[C. W. Crocker, Bill Watson's Ride, Alta California, December 25, 1872]

 

[Written for the Alta California.]

BILL WATSON'S RIDE.

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A Tale of Christmas Day on the Overland Route.

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BY C. W. CROCKER

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            Twelve years ago, this very morning, there were seated around a rudely constructed table in a small log cabin in Ruby Valley, in what is now a portion of the State of Nevada, but what was then a part or Utah Territory, a party of five men. The eldest could not have been more than forty-five years of age, notwithstanding the fact that his hair was freely sprinkled with gray, while the youngest was only some twenty-eight or thirty years old. The remaining three were pretty nearly of the same age, that is to say, about thirty-five years.

            The face of the eldest presented marks of crime and hardship; uncontrolled passions and the results which always follow the indulgence of them. He was called by his comrades Jack Wolf. Although years before, when he was a student at one of the most famous Colleges in the land, he was known by another name, but after having been guilty of a crime, for which he fled from civilised life and society, he had chosen to forget the name of his parents and to permit himself to be called Jack Wolf. He had passed many years on the frontier, trading with the Indians at the "posts," carousing with hunters and mountaineers at the military headquarters, gambling in New Mexico and engaging in lawless deeds in all parts. While he possessed the persistent courage of the bull-dog, he had the sneaking characteristics of the coyote, preferring to make the attack when all the advantage was on his side. Although he would, like his prototype, fight with desperate courage when driven into a corner. He had finally drifted into the employment of the Overland Mail Company, and by the faithful manner in which he looked after the interests of the company, had become quite a favorite, and been gradually promoted until he was now at the head of the Ruby Valley division.

            The youngest man in the party was Bill Watson, a young fellow, born and reared in St. Louis, Missouri, who, having made the acquaintance of some of the mountain men during their visits to the city of his birth, had listened with delight to the stories they told of the charms which encircled their daily lives. The Indian fights, buffalo hunts, chases after wild horses, the loves of the Indian maidens, etc., had quickened his young blood and caused him to abandon home and opportunities, and go off into the mountains in search of adventure. Ten years roughing it had convinced him that he had made a mistake, but like hundreds of others, he was too proud to return to his home, where he might regain his former standing and yet become an useful member of society. He clung to his mountain life, in hope that something would turn up which would place him in possession of a fortune, although what that something was or would be, he had no idea.

            The other three forming the group do not require any description from me, as they occupy no position in the narrative of the events which followed. They were employes in the service of the Mail Company, and formed a part of Wolf's household and the entire garrison of the Post.

            These men had Just sat down to their breakfast, which was composed of fried venison, hot yeast-powder biscuit without butter, a pot of boiled beans, and coffee black as ink and as thick as the paste in an amalgamating pan. Rude though the fare was, the men ate of it with a hearty appetite, and chatted while they ate.

            "I think, Bill," said Wolf, as he slowly removed a tin pannikin from his face and set it beside his plate on the table, "I think, Bill, you had better not start out to-day. There is something wrong with these dern Piutes and Snakes, which means mischief !"

            "That may be the case," replied Watson, "but then, you see, thar ain't anything to be made by waiting a day or so."

            "Yes, thar is. Ef the confounded rascals mean business, they will make a demonstration mighty quick, and then we will know what to do. Ye see, it's only when you don't know where the blow is to come from that you are in danger. Now, ef the skunks have it in for us, you ken bet your life they will begin settin' fire to our hay afore the day is gone. Don't you think so, Hank?"

            The man addressed gulped down a mouthful of food, and replied: "Thar hain't no doubt about it; in fact, I 'spect they will cum along this mornin'. I'se hed my eyes on 'em for several days, and ef you will only think for a moment you will see for yourself. Now, thar hain't bin an Injun around any of the posts for a week, nor have I seed one while makin' my rides; wharfore I concludicate that they is a goin' to give us a little brush up."

            "And more than that," resumed Wolf, "there has been a big gatherin' and pow-wow on the Truckee when they had been visited by some Mormons who don't like to see so many Californians spreading out over the ground, and if I don't miscalculate they went thar for the purpose of setting the Indians on and having them wipe out the whites."

            "Well, that may be the case, and I rather 'spect it is; but then, you see, the 'Pony' has got to go through, no matter how many Injuns are in the way, and you may just bet yer life that there will be no stoppage on Bill Watson's section," said Watson, in a quiet tone, without any apparent braggadocio.

            "Bill is right," broke in one of those who had not heretofore taken part in the conversation, but had been intent upon devouring as large a quantity of provisions as possible. "Bill is right; it won't do to have the 'Pony' lay up on our section of the road."

            "I don't propose to have the pony lay up," responded Wolf. "I only said that I thought Bill ought not to start out this morning, because thar is something that tells me there will be trouble between here and the next station. Now, if that ride can be made in the night, I think all will go well."

            'Twon't do to stop a minute on the way; thar are too many persons waiting to hear the news for any delay on our part; and if the road was lined with Injuns with guns in their hands, you can jest bet yer last red that I'd go through, or go under in attemptin' to."

            By this time the morning meal had been finished and the men had risen from the table. While Watson was looking at and seeing to his pistols — that they were loaded, capped and ready for use at any moment—the others went out to the stable and began saddling the horse that Watson was to ride.

            "Hank, I guess we had better let Bill ride the black horse, as he is the most powerful animal in the stable, and certainly the fastest one this side of the Missouri River."

            "That's what I think, and if it comes to a long run, thar isn't no half dozen hosses that can come up with him."

            The black horse was accordingly saddled and brought out, just as Watson came to the door, carrying on his arm his canteeners, in which he had placed his revolvers. He stepped up to the animal, patted him on the head and neck for a moment, spoke some words of endearment to him, and proceeded to fasten his equipments upon the front portions of the saddle, after which he mounted. He turned his horse's head to the west, and saying "Goodbye, boys, take care of yourselves," started off at a sharp canter, but had not got more than two hundred yards away, before Wolf shouted to him to return. He reined in for the purpose of ascertaining what was wanting.

            "Don't you see some one is coming this way? Wait until we learn his news."

            Coming down the hill some two miles to the west could be seen a man, riding as if his life depended upon his speed. He was waving a handkerchief above his head and urging his horse onward, while ever and anon he would turn his head over his shoulder and look back, as if trying to discover if he was pursued.

            In a moment all the men at the station had gathered around Watson, and stood watching the approaching horseman.

            "I guess the Injuns have been making it warm for him from the manner in which he is getting over the ground. "

            "I'll bet my bottom dollar that the red devils have begun hostilities, and made an attack upon the station," said Hank.

            "I 'spect that's about it," replied Wolf. "Well, we must go to work and prepare to give them a warm reception if they come our way."

            By this time the rider had come within speaking distance, when he shouted:

            "In, boys, in and get your guns, for the Injuns are coming!"

            His directions, however, were unheeded, and in a moment more he rode into their midst.

            "What's the matter ?" asked Wolf.

            "Enough; the Injuns have declared war, and commenced slaughtering the whites. Last night some two or three hundred or them came down upon the station and laid siege to it. The boys will perhaps be able to hold out, as they are pretty well supplied with ammunition and food; but God help all the poor prospectors who are in the mountains, for not one of them will escape."

            "How did you get away?"

            "Run the gauntlet for the purpose of putting the other stations on the guard, and having them prepared for the visits that will be sure to be made.

            "I say, Bill, you had better put up the hoss and come back. The 'Pony' will have to be one day behind time."

            "Not if it depends upon my riding over my route," responded Watson. "I guess 'Black Bill' can carry me over two stations, and, if I mistake not, it will be all right beyond there."

            "No, Bill; you are risking your life foolishly, and had better give up the ride."

            "Bill Watson isn't given to braggin' about what he kin or will do; but there is one thing certain, and that is, he will ride the 'Pony' through to-day or perish in the attempt!"

            "Yer foolish, Bill!" responded Wolf. "Ye don't know how to 'scape danger like yer ought. Allers keep yer eyes open for the advantage, and then go in and win. It's the best way by a long odds."

            "That's so; but then, you see, I never could wait for advantages. I allers went right ahead, and I'm goin' to make my ride to-day, and it's time I was about it. So good bye, boys; I'll see you again in a few days, unless the Injuns raise yer har!"

            "Good bye, Bill, and luck go with yer," exclaimed several as Bill touched his noble steed in the flank and rode away.

            The party stood and gazed after him until he had climbed to the brow of the hill and passed over it and disappeared from sight, when they turned and began making preparations for the expected visit of the Indians. We shall leave them, and follow the fortunes of our hero, Bill Watson, for it is of him we are writing.

            After getting upon the brow of the hill, he loosened the reins of his animal and permitted him to drop into an easy trot, which carried him along at the rate of about ten miles an hour. The horse appeared to be familiar with the road and required no watching or guiding, consequently his rider was enabled to give more attention to the road in advance of him. He had ridden over the route many and many a time, and not a rock, tree or shrub grew upon the line but was familiar to him and in which he could not detect the slightest change or alteration. He had ridden some ten or fifteen miles when something attracted his attention and caused him to reach for one of his pistols and clutch the reins of his horse, which he had permitted to fall upon the pommel of the saddle.

            "Thar is something unnatural about that clump of bushes," be said, speaking to himself; "dog me ef I don't think thar is an Injun behind it."

            For a moment he seemed undecided what to do, but it was only for a moment, when be spurred his horse and dashed forward once more, but be carried his pistol in his hand and it was cocked, ready for use at a second's warning.

            He had reached to within a couple of hundred yards of the suspicious bushes when his horse pricked up his ears and gave a snort, as if he scented something unusual. At this instant the form of an Indian woman darted from behind the bushes and raised her hands above her head in token of amity.

            Watson reined in his animal and signalled her to approach him, which she did. When near enough to speak, she said :

            "White man must turn back, for Injun warrior is on the war-path and will surely kill him."

            The speaker was neither young nor handsome, nor was she at all interesting when viewed from a romancist's stand-point. She was fully fifty years old, was decidedly ugly, and unquestionably dirty. Her form was covered with a torn and patched blanket, which certainly did not protect her from the rude, piercing blasts that came over the hills and cut the shivering flesh like the keen blade of a razor.

            "I cannot turn back, so there is an end of that proposition. If you can tell me anything else do so, and I will be thankful."

            "White man has been good to me, therefore I am good Injun and tell white man be get killed if he go on. He no b'lieve squaw he maybe find out when too late."

            "I don't think squaw tell lie, but white man must go on even if he get killed."

            "Tell me where Injuns are and I will ride around."

            "You will find them in the next valley, two, three, four hundred of them, and you cannot ride around them. On every hill they have look-outs, and every pass through the mountains is guarded by fifty Injuns armed with rifles."

            "The prospects are anything but cheering, but I'll go on, nevertheless, and if I escape, I'll remember you for your kind intentions," and Bill gave his horse the spurs and once more dashed forward.

            There appeared to be a foolhardiness in his riding into danger, when he could have avoided it by turning back. To one used to city life, it will appear strange and incomprehensible why he did not do so; but to those who possess a knowledge of the peculiar characteristics of the men employed in carrying the mails and riding the pony express, it will not be regarded as singular. They were a careless, dare-devil set of fellows, who, perhaps, could not realize the extent of danger incurred by them while performing their daily duties. Accustomed to facing danger in an hundred forms, they had grown careless and trusted to luck to carry them safely through. Watson was, perhaps, as cautious a man as there was among them, but he had long since bid adieu to fear and caution. He had an idea that he was more than a match for all the Indians on the overland route.

            He rode on for a mile or two, when he came within sight of a smoke curling up above the hills, and from the locality, knew that it was the station where he changed horses, but the curling volumes as they slowly ascended, appeared to be greater than usual. He was well aware that the Indians were encamped in the upper end of this valley, but had not been told that they had made an attack upon the station, other than such information as he had received before starting on his perilous ride.

            As he gazed upon the smoke, lazily curling upward, a strange misgiving seized him that the station had been set fire to, and probably all at it killed. A few moments more brought him in view of the place, and then he discovered that his worst fears had been realized. The logs which had formed the walls of the buildings were lying upon the ground, almost wholly consumed. As he rode up to what had once been the yard, he discovered the dead bodies of his old companions, mutilated and disfigured in a most horrible manner. He reined in his horse, and for a moment sat gazing upon the sickening scene before him. A tear glistened in his eye and his lips moved as if in silent prayer. But it lasted only a moment, when his sad reverie was broken by the sharp crack of a rifle, followed by a dozen others, and the shrill war-whoop of the Piutes.

            A quick glance over the shoulder revealed to him a number of Indian warriors coming toward him — some with clubs, others with guns, and not a few with axes in their hands. He appeared to be entirely surrounded, for, turn which way he would, he could see Indians running toward him, and still they kept coming.

            Watson tightened his grip upon the bridle reins, and, holding his revolver in his right hand, sat immovable as a statue, until the savages had got within fifty yards of him. Then, as they raised their guns to their shoulders, he sunk his spurs into the flanks of his noble animal, who leaped forward and sped away at lightning speed. As he broke through the circle he fired a couple of shots with the unerring aim of a frontiersman, and in a moment more was out of reach of the gun-shots that were sent after him.

            Turning his face over his right shoulder, and seeing the horde of red devils following him, Watson opened his throat and sent out in shrill, clear tones a shout of defiance. His noble horse appeared to understand the situation, and determined to do his part of the business in hand. If it had been but a single brush of a mile, there would have been no trouble in getting safely away; but here it was a ride for life. The entire country swarmed with hostile bands of ruthless ravages, whose greatest delight was derived from the cries for mercy sent up from some poor unfortunate wretch who had fallen into their hands, and whom they were torturing to death. They had no love for those at the stations of the Overland Mail and Pony Express, and now that the war had broken out they determined to pay them off for old scores.

            Now that danger, imminent and immediate, surrounded Watson, he appeared to be alive to it and to act accordingly. So long as it was not brought face to face with him, he gave it no heed, but now it was otherwise. Perhaps he regretted having pushed on into danger. Maybe he was sorry that he had not listened to the warning voices of Bill Wolf and the old Indian squaw. If he did so, he realised the fact that it was too late, and that he had now to save his life by flight, and that a great deal — in fact all — depended upon the endurance of his horse.

            Many or the savages mounted horses and gave pursuit, while others followed on foot or started at full speed for the mountains, with the evident intention of making a cut-off and getting in on the road ahead of the fugitive, where they would get an opportunity to shoot at him again. Others seized brands of fire and started for the mountain peaks, for the purpose of lighting signal fires.

            Onward fled Watson, every few moments looking behind to see how his pursuers were coming on, and then leaning forward and patting the gallant steed upon his neck and speaking to him in terms of encouragement.

            On came the savage horde, occasionally awakening the echoes of the cañons through which they were riding, with their shrill battle-cry. The pursuers felt confident of capturing the fugitive and rather enjoyed the chase. There was novelty and excitement in it, in fact it was to these savage denizens of the mountains what fox-hunting is to the English gentry. They were well acquainted with the topography of the country, and knew that there were many places where miles could be saved by crossing the mountains on foot. They also knew that some five or six miles further on was a cañon through which ran the road to be pursued by the fleeing expressman. This cañon was long and narrow, and the passage through it would be like running the gauntlet.

            The Indians were well aware of these facts, and when they found that Watson had escaped from them, at the burned station, many of them hastened over the mountains by a nearer path and reached the cañon in advance of the fugitive.

            The day was intensely cold. The fierce winds coming across the plains and through the cañons cut the flesh to the quick, and thereby proved a powerful auxiliary to Watson in his flight. The rapid run of the redskins over the mountains had warmed them up and started the perspiration out of their black bodies, and they no sooner ceased running and took positions amongst the rocks than they began shivering with the cold. The eagerness of the chase had died away in the delay of waiting, and while they waited they lost their anxiety for capture and began to look around for something with which to kindle a fire. But before they had accomplished this the shouts of the pursuers could be heard as they drew near. All efforts now appeared to be centered in the capture of the fugitive, and the savages strung out alongside the road for the purpose of extending the line through which he would have to pass.

            On came the gallant pony-rider, ever and anon sending up his shout of defiance. Suddenly he caught sight of the long line of savage forms ahead of him, and then casting a glance backward he saw a horde of angered devils coming on at a furious rate of speed. He felt that now came the tug of war, and that he must ride through the lines or give himself up to torture. The idea of surrendering to the savages never once entered his head. He only thought of how he could break through the lines, but was unable to hit upon any strategy to aid him.

            No, there was nothing for him to do but to go right ahead and either break through the lines or fall in the attempt. With his trusty pistol in his right hand and the bridle reins in his left, he rode at the line. It looked like riding into the very jaws of death, but fortune favors the brave, and in this instance stood by the intrepid Pony rider.

            As he rode by the line the Indians would fire at him, but the cold had chilled them to such an extent that their aim was not accurate, and the would-be victim continued his ride.

            Several Indians had planted themselves alongside the road where the cañon was very narrow, for the purpose of seizing the animal as it passed and dragging the rider from it. One succeeded in getting the bridle reins in his hand while two others seized Watson by the legs. Quicker than it takes to tell it, and almost with the rapidity of lightning, did the valiant rider swing his revolver from side to side and cause the daring red-skins to release their hold and fall to the ground in the agony of death.

            This released him for a few moments, and as he thought he was once more free from the ambuscade, he gave a shout of joy; but ere it had died from his lips, a bullet struck him in the hip, shattering the bone and causing the cry to change to one of pain. He, however, clung to his horse and rode on as fast as possible, although every jump of the animal sent a pang of intense pain throughout his frame. He felt that if his horse could stand the chase for another hour he would be safe, for it would bring him to the Stone House, a station built entirely of stone, and where there were always some twenty or thirty persons to be found, as it was the head quarters for all the prospectors as well as the gamblers, who were in the habit of making periodical visits to Fort Churchill. His horse, however, began to show signs of great fatigue and to [weaken] greatly in his efforts to escape.

            The shouts of the pursuers were still to be heard, and it soon became apparent that they were gaining upon him. At this moment Watson discovered that his horse had been struck by a ball and that every time he made a leap the blood spurted from the wound. Tearing a piece of buckskin from his hunting-shirt Watson reached forward and crammed it into the wound, determined to stop the flow of blood, if possible, and thereby husband the strength of the noble animal, on which his sole reliance for safety was now placed

            On, on sped the fugitive; on, on came his pursuers, shouting the angry war-cry of the Piutes, which was answered by the defiant cry of the pony-rider, who felt that his last hours had arrived, but was determined to die game, if it came to that. The pursuers were coming nearer and nearer, while both the horse and rider of the pursued were becoming weaker and less able to continue the struggle.

            On they go, over the hills and through the vales, the shouts growing louder and more joyous as the prospects of a speedy capture became plainer and brighter. A long point of the mountain running out to a bright stream of water now loomed into sight, and Bill recognized it as the entrance of the valley in which the Stone Station was located. If his horse could hold out till he passed that point, he had hopes that the savages would abandon the pursuit. He leaned upon the poor animal's neck, and forgetting his own pain, spoke in terms of endearment to the suffering and struggling beast. The cheering tones seemed to inspire the noble animal with new life, and he put forth renewed strength. The pursuers discovered the vantage at the same time and urged their steeds to greater speed, and shouted their battle-cry in fiercer tones.

            On, on, they go. The advantage momentarily gained by the pursued having soon been recovered by the pursuers, not more than a hundred yards remain to the point of the mountain and the Indians are not more than two hundred yards behind the fugitive. Their shouts are redoubled as they see the animal ridden by the pony messenger commence to stagger. His strength is almost gone, and his rider feels that his doom is sealed. Suddenly the noble horse stumbles and goes down upon the ground not more than fifty yards from the mountain point.

            A shout of victory is rung out by the savages, who dash up to the spot where the pony rider is lying upon the ground. The first one receives a pistol ball in the forehead from the pistol of the prostrate pony messenger.

            At this moment a shout is heard from the road, and out from behind the mountain dash fifty or sixty hardy white men, armed with rifles and revolvers. The Indians with a cry of dismay turn to flee, and a running fight ensues which was kept up for several miles, when it was found politic to recall the troops, as the enemy were becoming too numerous. They returned to the stone hut, whither some of the men had carried Watson, and there he learned that the party which had come to his rescue were under command of Colonel Ormsby, of Carson City. Information of the outbreak had been received in that city, and Col. O. had, with a handful of volunteers, gone out to the assistance of those who were known to be in the mountains. He had arrived in the very nick of time to save Bill Watson's Christmas ride from being a ride to death.