Pioneers on the Nevada Frontier - Page 8

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Then I retired to the tent, laced up the flap covering the doorway, and to keep warm, went to bed. The snow fell very fast, and as it weighed down the willows along the creek, I could hear them bending and snapping in a startling manner, and this, with the piercing "ki-yi's" of the coyotes, soon strung my nerves up to a pretty high pitch. I had been told that mountain lions and cinnamon bears were frequently seen in that section, and I soon thought the woods were full of them. Then, it dawned upon me that my pard had taken with him our only fire arm, a revolver, and I was helpless if attacked. The snow fell steadily and by midnight was three feet deep, as I could tell by pressing against the walls of the tent. The coyotes and other animals kept up their startling cries and the dark canyon seemed filled with blood-thirsty beasts that were gathering around me and drawing nearer as the night advanced. I was several miles from any other camp and felt the loneliness of my position more as I reflected upon my helpless condition.

There came a lull in the cries of the wild varmints and I finally dozed away into a light sleep. Later, I awoke with a start at some noise that came from the hillside back of the tent and just above it, where it was covered with broken slabs and flakes of slate, which in walking upon slipped away like shingles from under the feet. The snow now covered them, but an animal was just above me, walking around and reconnoitering. My heart nearly ceased beating as I fully awakened, for the smoldering camp fire had at last ignited the pitch pine log and it was blazing like a bonfire directly in front of the tent and casting my shadow on the wall behind me. The animal kept moving back and forth on the hillside and as I suspected, was preparing for a spring upon the fragile cloth tent to pin me down. I was simply frozen to the spot with fear and I thought very fast. I knew there was nothing to defend myself with and it would be useless to break away and try to run with the snow four feet deep around me. It was a cold night, but beads of perspiration trickled down my face and I firmly believed my hair would turn white in a night, if not sooner. Then I thought of the covered box containing our cooking utensils, in which was a big butcher knife. Instantly, with this thought, I slipped out from under the blankets and crawled to the box. Raising the lid I plunged my hand in and was startled by the upsetting of all the tin pans and spoons, which in falling, raised a racket like a chivarri. I grabbled wildly for the knife, and in my fright must have turned for the expected attack, but the animal, alarmed by the racket, was off, and then was returning cautiously, and I had time to assume a defensive attitude. Just then it became silent. The snow was falling heavily, as I could see by the firelight from the front. The willows would now and again fall with a crash from the weight of snow, and intensify the silence. As an attack did not follow at once, I crawled under the blankets, for the night was cold, and resting on my elbow with the knife grasped tightly I lay waiting. The animal was silent. It could not have retreated, else I would have heard it going. The suspense was driving me wild, but I couldn't make a move until daylight, and so I bent my ear to every sound. But the animal remained quiet, and at last, I succumbed to the cramped position, sank down and went to sleep. I awoke with a start at daylight and was clinching the knife with a death grip. Listening attentively, I arose and quietly unlaced the tent. The snow was four feet deep. It was some miles to the nearest camp, but I was resolved on getting there, if the Lord would permit me, and never to pass another such a night for all the silver mines in existence, even if they were all "Real Del Montes." With utmost caution I put on my boots, buttoned my coat, grasped the knife firmly and wading into the snow around the corner of the tent, looked cautiously up on the hillside, and there, standing right over the tent, half buried in the snow, was a --- jackass. 

Article in the Reno Evening Gazette, June 13, 1891

Whiling Away Time in a Snow Blockade - It was during a snow blockade on the Union Pacific Railroad some years ago, that, a once well known Nevadan, was caught by it, returning from New York to San Francisco and detained for some days at a station in Wyoming. He was one of the early residents of Nevada, a comrade of Mark Twain's, and noted for his good nature and waggish disposition. He had married some years before the event herein related, and his wife was a most estimable lady to whom he was devotedly attached. Two children blessed their union, and if ever a parent was proud of his offspring, that man was our hero, Bob H----. He had one of the cherubs photographed naked in a sea shell, and from it, had a large oil painting made, that ornamented his parlor and which he always drew his visitors' attention to with more pride than any curio in his cabinet of rare collections. But, with all his love for home, and its gods and idols, he was always and everywhere gallant and attentive towards the gentler sex, and had not his wife possessed an amiable disposition, Bob's home would not have been so attractive for him. When he was caught in the blockade referred to, the passengers were not left in a bad plight by any means, for they had a dining car well provisioned and an ample supply of coal, and during the week they were imprisoned, they made merry and took much enjoyment out of the situation. A mail was dispatched daily over the obstructing drifts by a carrier on snow shoes, and so all who wished could communicate with their friends. Bob was first to avail himself of such opportunity and made much ado over writing a letter daily to "his best girl" and as none of the passengers knew that he was married, they concluded he was a most devoted lover. His wife received the letters and was cheered into sweet content by their tone, for in them, Bob bemoaned the fate that kept him from his family, and declared that the only source of content with his surroundings was the companionship of a sweet little girl named May, who of all the passengers on the train reminded him most of his darlings at home. Sweet little May was a perfect treasure. She sat and talked with him by the evening lamps, of his pretty home in California; she ate at the same table with him, played snowball and wooled his ears, and when chance offered a good opportunity, poured a handful of snow down his back. But, Bob added, he couldn't take any offense at anything she did, for she was just too sweet for anything. Daily, the letters reached his wife, and she concluded the little child must be a treasure, and in her amiable way, she felt pleased to know that Bob had the companionship to while the dreary hours away. At last, a telegram to her from Bob announced the blockade raised and that he would arrive on the third day following.

His wife had grown a little anxious, and desiring to meet him as early as possible, went up to Sacramento on the day set, to see how the snow-bound passengers looked after their long detention. She arrived first, and when Bob's train rolled into the depot, white with snow from the Sierras, she was waiting and looking. She saw Bob step off the platform, and with a little exclamation of pleasure, she hastened toward him. He did not see her, as he turned to assist a lady from the train, and was so occupied in his attentions that he did not see his wife until she threw her arms around his neck and with a joyful laugh said: "Bob, don't you know me?" Of course he was surprised but not abashed, but the lady, who was not only young, but also pretty, was looking with some amusement and a look of inquiry at the new comer. Bob faced the music like a man and introduced them thus: "Little May, this is my best girl," and then his wife realized why he had been so contented  while blockaded in the snow. They became the best of friends and his wife often told the story. 

Article in the Reno Evening Gazette, August 15, 1891 .

Compiled and edited by Kathy Weiser/Legends of America, January, 2010.

About the Author: Written by William Daugherty, for the Reno Evening Gazette in 1891. The Reno Evening Gazette was first published on October 12, 1876 and continued for the next 107 years. In 1977, it was merged with the Nevada State Journal, and continues to exist today as the Reno Gazette-Journal.

Note: The article is not verbatim as spelling errors,  minor grammatical changes, and editing have occurred for ease of the modern reader.

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