The Mason County journal. [volume] (Shelton, W.T.) 1886-1927, 1889-10-18
GRUMPY STAGE DRIVERS.
Old Fellows Who Have Fallen From Thei
High Estate In thu pas%

Old Fellows Who Have Fallen From Their
High Estate In tho Past.
You reach Fort Custer by a stage
which runs from Custer Station O the
Northern Pacific to Rock Creek on the
Union Pacific, distance of 43O miles.
This is one of the few important stage
lines that have managed to survive the
locomotives raids. Its rOut takes in
the mountainous districts of Northern
Wyoming, where there are several
large towns to which the railroads have
not yet penetrated. 1t runs through
the Crow country. the richest agricul-
tural region Of all Montana. There are
dozen bottoms along the Big Horp
and the Little Big Horn rivers. of from
sixty thousand to one hundred thousand
acres in extent. rank with prairie vege-
tation, where the grain of a nation
might be grown, now all vacant and
useless Every one of them could be
irrigated at an expense of less than
fifty cents an acre. The stage drivers
say that there are just such fertile bot
toms along the Yellowstone and along
all the mountain streams that course
through the reservation in all d.
rections These drivers are odd
Dicks. They are the old fellows
who used to drive the Dead
wood and overland stages in the early
days, and they keenly feel the humla-
ton of their present position. To be
compelled after such a glorious past.
after having driven six and eight-horse
coaches through land filled with gal
liant road agents. chivalrOus horse
thieves. and valiant Indians, after
having been held up dozen times,
after having been through ''massacres, I"
lynchings. cowboy fights. and all that
now in his old age. to come down to
miserable two-horse route, through a
settled country, is almost more than
they can bear. They sit on their lofty
seats gloomy and taciturn. They rare
ly smile or talk. You must work
hard if you hope to secure their
favor or engage them in a conversa-
ton. The only glimpse of sunlight they
ever catch through the dun clouds that
paper their sky is when a dude, an
Englishman, or a fussy old lady be-
comes their passenger, Then some
thing like a smile touches up their
darkly burned faces, and by the time
such a passenger, or what is left of him,
has reached his destination, they are
are almost cheerful. The stages
have no springs. The cushions are
stuffed with flint. The trail is
stony and crossed continually
with gullies and deep buffalo trails.
To one of these melancholy drivers,
drawing his career to disappointing
close, nothing is so comforting as to
shoot dude ''tenderfOOt' through the
stage window upon jag of rocks be-
low.
Observing that my driver was in a
pensive humor / said nothing more to
him than was necessary to procure per-
mission to sit ''up there" with him.
We rode for twenty miles in dead 81
lence. and at last when we neared the
station at which we were to obtain din
ner and change of horses. he turned
to me and said: "Pardner. like you
When l first see you l thort didn't
But l do. You're the fust man that
ever rid on the top of my coach that
didn't start fer to tell me that gol dern-
ed story about Hank Monk and Horace
Greeley" The ice was broken and we
continued fast friends to the end of the
ride. Cor n. Y. Tribune.