Los Angeles herald., 1891-10-30
THE ROAD AGENT.

ingup the long grade which corkscrewed
around to the summit of Pilot Knob 1t
was necessary to do this in order that
good preparatory start might be had for
the succeeding TststtlliIisgs plunge down
the other corkscrew road which led to
Logtown.
By the side of Black Pete, the driver,
sat an eastern importation of the genus
drummer Pete rolled his tobacco into
his cheek, snapped fly off the ear of his
leader and said:
'sNo, sir; don't git no pay fer fghtin.
and ] don't do no fightin for ther COM
pany II ary galoot stops this hyer
stage and perlitely like asks for the cash
box, he's gwine ter get it. 'Taint no
use, no ways, to fight them fellers; they
always hev ther drap on ye."
But" said the drummer, "were you
ever robbed on this route?'
"Wal, no, but I've seed fellers loafng
round heer ez I've thought mought do il
some time or other.
And if they did stop you, you would
give them the express box and drive on,
eh?'
.'You betI If ther express company
wants to perfect ther box they must send
a messenger along with it.
The stage crawled slowly up to the
top of the hill, and Black Pete settled his
foot firmly on the brake strap, and with
a "Scat 'em, boys" the sweating horses
started to investigate the mysteries Of
the almost invisible road below them on
a keen gallop
Round and round the rapidly varying
road the stage and passengers whirled,
sometimes losing sight of the horses
around the sharp turns and again slew
ing sharply outward toward the danger
Gus edge of the canyon, which yawned
below them. The sun was down and
the moon was painting weird shadows
on the powdered dust of the grade.
1t was just the time for the imagina-
tion to picture scenes of violence, rob-
berry and blood. Suddenly the chapar-
raj bushes by the roadside slightly part
ed, and long, shining. black object
was waved over them toward the stage.
A shadowy figure rose in the moonlight
among the bushes, and from behind a
black veil, which smothered the voice
somewhat, came the hoarse command:
''Stopl StopT
Black Pete hurriedly pushed his foot
heavily down upon the brake, reached
down into the bottom of the stage,
pulled out the express box and threw it
into the road, muttering:
''Cuss ye, take itP
AL
ed away into the shadows of the forest.
"Wa-was that highwayman?" gasp
ed the drummer.
SIN course it was," answered Pete.
Didn't yer see ther shooting iron? Thar
goes cool thousand dollars, as Z knows
now. You bet ther boys'll be out arter
him tonight. shouldn't wonder if that
war old Bart himself He's a cool one,
he is. He always shoots his mouth off
in some poetry. He leaves it in the box
when he gets through with it. Didn't
yer notice how level he held that thar
shooting iron right toward me?"
The lights of Logtown now glistened
below them, and few turns Of the cork
screw road brought the stage up to the
hotel porch where it stopped with a loud
''WhoaT from Pete.
Not many minutes elapsed before the
prophecy of Pete was realized, for as
soon as the story of the bold robbery of
Wells & Fargo's box was related dozen
or so ready miners volunteered to search
the woods for the road agent. After half
an hours swearing and drinking over
the matter they saddled their horses and
started for the scene of the robbery.
It was little, cramped up, helter
skelter mining town among the Sierras.
One need not rise early in Scars Hole to
see the sun rise, for he will not see it if he
does. Old Sol is never visible there un-
til 10 in the morning. The rough, pic
turesque cabins, looking for all the world
like dilapidated dice thrown at random
from the box, were built deep down in 6
hole between the surrounding peaks
And yet they actually had telephone
connecting them with the outside world
The denizens of Scars Hole were mo-
given to an indulgence in business com
munications with the great commercial
centers, but their telephone was the
means of preventing many of the in
habitants from spending the remainder
of their early days at the insane asylum
Such was their inborn detestation o.
any man who followed any pursuits
which did not require active labor witt
his hands, and such was their chivalriC
devotion to the fair sex that the man
agement of their part of the telephone
was given to young lady of the name
of Frances Goldsmith.
On the afternoon of June 80, 1880
Miss Frank, as she was usually called
sat in the little telephone office waiting
for the nightly crowd of manly gossip
ers to come to it. The little rocking
chair in which she sat went humping to
and fro noisily and nervously upon the
pine floor, and the tiny shppered foot
beat a nervous tattoo in unison with it..
''Its too bad" she cried, impetuously,
'for Charlie to work down in that old
hole in the ground all the winter, and
then sell out for a paltry thousand. And
he's doing it just so he can be married
this summers" and a pretty little wave
of blood swept over the sweet neck and
face. He shan't do it, Charlie don't
know anything about mine, and he
might have little bonanza and not
know it. just hear the dear simpletonl'