Wyoming Territory by David V. Hesse - HTML preview

Chapter 2

The Residents

At daylight a fog rose off the bay as the sun was peeking over the mountains in the east. He rode through a region of the city that was bound by Montgomery, Stockton, Washington and Broadway streets. Garish looking Spanish-American women glanced his way from their seats just inside the doorways of their little dens, with their faces painted a gaudy red over a white flour paste, their bars are well stocked with drugged liquors waiting for their first customers of the day. They are clad in black and their faces are covered to their eyes in their rebozos. They are fallen and degraded but still attempt to preserve some of the grace in speech and manner that distinguishes them above all others. They fixed their black eyes on him as he rode past, but made no verbal communication.

Chinese coolies walked by, swinging their heavy burdens on the ends of bamboo poles, balanced on their shoulders, changing them from side to side as they trotted quickly along. He passed various narrow alleys which intersect the main streets. These alleys are known as Stout’s Alley, Murderer’s Alley and China Alley. A number of Chinese females dressed in loose drawers with their blue-black hair braided in two strands hanging down their back beneath striped gingham handkerchiefs, thrown over their head and tied beneath the chin as a badge denoting slavery and a life of hopeless infamy. The smells were that of raw fish rotting and of “gou rou”, dog meat, cooking on an open fire mixed with the smell of urine and human excrement. He was beginning to wonder why the Wasichus, white man, was so anxious to come here. With a population around two hundred thousand people who seemed to be living on top of each other, this place didn’t hold any interest to him.

Every other building was a saloon, in which nobody seemed to be stirring. Over the doors were signs on which the name of the establishment was painted, “The Cock of the Walk”, “Star of the Union”, “The Roaring Gimlet”,” The Bull’s Run” and” Every Man is Welcome” and on and on it went. For the most part, these buildings have a hopeless and half-deserted appearance. He felt he had stumbled upon a part of the town that was going into a gradual but certain decline and decay. It was hard to imagine that all of this grew from a small settlement called Yerba Buena, the good herb.

As he reached Montgomery and Kearny streets, he felt like he entered a different town. The streets were filled with the beauty, fashion and wealth of San Francisco that the emigrants must have dreamt about. The sun was beginning to fill the sky and the day suddenly became pleasant. A military contingent in dress uniform passed by and attracted a group of people. Following the military came a group of horsemen and horsewomen, gaily mounted, out for a morning ride, galloping down the street oblivious to those around them. They are glanced at, criticized and forgotten.

He could feel the eyes of the people follow him as he rode past. He was as much an oddity to them as they were to him. He doubted many men wore buckskin clothing here even though he was passing through an amalgamation of cultures where people were wearing just about anything imaginable.

He rode up in front of the Wells Fargo Company and looked at the sign in the window that read:

Wanted, experienced riflemen to ride shotgun on coach line from the Express Co. of Wells Fargo & Co. of San Francisco and the surrounding mining communities. Apply within.

“What do you think, Kodah? This might be something I could handle and you may have a bit of a rest if all works out for the best,” he said, as he dismounted and walked through the doors of the Express Company of Wells Fargo & Company of San Francisco.

Inside standing in back of the room in front of about a half a dozen men was a balding man, quite portly with small black eyes that twinkled like those of a snake. He had half glasses that were pushed down to the end of his nose and he was wearing a black vest and white shirt with a bow tie. A gold chain was hanging from his vest pocket at the end of which hung a gold watch which he was intently staring at.

The man looked up when he entered and said: “Come in young man, we were about ready to start. I was about to tell everyone about our fine company and what we do and why we need brave young men like yourselves. My name is Stillwell, John Stillwell, and I am the manager of this Wells Fargo office.

There is not an institution of greater public importance than that of Wells Fargo. It is endeared to our people by many associations, dating from the present back to early pioneer times. It has long supplied, and still supplies the necessities to the nomadic characteristics of a mining people. So long as gold continues to be found, there will be men rushing in search of it. Mining camps spring up in a day. Gold is discovered throughout the Sierra Nevada’s, and, whenever it is found, there a large population will locate itself for a brief period. In such cases, mail and express facilities are needed, and are always supplied by Wells Fargo with an energy and efficiency that has won the admiration of all visitors to this coast, and has secured the undying gratitude of our own people. It is an institution of which Californians are justly proud. A gold field is discovered in the remote mountains. Thousands of hardy miners hustle themselves to the spot, through deep canyons and over high mountain ranges. As soon as they build log cabins Wells Fargo comes along, bringing passengers, mail and newspapers, and connecting the new El Dorado with the outside world, and bringing back the gold, so essential to our commerce.

What will be of concern to you, are the outliers, the ones who want to profit off another man’s labors. They lay in wait for our stages to come and they rob them of the gold, money and any other valuables that we may carry. It will be your duty to stop these robbers by any means at your disposal. Due to the frequency and severity of the recent attacks, management has decided to arm each coach with a shotgun and rifleman along with the driver. The shotgun will ride up front and the rifleman will be stationed at the back of the coach. If highway men approach, don’t hesitate to fire first and fire to kill. Those are your only instructions.

Now I have on the table before me, forms for you to fill out and turn in before you leave. We will have a brief training tomorrow morning before we divide you into teams and give you your schedules. You will be paid five dollars a day plus meals at each station. You will get two days off each week. Not everyone will be able to have Saturday and Sunday off, so we will rotate schedules to best accommodate everyone. Are there any questions?”

“Can you recommend a clean place for a man to cleanup and get caught up on some rest for me and my horse?” Esben asked.

“Well young man, you are now in the tenth largest city in these United States and we have hotels on just about every corner. Now, if you are looking for a place that will take care of your horse and for an extra dollar a day, will give you a bed and one square, then on the north end of town is the Hanson House. Ma Hanson and her son Hiram can accommodate you. You are allowed one bath a week at that price as well. They charge you extra if you find yourself so dirty you can’t wait your turn. When you walk out here, turn left and you’ll be headin’ north. You can’t miss the place. It will be on your left.”

“I’m obliged,” Esben said.

“Now if that’s all, you can leave when you are done filling out the papers and I’ll see you at nine tomorrow morning.”

After filling out the form, Esben walked out to where he left Kodah and untied the reins and swung up on her back.

He rode north to the Hanson House and was amazed at all the people walking along the street. He wondered where they all came from.

The Hanson House was much larger than he imagined it to be. It was two stories high with white laced curtains hanging in the windows and it had a substantial stable directly behind it that opened up to at least ten acres of pasture land.

Esben knocked on the door and a gruff voice called out, “Come in.”

He pushed open the door and walked into a huge room filled with four stuffed chairs and a large red divan. Sitting at a desk along the back wall was a white haired woman who had to weigh at a minimum, two hundred pounds. He had never seen a lady that large before and if he wasn’t staring in wonder at the red divan, he would have been staring at her.

“Haven’t you seen a fainting couch before, young man? They are made for women because so many women wear corsets that are so tight it makes them faint. They need someplace soft to land; won’t catch me dead in one of them things. Why hide what you got, I say, and I got a lot. Now what can I do for you?”

“Well, ma’m, I am going to work for the Wells Fargo Company tomorrow and Mr. Stillwell said you provided rooms for men and stalls and pasture for their horses and that’s what I’m looking for. Can you accommodate me and my horse?”

Mrs. Hanson just stared and him and finally said, “You dress funny young man. Are them the only clothes you got?”

“No ma’m,” he replied.

“Well, that’s good. You sure and hell will find yourself gittin’ in fights around here if you keep dressin’ like that. Yeah, I can accommodate you. Hiram, Hiram, you git your ass down here. We got a young gentleman wants to stay with us. He’s got a horse we need to care for too.”

Soon a large man appeared. He was nearly as big as Mrs. Hanson and looked just like her, except he had a few less whiskers.

He shuffled past without looking at Esben and said, “Follow me, name’s Hiram”, and walked out the door.

Esben figured as much, so he thanked Mrs. Hanson and followed Hiram out the door.

“Grab your horse and follow me. I’ll show you where you both will be stayin’.”

“Okay”, he said, as he untied Kodah and fell in behind Hiram.

A familiar voice across the street, a lady’s voice called, “Esben? Esben Hjerstedt?”