Among the miners earliest to arrive and stake a claim in Alder Gulch, was an Irishman by the name of Daniel McFadden, who soon became familiarized to the sobriquet of “Bummer Dan.” Why he was thus designated was never known, but it may be presumed that he early developed some peculiarities, which, in the opinion of the people, justified it. He was fortunate in securing one of the richest claims in the gulch, and, making good use of his time, had saved two thousand dollars or more in dust by the middle of October. Having sold his claim, with this gold in his possession, he made preparations for a journey to Bannack. Securing it in buckskin purses, he put them in a larger bag, and by means of a strap across the shoulder, and a belt, contrived to conceal the treasure under his clothing, and carry it very conveniently. One raw, gusty day, toward the close of the month, he left Virginia City on foot, and walked down the valley to Dempsey’s ranche, on the Stinking Water, where he waited the arrival of Peabody & Caldwell’s coach on its way to Bannack.
Owing to the sickness of the driver, William Rumsey was pressed into service for the trip, and the coach left Virginia City at the usual hour in the morning, with Messrs. Madison, Percy, and Wilkinson, as passengers. One of the heavy snowstorms peculiar to this season and latitude set in soon after the coach was under way, and continued during the drive of the first ten miles, rendering their progress slow and cumbersome. At Baker’s ranche the passengers were obliged to wait until the herder, who had been housed during the storm, could drive up the horses. He returned after an hour’s search with an indifferent team, which was driven on a run to Dempsey’s ranche, to recover the time lost by the delay. Here “Bummer Dan” took passage, and the same speed was maintained to “Point of Rocks,” the locality known in Lewis and Clark’s travels as Beaver Head Rock. The wearied horses gave place here to a fresher team, which continued on a keen run to Bunton’s ranche on the Rattlesnake. It was now sunset, and yet twelve miles to Bannack. The herder who had brought up the horses for the change at the usual hour, finding that the coach did not arrive on time, had, under Bunton’s orders, turned them out again, an hour before. Bunton pretended that he did not expect the coach. The herder was sent out immediately after the horses, and returned at dark with the report that he could not find them. Rumsey then requested “Little Frank,” a Mexican boy in whom he had confidence, to go in search of the horses. He, too, soon returned with the report that they could not be found. This “Little Frank,” a few weeks afterwards, told Rumsey that the horses were near at the time, but that before he started to look for them, Bunton told him that if he did not report them to be missing he would kill him.
A night with Bill Bunton was unavoidable, and the passengers at once determined to “make a night of it.” Bunton entered into the spirit of the occasion with them. Whiskey was provided. They drank themselves hilarious, sang, related adventures, and caroused until daylight; but, to Bunton’s disappointment, without becoming intoxicated, and never forgetting, meantime, their exposure to robbery, or the convenience of a revolver in the belt.
At daylight two herders were sent for the horses. One returned at eight o’clock, with the report that they could not be found. An hour afterwards the other brought in the same horses that came with the coach the previous evening. “Necessity knows no law,” and so with a pair of these for leaders, and two worn-out wheelers, the coach was soon declared ready for a start. Just at this time, Oliver’s coach from Bannack drove up, en route for Virginia City, and fresh drinks were called for. In the meantime a rough by the name of Bob Zachary, who was going to Bannack with a couple of horses, insisted that Wilkinson should bear him company and ride one of them. They departed on a canter in advance of the coach, and were soon out of sight. Bunton, who had been distributing liquor among the passengers of the coaches, and trying to make himself generally agreeable, came out with the bottle and a tumbler to give Rumsey a drink.
“Wait a few minutes, Billy,” said he, “and I will ride to Bannack with you. These passengers will be gone in a moment.”
“Get up on the box with me,” replied Rumsey. “These old ‘plugs’ at the wheel will need pretty constant whipping, and my exercise in that line yesterday has lamed my arm.”
“I’m a good whipper,” Bunton responded, laughing, “and if there’s any ‘go’ in them, I can bring it out. They’re a pair of ‘played out’ wheelers that had been turned out to rest, and I think we’ll fail to get them beyond a walk,—but we’ll give them a try.”
The weather was cold and blustering. The curtains of, the coach were fastened down. Percy, Madison, and “Bummer Dan” got in, and Bunton mounted the box beside Rumsey. The horses began to weaken before they reached the crossing of the creek, less than a mile away. There the road entered the gulch. Bunton, who had succeeded, as he intended, in tiring the horses, surrendered the whip to Rumsey and got inside the coach. He knew what was coming. Rumsey whipped up the wheelers, but could not urge them into any faster gait. Cursing his “slow poke of a team,” his eye caught the figures of two horsemen entering the gulch from a dry ravine a few rods in front of the coach. They were wrapped in blankets, with hoods over their heads, and armed with shotguns. It flashed upon him that they were robbers.
“Look! boys, look!” he shouted. “See what’s coming. Get out your arms. The road agents are upon us.”
The eyes of every man in the coach were peering through the loopholes at the approaching bandits. Madison, the first to discover them, was searching for his pistol, when the robbers rode up, and in broken Irish, and assumed tones, with their guns aimed at the coach, yelled,