|
Then he was sent to the front and soon took a prominent
position on the
Montana
line, running from Salt Lake to Helena. In 1868 the
stage
was robbed near
Naiad station of a large sum in money and gold bullion, and when it
arrived at Malad, Dan was found there, and hastily organized a party which
he led in pursuit of the robbers. They succeeded in overtaking and
surrounding them in a canyon densely covered with underbrush. In crawling
through this on his hands and knees, Dan heard a suspicious noise, and
raising his head and body up to see through an opening in the brush he was
confronted at a few yards distance by one of the robbers who deliberately
fired point blank at him with a Henry rifle. The ball struck Dan near the
center of the breast and went directly through him.
Dan
fell and knew no more until rescued by his companions and re- moved from
the brush. He was thought to be dead, and one of the rescuers said
pathetically, "Dan '11 never snore anymore." But to the surprise of all,
Dan revived, was carefully nursed and cared for by Wells, Fargo & Co., in
whose employ he was at the time, and finally recovered. It was supposed by
all that he would also be cured of his snoring, because of the character
of the wound, but to the surprise of his old friends, he snored worse than
ever. It seemed impossible, but such was the case, and Dan was regarded by
his comrades as a holy terror, and he always had a room to himself. His
duties, some years afterwards, brought him into Pioche late one night,
when, from some cause, he could not get a bed. The keepers of the lodging
houses all knew him it seemed, and in a moment of absent mind, this writer
tendered him a share of his bed, then in the second story of the express
and
stage office. It was midnight when the office duties ended and Dan sat
by the stove until the work was all finished. We went up stairs and
retired, and Dan went to sleep.
Within a minute, and softly began to snore, but this was only preliminary.
He soon settled down to regular work, and, to be brief, he fairly raised
the roof. Efforts to awaken him were utterly futile. He had rode without
stopping from
Salt Lake City , 225 miles, and tired out; he was as dead as
if dosed with morphine. I shook him and talked to him, but it was useless.
One might as well have talked to the Sphinx. Sleep was utterly out of the
question with me, although so weary that my eyes ached. I then got mad and
began to kick him, but as that had no effect I tried to roll him out of
bed, but he was on the back part of it and I couldn't turn him over.
By this time I was thoroughly exasperated, and at my wits ends for I could
think of no relief and while he was sleeping as sound as a log-- or a
whole raft of them for that matter--I was doomed to lay awake all night
and listen to that frightful menagerie of unearthly sounds. For three
hours this continued and my nerves were racked so that I was trembling.
At that moment, to my great relief the fire bell rang, and jumping to my
feet I viciously yelled Fire! Fire!!
|
|