By William Daugherty in 1891.

 

Sometime in the early 1860s, Zinc Barnes was engaged in the livery business in Gold Hill, Nevada, and employed Dick Dey as a bookkeeper. After an unsuccessful season, during which the business went from bad to worse, Zinc failed and petitioned the court for insolvency. In due time, the case came on for a hearing, and that morning Zinc met Dick and said that he desired him to go into court and attend to the matter. Dick replied, much to his surprise, that there wasn’t anything to be done that he knew of, and asked, “What do you want me to do?”  Zinc’s knowledge of books and accounts was very limited, but in a general way, he thought the bookkeeper would be wanted, so he said, “Well, go up to court and make a showing of some kind for me.” “A showing,” said Dick, “why, there is no showing that can be made. It is a clear case of insolvency, and the books and accounts are all on file in the court.”

“Well,” said Zinc, “Go up anyhow, and if you can’t do nothin’ else, charge somethin’ up to sundries.”

Dick picked his teeth and went on his way, and the case came to a conclusion without any “showin’.” Some years afterward, Zinc made a rise in the sale of water rights at Pioche and again engaged in the livery business. At this time, he called in and engaged J.F. Hallock as his bookkeeper.

Zinc was liberal, and the salary was agreed on easily. Then Hallock asked how he wanted the books kept, in double or single entry.

“Oh,” said Zinc, “single entry will do for me. I don’t want to charge a man but once. It makes a better showin’ in the assets if a man fails.”

“Very well,” said Hallock. I merely wanted to know if you should be guided in closing up the books when you may wish to do so.”

“Oh, never mind about closing them,” said Zinc, “the sheriff will attend to that.”

The Sheriff did so in due time, for Zinc was too liberal and reckless and failed. Then, he fitted out a prospecting party from the remnant that was exempt from execution and, as liberal as ever, took a couple of broken-down companions — “old stiffs,” he called them — and started off for Arizona. They spent the winter prospecting, and when all their supplies were gone, they started across the deserts for Los Angeles and, ultimately, San Francisco or any other seaport without any definite object in view. It was before the Southern Pacific Railroad was built, and the trip to Los Angeles was fatiguing and fraught with danger. One by one, their animals gave out and died, and then they were all on foot and dead broke. Zinc had left, as a relic of better days, a pair of sleeve buttons made from $10 gold pieces, which, as soon as they arrived, he took to a jeweler, sold, and divided the proceeds with his two comrades. He then sent a dispatch to a friend in San Francisco, saying, “Just arrived from Arizona. Took breakfast on a sleeve button. Send me some money for steamer fare. Answer.” His comrades had left him to “see the town,” and Zinc heard nothing of them until noon, when he learned they were in jail for being drunk and disorderly.

Without delay, he hurried around, put up all the money he had left, and bailed them out. Getting no reply to his telegram, he concluded that his friend was out of San Francisco and that something must be done. As he expressed it, “p.d.q.,” and at once, he drew on his fund of ingenuity.

He had already discovered that the people there were very boastful of their climate and sensitive about any adverse opinions. He was begrimed with dust, tanned like a tramp, and as fully ragged. His boots were run over at the heels and out at the toes, and his general appearance was such that, at present, they would arrest anyone in such a condition for a vagrant, but then it was different. Los Angeles was an advertising climate and offering bonds for railroads; anything to get emigration headed that way. Zinc took in the situation and, lounging up to the crowd of dons and land-owners in front of the bar at the Pico House, began an energetic soliloquy in tones loud enough to be heard by all, which is reported as follows. Said he: “It’s a fine climate here in Southern California. A man can live in the climate. I haven’t had anything else for three weeks, and I’m getting fat. I went out to Santa Monica today, and there, I found a lot of big, lusty Irishmen surfing and bathing, but they were shivering and blue with the cold. A one-lunged tourist on the wharf asked one of them how long he had lived there, and he answered: ‘Sure, sir, I was born here.’ And when nobody was watching, they all came out of the surf and stood on the sunny side of the bathhouse to get warm. Senator John P. Jones of Nevada hires ’em at $4 a day to bathe there and advertise the climate. Oh, he’ll get up a boom, and don’t you forget it. He knows all the tricks on the stock market; he does. All you want is water down here, and that’s all they need in hell.”

By this time, all the tourists in the hotel were out listening to Zinc. To choke him off and stop the disastrous effect of his rant on the climate, several leading citizens, among them Temple, Hellman, Mesmer, and Downey, made up a purse and hustled Zinc off on the afternoon train to San Pedro to catch the steamer for San Francisco. They always considered it a good investment to get rid of Zinc Barnes at any price.

 

By William Daugherty, for the Reno Evening Gazette, July 14, 1891. Compiled and edited by Kathy Alexander/Legends of America, updated April 2026.

About the Author: William Daugherty, who wrote for the Reno Evening Gazette in 1891. The 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 been made for the modern reader’s convenience.

Also See:

Pioneers on the Nevada Frontier (Reno Evening Gazette)

Tales of the Overland Stage (Reno Evening Gazette)

Nevada Mining Tales (Reno Evening Gazette)

Nevada – The Silver State