History of the big bonanza

by Dan De Quille

Besides the settlement at Mormon Station, a settlement, also by Mormons, was commenced in the spring of 1853 at Franktown, Washoe Valley. Quite a little hamlet was formed at Franktown; and others of the colony settled at various points along the west side of the valley at the base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Several Mormon families still reside in this neighborhood and occasionally the voice of the Mormon preacher is yet to be heard.

Orson Hyde, a man of considerable note at Salt Lake, had in charge the spiritual and temporal welfare of the Mormon settlements in the early days, he being both preacher and Justice of the Peace.

At this time in the history of the country there was no town in Eagle Valley, where Carson City now stands. The first building erected in that neighborhood was at Eagle Ranche, from which ranche the valley took its name. This place was afterwards better known as King’s Ranche, a name it still bears. Two or three houses were next built on the present site of Carson City, but the town was not regularly laid out until 1858, when the land was purchased by Major Ormsby, who gave the place the name it now bears.

Although these early settlements were made upon lands belonging to the Washoe Indians, a tribe of considerable strength at the time, yet no very serious battles were ever had with them. The whites, however, who were at first a mere handful, Mormons and “Gentiles,” all told, stood in considerable awe of the redskins. They were obliged to quietly endure not a few insults from some of the bullies of the tribe, who had a fashion of walking into houses and making themselves at home in the cupboards. They were often exceedingly insolent, and when only women and children were found at a house, always managed to frighten them into giving up most of the provisions about the place.

In one instance, however, an Indian who went to the house of a Gentile, when the only occupants were a boy about twelve years of age and his sister still younger, met a fate he little anticipated. The Indian, after regaling himself in the pantry, began threatening the children with a roasting at the stake, for the purpose of enjoying their fright; and, finally, whipping out a big knife, began “making believe” to take the scalp of the little girl. The boy, it would seem, thought they had had about enough of this foolishness, as he went into an adjoining room, took down his father’s rifle and returning to where the brave was flourishing his knife and enjoying himself, shot him dead in his tracks.

The Indian killed was one of the worst in the Washoe tribe, and was greatly dreaded in all the settlements. The father of the boy who rid the country of the much-feared Indian bully, was obliged to “pull up stakes” at once and fly to California for safety.

The Washoes inhabited the eastern slope of the Sierras, and made the stealing of the stock of the settlers both their business and their pleasure. Like crows they sat looking down into the valleys from the tops of the rocky buttresses of the mountains, and when they saw the coast clear, down they came and gathered in as many animals as they were able to drive.

Whenever the whites were so incautious as to collect for the purpose of enjoying a ball or any such social festivity, the Washoes were pretty sure to know of the affair, and seldom neglected to swoop from their mountain fastnesses, gathering up and driving away whatever animals they could find. The trail of the Indian depredators, when followed, was generally found marked with the remains of roasted horses—the Washoes having a great fondness for horse-flesh. On the occasion of a ball in Dayton, as late as 1854, the Washoes came down and “gobbled up” all the horses of the revellers. The Indians appeared to think this cunning and a very good joke.

Although Colonel Reese had about his big log-house at Mormon Station, a strong stockade, that defence was never required as a protection against the Washoe Indians. The tribe has dwindled away until at the present day those remaining are few and miserably poor, ragged, filthy, and spiritless. They now cling to the skirts of the white man and stand in awe of all surrounding tribes of Indians, even in time of peace.

The settlements thus far mentioned were all scattered along the eastern base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, but as early as 1851, there were erected a few temporary structures, principally canvas houses, at various points to the eastward, along the line of the main “Emigrant Road.” This, the then grand highway across the continent, after passing through some of the worst and most dreaded deserts between the Rocky Mountains and the Sierras, led to the well-watered and fertile valley of the Carson, a region that doubtless seemed almost a paradise to the weary emigrant, who for months and months had been toiling over rugged mountains and across sterile plains.