster, and P. Randoff Morris and

Jos. Jones, special agents, all jolly railroad men from A to Izard.

During my fifteen years' service I have met and served under many

different superintendents and to mention the names of them all, would

require a separate volume, but I will always hold them in kindly

remembrance as they all have without exception been kindness itself to

me.

Another old friend I have recently met on the steel road is William H.

Blood, at present one of the popular conductors on the San Pedro, Los

Angeles & Salt Lake Railroad. In the early seventies "Billy" was one of

the best cowboys ranging over the western cattle country. He was with me

on many of the old trails and in many a tight place, and like myself he

always came out right side up with care and none the worse for wear.

E. W. Gillett, at present general passenger agent of the Salt Lake road,

and one of the best known and most popular railroad men of the west, is

another friend of the old days it is my pleasure to meet often now. I

first met him under the following circumstances. I think it was in the

year 1874 along in the fall, I had been up the trail with some cattle

and was returning through Wyoming en route to Arizona. I had been riding

hard all day and as it began to get dark I sighted a small station on

the main line of the Union Pacific, and I concluded to give it a

passing call out of curiosity. As I drew near I noticed several

rough-looking customers hanging around in a suspicious manner, and I at

once concluded that they were robbers there for the purpose of holding

up the station. Events immediately following proved that I was right.

They had not noticed me and they proceeded to hold up the agent in true

western style, but that they had caught a tartar was evidenced by the

rattle of the agent's artillery. Of course it was out of the question

for me to miss such fun, so not waiting for an invitation I lost no time

in getting my own forty-fives in active operation, and in less time than

it takes to tell it what was left of those greasers were making tracks

for the nearest state line, while a red-headed youngster with a smoking

45 in his fist was shaking hands with me and trying to say something

about my saving his life. I took a shine to him at once on account of

his pluck and our friendship thus begun has lasted through the years

until now time and fate have thrown us both together on the same line of

railroad.

The railroad men as a class are the most jovial set of men one could

find in any profession, well educated, broad minded, and always

considerate of others and at the same time they know their business

thoroughly, as they have to serve many years as apprentices, so to

speak, in railroading, before they are given places of trust and

responsibility, and the man who has reached the position of president or

general manager of a railroad system, has learned pretty much all there

is to be learned about the iron horse and the steel road, and they use

that knowledge in providing for the safety and comfort of the millions

of lives that are annually intrusted to their keeping.

The general manager is responsible not only for the lives of the

traveling public, but of the army or railroad employees under him and he

is supposed to know everything, and must always be prepared to do the

right thing in the right place at the right time, and as in many cases

life and death depend on it, he must know how.

[Illustration: The Close of My Railroad Career]

A college education does not make a railroad manager, although it may

help to do so. He in a great measure gets his education in the school of

experience, and in some cases it is a hard school, and the most exacting

of all schools, but at the same time it is a school in which one can

learn anything under the sun, and learn it well, and in these days of

the twentieth century's activity and progress, it is the man who knows

how to do things that makes the world move. And after boiling everything

down there is left in the pot two undisputable facts. They are that the

railroad men cause the world to move by knowing how to do things, the

other is that the railroad men move the people who live in the world,

thus they move things all around. And they are continually on the move

themselves, which goes to prove that they are different from many other

people inasmuch as they practice what they preach. And from these men of

all classes from the president down I have received courtesies and the

kindest of consideration, and these pleasant associations are pleasant

memories to me and will always remain so.

It was my pleasure to meet and to chat with George M. Pullman, the

father of the sleeping car, several times, and I found him to be a fine

man, broad-minded in every sense of the word, always approachable and

with always a kind word for every one of the large army of his employees

that he met on his travels, and he always tried to meet them all. It was

also my pleasure to meet his two boys who are veritable chips of the old

block.

One of the legends connected with the western mining history is that

early in the 60s George M. Pullman was a poor prospector and had secured

a lease on a piece of mining ground in Colorado, and that he formed the

idea of the sleeping car from the tiers of bunks in the miners' lodging

house, "bunk houses" they are called. However that may be Mr. Pullman

has been the recipient of many a blessing from the weary traveler, and

the idea, whatever it was, that led him to invent the sleeping car that

has proved such a comfort to the traveler of today, deserves to go down

in history as the greatest idea that ever came from the place where

ideas come from.

It has been my pleasure to visit all the large shops of the Pullman

company, including the town of Pullman, Ill., which is a good-sized

city, named after Mr. Pullman, and was owned by him principally, and the

large number of men employed in his shops there. The town contains fine

churches and public buildings, a splendid library and reading rooms and

amusement halls. And while I was there I failed to see a single saloon.

It seems such places are tabooed there. The shops are the finest in this

country, containing all the modern machinery of the finest kind and the

men employed there are all past masters of their trades. Here are built

all the finest sleeping cars and many of the finest special cars and

railway cars seen on the railroads of this country. In addition there is

also a very large amount of repairing done. As soon as anything goes

wrong with a Pullman car it is at once sent into the shops for repair,

and soon comes out in apple pie order. You may see the Pullman cars all

over this country where there is a steel road, and other countries have

their eyes on the mof late, and in the near future it will be possible

to sleep in a Pullman car whether you are traveling in England, France,

Sweden or China. They are a good thing and are sure to be pushed or

rather pulled along.

In 1893 I went to Mr. Pullman and told him I was thinking of getting the

porters of the Pullman Car Company to club together and contribute fifty

cents per month apiece for the purpose of investing the proceeds in

land, in view of eventually owning what we would call "The Porters'

Home." Mr. Pullman told me he thought that a good idea, and said if we

succeeded in buying one thousand acres of land, he would erect us a

building on it, and signed a statement to that effect.

I then went to work and communicated with all the divisions of the

Pullman Company, presenting this proposition to the porters of these

different districts, but only succeeded in getting about twenty-five

subscribers, the rest of them refusing to go into such a proposition,

some of them saying all I wanted was to get the money and make away with

it. Inasmuch as this amount was to be sent to the main Pullman office

in Chicago and I was to be there each month to see this money deposited.

Others refused to go into it upon the ground that they were liable to be

discharged from the Pullman service at any time, and many other various

excuses were offered. There were many of the Pullman conductors,

however, who promised to contribute from one to five dollars toward this

enterprise when we were ready to purchase the land.

My object was to have a Home and Hospital, with adjoining farming land,

for the benefit of old and disabled porters who were not able to perform

their duties as Pullman car porters. Had this been accomplished at that

time, we would by now have had a large farm and a house and hospital

connected therewith, and all the porters who are now unable to work

would have had a good home and be cared for the rest of their lives. I

hope to live long enough to yet see this plan become a reality.

At present the American railway leads the world. In no other country

does the traveler find so much comfort, so many conveniences, so much

pleasure, safety and speed as does the dweller in this robust young

country belonging to our Uncle Samuel. At the present time there are in

the United States upwards of two hundred and sixty thousand miles of

railroad open and in operation, not to mention several thousand miles

now building and projected. This immense mileage is divided between over

one thousand different roads, while in 1851 there were only 149

different railroads with a total mileage of 9000 miles. The railroads

today have a capital back of them amounting to over $14,000,000,000, and

they pay their employees wages that foot up over $7,000,000 annually,

while their earnings amount to the tidy sum of $2,500,000,000 in the

same length of time. They carry somewhat more than 800,000,000

passengers every twelve months, and 2,200,000,000 tons of freight. These

figures do not include the several million tons of trunks, sachels,

grips, hat boxes and carpet bags that the average traveler considers it

necessary to load him or herself down with on starting on a journey of

any distance, and which comes in such large quantities sometimes as to

make life a burden for us porters.

Read these figures again, dear reader, they are a conservative estimate

of the business transacted by the railroads of this fair land of ours.

You can count a million, can you count a billion? Immense, isn't it? It

seems to show that the people of this country are great travelers,

forever on the move, yet they tell us this is a country of homes and

that the average American loves his home and home life above all things.

These figures seem to show there are a few people who havn't any home or

if they have they are looking for one they like better, which, like the

will of the wisp, evades them always, but they continue to shift around,

always hopeful, never satisfied, and they will continue to shift around

until Gabriel blows on his little tin horn.

But this class of people make but a small percentage of the traveling

public. Business in this latter day of strife and competition makes long

journeys necessary, and as the business of the world grows apace and the

countries of the earth crowd closer together in the struggle for the

almighty dollar, there will be need of more railroads to make the globe

smaller and to cut off the hours and minutes of precious time that means

money to the man of today. And as a man makes and saves money so will he

spend it for the pleasure of himself and family, and as he must travel

to find pleasure there must be railroads to carry him, and hence these

figures I write now will look insignificant beside the magnificent total

that will be put before the reader of that day, because if they increase

in the next century as they have in the past, walking will be out of

fashion and every body will ride and I hope sleep in a Pullman sleeping

car.

[Illustration: With Wm. Blood, My Old Cowboy Friend, and Other Friends

at the Close of My Railroad Career]

CHAPTER XXII.

A FEW REMINISCENCES OF THE RANGE. SOME MEN I HAVE MET. BUFFALO BILL. THE

JAMES BROTHERS. YELLOWSTONE KELLEY. THE MURDER OF BUCK CANNON BY BILL

WOODS. THE SUICIDE OF JACK ZIMICK.

It has now been many years since I quit the range, and as my mind

wanders back over those years as it often does, memories both pleasant

and sad pass in review and it is but fitting that I record a few of them

as a final to the history of my life which has been so full of action,

which is but natural as the men of those days were men of action. They

had to be, and probably their actions were not all good, that I freely

admit, but while that is so, it is equally so that their actions were

not all bad, far from it. And in the history of the frontier there is

recorded countless heroic deeds performed, deeds and actions that

required an iron nerve, self denial in all that these words imply, the

sacrificing of one life to save the life of a stranger or a friend.

Deeds that stamped the men of the western plains as men worthy to be

called men, and while not many of them would shine particularly in the

polite society of today or among the 400 of Gotham, yet they did shine

big and bright in the positions and at a time when men lived and died

for a principle, and in the line of duty. A man who went to the far west

or who claimed it as his home in the early days found there a life far

different from that led by the dude of Fifth Avenue. There a man's work

was to be done, and a man's life to be lived, and when death was to be

met, he met it like a man. It was among such men and surroundings that I

spent so many years of my life and there I met men some of whom are

famous now, while others never lived long enough to reach the pinnacle

of fame, but their memory is held no less sacred by the men who knew

them well.

Some men I met in the cattle country are now known to the world as the

baddest of bad men, yet I have seen these men perform deeds of valor,

self sacrifice and kindness that would cause the deeds recorded as

performed by gentlemen in "ye olden time when knighthood was in flower"

to look insignificant in comparison, and yet these men lay no claim to

the title of gentlemen. They were just plain men.

It was my pleasure to meet often during the early seventies the man who

is now famous in the old world and the new world, Buffalo Bill (William

F. Cody), cowboy, ranger, hunter, scout and showman, a man who carried

his life in his hands day and night in the wild country where duty

called, and has often bluffed the grim reaper Death to a standstill, and

is living now, hale, hearty and famous.

Others who are equally famous but in another way are the James brothers,

Jesse and Frank. I met them often in the old days on the range, and

became very well acquainted with them and many others of their band.

Their names are recorded in history as the most famous robbers of the

new world, but to us cowboys of the cattle country who knew them well,

they were true men, brave, kind, generous and considerate, and while

they were robbers and bandits, yet what they took from the rich they

gave to the poor. The James brothers band stole thousands of dollars;

yet Jesse was a poor man when he fell a victim to the bullet of a

cowardly, traitorous assassin, and Frank James is a poor man today. What

then did they do with the thousands they stole? The answer is simple,

they gave it away to those who were in need. That is why they had so

many friends and the officers of the law found it so hard to capture

them.

And if they were robbers, by what name are we to call some of the great

trusts, corporations and brokers, who have for years been robbing the

people of this country, some of them, I am glad to say, are now behind

prison bars, still others are even now piling up the dollars that they

have been and are still stealing from the American people, and who on

account of these same dollars are looked up to, respected and are

honored members of society, and the only difference between them and

the James brothers is that the James brothers stole from the rich and

gave to the poor, while these respected members of society steal from

the poor to make the rich richer, and which of them think you reader,

will get the benefit of the judgment when the final day arrives and all

men appear before the great white throne in final judgment?

Jessie James was a true man, a loving son and husband, true to his word,

true to his principles and true to his comrads and his friends. I had

the pleasure of meeting Frank James quite recently on the road while he

was en route to the coast with his theatrical company and enjoyed a

pleasant chat with him. He knew me and recalled many incidents of the

old days and happenings in "no man's land."

Quite a different sort of man was Yellowstone Kelley government scout,

hunter and trapper. He was one of the men who helped to make frontier

history and open up the pathless wilds to the march of civilization. He

was in the employ of the government as a scout and guide when I first

met him, and thereafter during our many wanderings over the country, I

with my cattle, he with Uncle Sam's soldiers or on a lone scout, we

often bumped up against each other, and these meetings are among my

treasured memories. He was a man who knew the country better than he

knew his own mother, absolutely fearless, kind and generous to a fault.

He was the sort of a man that once you meet, him you could never forget

him, and us boys who knew him well considered him the chief of all the

government scouts of that day. I also had the pleasure of meeting Kit

Carson in Arizona and nearly all the government scouts, hunters and

trappers of the western country, and they can all be described in one

sentence, they were men whom it was a pleasure and an honor to know.

"Billie the Kid" was another sort of a man and there has never been

another man like him and I don't think there ever will be again. Writers

claim that he was a man all bad. This I doubt as I knew him well and I

have known him to do deeds of kindness. He had many traits that go to

make a good man, but fate and circumstances were against the kid, yet I

know he always remembered a kindness done him and he never forgave an

enemy. I have rode by his side many a long mile, and it is hard to

believe he was as bad as he is pictured to be, but the facts are against

him, and when his career was ended by the bullet from Sheriff Garrett's

colt, the world was better off, likewise were some men who stood in

mortal fear of the kid, and I suppose they had good reason to be afraid

as the kid always kept his word.

During my employment with the Duval outfit and Pete Gallingan I often

made trips on the trail with herds of cattle and horses belonging to

other ranch owners, and on these trips many incidents occurred, amusing

and sad. The following incident happened in the fall of 1878, when I

went up the trail with the half circle box brand outfit, belonging to

Arthur Gorman and company.

We had a small herd of horses to take to Dodge City, where we arrived

after an uneventful trip, and after disposing of the horses we started

out to do the town as usual. But in this we met an unexpected snag. Our

bookkeeper, Jack Zimick, got into a poker game and lost all the money he

had to pay the cowboys off with, which amounted to about two thousand

dollars, and also about the same amount of the boss' money. The boys had

about one and a half years' wages coming to them, and consequently they

were in a rather bad humor when they heard this bit of news. They at

once got after Zimick so hard that he took me and went to Kinsely, Kas.,

where Mr. Gorman was. Arriving there he went to the Smith saloon to get

a room, as Smith ran a rooming house over his saloon, and it was the

custom for all the cattle men to make it their headquarters when in the

city. Here he met Mr. Gorman, and we were sitting around the room and

Zimick had only told Mr. Gorman a few things, when all of a sudden

Zimick drew his 45 colt revolver remarking as he did so, "Here is the

last of Jack Zimick." He placed the gun to his head and before we could

reach him he pulled the trigger, and his brains were scattered all over

the room.

They arrested Mr. Gorman and myself and held up for a short time until

things could be explained. Mr. Gorman was very much overcome by the act,

as Jack was one of his best men, and had been with him a long time. Mr.

Gorman had the body sent to Zimick's friends in Boston, and he

personally paid off all the boys, taking the money out of his own pocket

to do so, but when the boys heard of Jack's rash deed they said they

would rather have lost every dollar they had, rather than have had Jack

kill himself, as he was a favorite among all the cowboys, especially so

among those in Mr. Gorman's employ. Zimick had been in the employ of

Gorman and company for over ten years and he was Mr. Gorman's right hand

man, and this was the first time he ever went wrong. Jack did not have

the nerve to face his comrades again, and so I suppose he concluded that

his colt 45 was the only friend he had to help him out of it.

In May 1882, I was in Durango, Colorado, and chanced to be in a saloon

on Main street where a lot of us boys were together, among them being

Buck Cannon and Bill Woods. The drinks had been circulating around

pretty freely when Cannon and Woods got into a dispute over Cannon's

niece, to whom Woods had been paying attention, much against that young

lady's wish. After some hot words between the men, Woods drew his 45

colt revolver, remarking as he did so, "I will kill you," and in raising

it his finger must have slipped, as his gun went off and the bullet hit

a glass of beer in the hand of a man who was in the act of raising it to

his lips, scattering the broken glass all over the room, then passing

through the ceiling of the saloon. In an instant Woods threw three

bullets into Cannon, remarking as he did so, "I will kill you, for your

niece is my heart's delight and I will die for her." Buck Cannon's dying

words were, "Boys, don't let a good man die with his boots on."

Along in the spring of 1879 we sent to Dodge City, Kansas, with a herd

of cattle for the market and after they were disposed of, we boys turned

our attention to the search of amusement. Some of the boys made for the

nearest saloon and card table, but I heard there was to be a dance at

Bill Smith's dance hall and in company with some of the other boys

decided to attend. There was always quite a large number of cowboys in

Dodge City at this time of the year, so we were not surprised to find

the dance hall crowded on our arrival there. Smith's place occupied a

large, low frame building down by the railroad tracks on the south. We

found many old acquaintances there, among them being Kiowa Bill, a

colored cattle man and ranch owner of Kansas, whose ranch was on Kiowa

creek. I had met him several times but this was the first time I had

seen him in a couple of years, but as he was dancing with a young lady I

could not get to speak with him at once. So I looked up a wall flower

and proceeded to enjoy myself. We had not been dancing long when I

became aware of a commotion over near the bar, and all eyes were turned

in that direction. I soon ascertained the cause of the commotion to be a

dispute between Kiowa Bill and Bill Smith, the proprietor of the place,

who was behind the bar. Kiowa Bill, after finishing the dance with his

fair partner, took her to the bar to treat her. Smith, who was tending

bar refused to serve her saying she had enough already. Kiowa Bill told

Smith he (Kiowa Bill) was paying for what she wanted to drink and that

he wanted her to get what she wanted. Smith said no, she could not have

anything more to drink as she had too much already. At this Kiowa Bill

reached over the bar and struck Smith over the head with a whiskey

bottle, partly stunning him, but he recovered in an instant and grabbed

his 45 Colt, Kiowa Bill doing the same and both guns spoke as one. Smith

fell dead behind the bar with a bullet through his heart. Kiowa Bill

rolled against the bar and slowly sank to the floor and was dead when we

reached him.

The next day they were hauled to the cemetery, laying side by side in

the same wagon, and were buried side by side in the same grave. Kiowa

Bill had made his will a short time before and it was found on his body

when he was killed.

I had known Kiowa Bill for several years and was present at a shooting

scrape he had two years before, down in Texas, near the Arizona line. At

one of the big round ups there, in 1877, myself and quite a crowd of the

other boys were in camp eating our dinner when Kiowa Bill rode up. He

had been looking after his own cattle as he owned over two thousand head

himself. One of the boys in our party who did not like Bill, there being

a feud between them for sometime, on noticing Bill approaching,

remarked, "If that fellow comes here I will rope him." True to his word

as Bill rode up, the cowboy threw his lariat. Kiowa Bill, seeing the

movement, threw the rope off at the same time springing down on the

opposite side of his horse.

[Illustration: With the General Securities Company]

The cowboy, enraged at his failure to rope Bill, shouted, "I will fight

you from the point of a jack knife, to the point of a 45," at the same

time reaching for his 45 which was in the holster on his saddle, which

was lying on the ground a short distance away. At that Kiowa Bill fired,

striking the cowboy in the neck, breaking it. Bill then sprang in the

saddle and put spurs to his horse in an effort to get away.

Several of the cowboys commenced shooting after Bill who returned the

fire. One of the cowboys, squatting down and holding his 45 with both

hands, in an effort to get a better aim on Bill, received a bullet in

the leg from Bill's revolver that knocked him over backwards, and caused

him to turn a couple of somersaults. Bill got away and went to New York.

He was later arrested in St. Louis and brought back. At his trial he

went free as it was shown that he killed the cowboy in self-defense. And

his appearance at the dance was the first time I had seen him since the

scrape in Texas.

Kiowa Bill was of a peaceful disposition and always refrained from

bothering with others, but if others bothered with him they were liable

to get killed as Kiowa Bill allowed no one to monkey with him. Such was

life on the western ranges when I rode them, and such were my comrades

and surroundings; humor and tragedy. In the midst of life we were in

death, but above all shown the universal manhood. The wild and free

life. The boundless plains. The countless thousands of long horn steers,

the wild fleet footed mustangs. The buffalo and other game, the Indians,

the delight of living, and the fights against death that caused every

nerve to tingle, and the every day communion with men, whose minds were

as broad as the plains they roamed, and whose creed was every man for

himself and every friend for each other, and with each other till the

end.

Another friend of the old times is Chas. R. Campbell, superintendent of

the Kelso mines. Chats with these good whole-souled people of the cattle

range bring back reminiscences of the past that would fill volumes but

space and time in these days of hustle and bustle are but dreams and the

world is full of them now.

I am at the present time connected with the General Securities Company

in Los Angeles. Mr. A. A. C. Ames is president; Mr. James O. Butler,

vice-president; Mr. Jacob E. Meyer, secretary, and Mr. Geo. W. Bishop,

treasurer. These gentlemen are always extremely kind to me and the

appreciation I feel for the kindnesses shown me will be fully rewarded.

As I stop to ponder over the days of old so full of adventure and

excitement, health and happiness, love and sorrow, isn't it a wonder

that some of us are alive to tell the tale. One moment we are rejoicing

that we are alive; the next we are so near the jaws of death that it

seems it would be almost a miracle that our lives be saved.

Life today on the cattle range is almost another epoch. Laws have been

enacted in New Mexico and Arizona which forbid all the old-time sports

and the cowboy is almost a being of the past. But, I, Nat Love, now in

my 54th year, hale hearty and happy, will ever cherish a fond and loving

feeling for the old days on the range, its exciting adventures, good

horses, good and bad men, long venturesome rides, Indian fights and last

but foremost the friends I have made and friends I have gained.

FINIS

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End of Project Gutenberg's The Life and Adventures of Nat Love, by Nat Love