“On thy dial write, ‘Beware of thieves.’”—O. W. Holmes.
Late in the month of October, 1863, the sickness of one of the drivers making it necessary to procure a substitute, William Rumsey was engaged to take the coach to Bannack. In the stage, as passengers, were Messrs. Mattison, Percival and Wilkinson. After crossing the hills in the neighborhood of Virginia City, it began to snow furiously, and the storm continued without abatement, till they arrived within two miles of John Baker’s Ranch, on Stinkingwater, a stream which owes its euphonious appellation to the fact that the mountaineers who named it found on its banks the putrifying corpses of Indians, suspended horizontally according to their usual custom, from a frame work of poles.
The corral at the station was found to be empty, and men were despatched to hunt up the stock. The herdsmen came back at last with only a portion of Peabody & Caldwell’s horses, the remainder belonging to A. J. Oliver & Co. This detained them two hours, and finding that they could do no better, they hitched up the leaders, that had come in with the coach, and putting on two of Oliver’s stock for wheelers, they drove through to Bob Dempsey’s on a run, in order to make up for lost time.
At this place they took on board another passenger, Dan McFadden, more familiarly known as “Bummer Dan.” The speed was maintained all the way to Point of Rocks, then called Copeland’s Ranch. There they again changed horses, and being still behind time, they went at the gallop to Bill Bunton’s Ranch, on Rattlesnake, at which place they arrived about sunset.
Here they discovered that the stock had been turned loose an hour before their arrival, the people stating that they did not expect the coach after its usual time was so long passed. Rumsey ordered them to send a man to gather up the team, which was done, and, at dark, the fellow came back, saying that he could not find them anywhere. The consequence was that they were obliged to lie over for the night. This was no great affliction; so they spent the time drinking whiskey, in mountain style—Bill Bunton doing the honors and sharing the grog. They had sense enough not to get drunk, being impressed with a reasonable conviction of the probability of the violation of the rights of property, if such should be the case. The driver had lost a pair of gauntlet gloves at the same place, before. At daylight, all arose, and two herders went out for the stock. One of them came back about 8 o’clock, and said that the stock was gone. A little before nine o’clock, the other herder came in with the stock that had hauled the coach over the last route.
The only way they could manage was to put on a span of the coach horses, with two old “plugs” for the wheel. The whole affair was a plan to delay the coach, as the horses brought in were worn down stock, turned out to recruit, and not fit to put in harness. During the previous evening, Bob Zachary, who seemed a great friend of Wilkinson’s, told them that he had to go on horseback to Bannack, and to take a spare horse with him, which he wanted him to ride. The offer was not accepted at that time, but in the morning Bob told him that he must go, for he could not bring the horse alone by himself. The miserable team being brought out and harnessed up, Oliver’s regular coach, and an extra one came in sight, just at the creek crossing. Soon Rumsey shouted, “all aboard,” the other stages came up, and all the passengers of the three vehicles turned in, on the mutual consolation principle, for a drink. Rumsey who sat still on the box, called, “All aboard for Bannack,” and all took their seats but Wilkinson, who said he had concluded to go with Bob Zachary. Bill Bunton came out with the bottle and the glass, and gave Rumsey a drink, saying that he had not been in with the rest, telling him at the same time that he was going to Bannack himself, and that he wanted them to wait till he had got through with the rest of the passengers, for that then he would go with them. While Bunton was in the house, Rumsey had been professionally swinging the whip, and found his arm so lame from the exercise of the day before, that he could not use it. He thereupon asked the boys if any of them were good at whipping? but they all said “No.” It was blustering, cold and cloudy—blowing hard; they let down the curtains. Finally, Bunton appeared and Rumsey said, “Billy, are you good at whipping?” To which he answered, “Yes,” and getting up, whipped away, while Rumsey drove. A good deal of this kind of work was to be done, and Bunton said he was “a d——d good whipper.” They crossed the creek and went on the table land at a run. The horses, however, soon began to weaken, Bunton whipping heavily, his object being to tire the stock. Rumsey told him to “ease up on them,” or they would not carry them through. Bunton replied that the wheelers were a pair that had “played out” on the road, and had been turned out to rest. He added that if they were put beyond a walk they would fail. They went on, at a slow trot, to the gulch, and there fell into a walk, when Bunton gave up the whip, saying that Rumsey could do the little whipping, necessary, and got inside. He sat down on a box beside Bummer Dan. Percival and Madison were on the fore seat, with their backs to the driver.
The stage moved on for about four minutes after this, when the coachman saw two men wrapped in blankets, with a hood over their heads, and a shot-gun apiece. The moment he saw them, it flashed through his mind, “like gunpowder,” (as he afterwards said,) that they were Road Agents, and he shouted at the top of his voice, “Look! look! boys! See what’s a coming! Get out your arms!” Each man looked out of the nearest hole, but Matteson, from his position was the only man that had a view of them. They were on full run for the coach, coming out of a dry gulch, ahead, and to the left of the road, which ran into the main canyon. He instantly pulled open his coat, threw off his gloves, and laid his hand on his pistol, just as they came up to the leaders, and sang out, “Up wid your hands,” in a feigned voice and dialect. Rumsey pulled up the horses; and they again shouted, “Up with your hands, you ——” (See formula.) At that, Bill Bunton cried, imploringly, “Oh! for God’s sake, men don’t kill one.” (He was stool-pitching a little, to teach the rest of the passengers what to do.) “For God’s sake don’t kill me. You can have all the money I’ve got.” Matteson was just going for his pistol, when the Road Agents again shouted, “Up wid you’r hands,” etc., “and keep them up.” Bunton went at his prayers again, piteously exclaiming, “Oh! for God’s sake, men, don’t kill me. I’ll come right to you. You can search me; I’ve got no arms.” At the same time he commenced getting out on the same side of the coach as they were.
The Road Agents then roared out, “Get down, every —— of you, and hold up your hands, or we’ll shoot the first of you that puts them down.” The passengers all got down in quick time. The robbers then turned to Rumsey, and said, “Get down, you ——” (as usual) “and take off the passengers’ arms.” This did not suit his fancy, so he replied, “You must be d——d fools to think I’m going to get down and let this team run away. You don’t want the team; it won’t do you any good.” “Get down, you ——,” said the spokesman, angrily. “There’s a man that has shown you he has no arms; let him take them,” suggested Billy. (Bunton had turned up the skirts of his coat to prove that he had no weapons on.) Bunton, who knew his business, called out, “I’ll hold the horses! I’ll hold the horses!” The Road Agent who did the talking, turned to him, saying, “Get up, you long-legged ——, and hold them.” Bunton at once went to the leaders, behind the two Road Agents, and they wheeling round to Billy Rumsey, ordered him down from the box. He tied the lines round the handle of the brake and got down, receiving the following polite reminder of his duty, “Now, you ——, take them arms off.”
“Needs must, when the Devil drives,” says the proverb, so off went Billy to Bummer Dan, who had on two “Navies,” one on each side. Rumsey took them, and walked off diagonally, thinking that he might get a shot at them; but they were too knowing, and at once ordered him to throw them on the ground. He laid them down, and going back to Matteson, took his pistol off, laying it down besides the others, the robbers yelling to him, “Hurry up, you ——.” He then went to Percival, but he had no arms on.
The Road Agents next ordered him to take the passengers’ money, and to throw it on the ground with the pistols. Rumsey walked over to Percival, who taking out his sack, handed it to him. While he was handing over, Bill Bunton took out his own purse, and threw it about half way to Rumsey, saying, “There’s a hundred and twenty dollars for you—all I have in the world; only don’t kill me.”