Overland Stage Tales of Nevada by William Daugherty

Tales of the Overland Stage - Page 4

The sales were all duly ratified by Wells, Fargo & Co.'s Board of Directors then residing in the east, and the agent's course proved so satisfactory that he was given plenary powers to contract sales of all their different lines. He was not slow in discerning the value of the Montana line, and early in his administration laid a scheme which he intended should inure to his own benefit. He commenced by exchanging the best stock and finest coaches from other parts of their lines for the old and worn, upon this one, until it was the best equipped of any part of their large system. He did this because he had determined to possess himself of this fine piece of property, when all the other was disposed of. To do this, he found he must have a dummy to make the deal with, and as all the previous sales had been, to a great extent, made to old employees of the company, he concluded to select a well known division agent on the Montana line to co-operate with, and make the sale to, and after it was ratified by the directors, buy him out, and if required, be ready to make some plausible explanation.

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But, until he got the property in this roundabout way, the utmost secrecy was required. Having evolved the plan, he took into his confidence the man he had selected, and who readily assented, for a prospective interest, to join in the scheme. The property was worth $200,000, but the agent represented to the directors that in view of the uncertainties and precarious nature, of business in the mining territories, and the fact that all the other lines were disposed of, it would be a good riddance for the company to part with this, even at a little sacrifice, and as he had found a purchaser willing to give $40,000 in cash for it, he recommended its immediate sale.

The company, did just what he expected, summoned him at once to New York for a consultation upon this last prospective sale. He left his confederate with instructions to act upon telegraphic consent, as soon as the sale was sanctioned and ratified. His confederate had no money, and expected that it would be provided by the agent„ but as the whole business was done by winks and nods, and expressions like "I understand," and "That's all right," no arrangements were made for the money, the confederate supposing it would require only a stroke of the pen by the agent to settle that part of the transaction.

The agent went to New York and was so successful in his efforts, that the confederate soon received a telegram from Wells, Fargo & Co., consenting to the sale for $40,000, spot cash to be deposited at once in Wells, Fargo & Co.'s bank at Salt Lake City, and the property to be delivered by the agent as soon as he could return from New York. The confederate had to think and act quick, and hastening in to Salt Lake City he made arrangements for a temporary loan of the money, knowing as he did that the property was well worth five times the price named. He did not dare telegraph the agent for an explanation or for instruction what to do, and he acted without hesitation and soon had the money deposited in the bank.

This fact was telegraphed, and acceptance signified on the return of the trusted agent to Salt Lake City. In a few days he arrived and at once started over the line with his confederate and a partner to make a transfer of the property. This was accomplished in a few days, and they returned to Salt Lake City to deliver the bill of sale and make formal delivery of the money.

This was done with as much expedition as was possible in fear of some "slip twixt the cup and the lip," which hastened both parties. When all was finally accomplished and it was duly published to the world that Jack Gilmer, the former division agent of the overland, and a contemporary of Slade, was the owner of the Montana line, the agent called him aside and said: "Now we will fix our little business and arrange for your interest in the line."

Then it was that the second schemer showed his hand, and Jack Gilmer, in his peculiar nasal treble tones that were known all through the West, said: "Not much; I'm the sole owner of the Montana stage line; I bought it, and have no partner, and don't intend to have, for I got it pretty cheap."

The trusted agent glared at Jack in speechless surprise. Jack glared back from under his tilted hat brim and elevated his cigar to an angle of 45 degrees, and simply added "That's what's the matter." The agent could do nothing, and, completely crestfallen, he returned to the East, but he never squealed, while Gilmer waxed rich from his rascality.

Article in the Reno Evening Gazette, May 27, 1891)

Driving a wild stagecoach, Frederic Remington, 1904

Jim Jams - "Talking about the Jim-jams," said an old timer, "the horrors and hallucinations are different with different people. Some of the cases I've seen were laughable and instead of awakening pity and compassion for the sufferer, caused the observer to rather envy the victim for the visions of extraordinary joy that his actions and mutterings indicated were present in his disordered fancies.

Now there was a celebrated stage driver on the old Pioneer line running from Hangtown to Carson and Virginia City. His drive ended at Carson, and when he had 'em real bad, the company would let him lay off at Carson until he got over 'em and was all right again. Well, do you know he never suffered any from the attacks, because the spasms didn't act on him like with some. When the spells came on him, he'd just begin to laugh and point out the window of his room, and nobody but the doctor could get him to say a word or tell what he was laughing at. So the boys would hustle around and bring the doctor, who'd give him something to quiet his nerves, and sit and talk with him and then he'd tell.

Sometimes he saw all out doors filled with the forms and faces of most beautiful women that he'd describe as being just like angles; but when he laughed the hardest then the vision was that of a big field covered all over with pumpkin pies. Singular fancy wasn't it? It seemed he liked pumpkin pies better than any other kind, and his thoughts would run on pie when rum got the best of him.,' At this point a charitable friend asked the old- timer to take something, and moving up to the bar, he removed a quid, took three fingers straight, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, said: "Still I always felt kind o' sorry for poor old Hank."

Article in the Reno Evening Gazette, May 28, 1891

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