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"He robs the stages of the Wells-Fargo box, but lets the passengers go free, and he has never been known to take anything from a woman. He says that since all the world is against him, his hand is against the world. "His den is now at Folsom, they say, but he ranges far afield. He robs the sluices, and the bullion trains, but he does not take horses or mules except to get away with his booty.
They yanks down the Wells-Fargo chest, pulls off the letter bag, accepts a watch an' a pocket-book from the gent inside, who's scared an' shiverin' an' scroogin' back in the darkest corner, he's that terror-bit, an' then they applies a few epithets to Old Monte an' commands him to pull his freight. An' Old Monte shorely obeys them mandates, an' goes crashin' off up the canyon on the run.
Weather's nothing to him elemental conditions is nothing to him he don't even take notice of them." "Oh, come! Dark? Rain? Snow? Hey?" "It's all the same to him. He don't give a damn." "Oh, say including fog, per'aps?" "Fog! he's got an eye 't can plunk through it like a bullet." "Now, boys, honor bright, what's he giving me?" "It's a fact!" they all shouted. "Go on, Wells-Fargo."
Mostly, it don't cause more'n a passin' irr'tation. Them robberies an' rustlin's don't, speakin' general, mean much to the public at large. The express company may gnash its teeth some, but comin' down to cases, what is a Wells-Fargo grief to us?
There's a rifle barrel from behind that tree trunk." "Halt!" "Halt it is. There's nothing we can do." Was it Jo's presence in the stage below that made him give in without a struggle, or did he know that the Wells-Fargo box had vanished from under the driver's seat? Or was it knowledge of the horde of yelling Indians which rose from the snowy brush, and swooped down upon the shooting robbers?
Once during the month of October in the year of 1864, while en route to Kansas City from the old Mexican capitol, I stopped at Maxwell's ranch for lunch. Mr. Maxwell came out to where I was busy with the coach and told me he wanted me to carry a little package of money to Kansas City for him and deliver it to the Wells-Fargo Express Company to express to St. Louis.
The former was answered quickly, and so pathetically that brother Ben offered to take us to Sonoma for a visit in the early Spring and then to see what could be done for grandma. The letter to grandpa did not reach him until January 27, 1861, but his reply left San Quentin by Wells-Fargo Express on the twenty-eighth of January.
Even Wells-Fargo, pioneer expressmen of the Pacific slope, sent their messengers and agents no further then than the Colorado River, and Uncle Sam's mail stage was robbed so often that a registered package had grown to be considered only an advertisement to the covetous of the fact that its contents might be of value.
He had been a Wells-Fargo messenger, miner, clerk and steam-boat hand, so rumor said, and now he was writing stories of the West. Stanley would have liked to stop and chat ... but Kearney must be found and interviewed before The Chronicle went to press. Presently a loud, insistent voice attracted his attention. It was penetrating, violent, denunciatory. Francisco knew that voice.
I've got money as says the Wells-Fargo bill-paster can't take this old' Cimmaron a little bit. "'Which I trails in, says Boggs, 'with a few chips on the same kyard. "'No, says Enright, 'if this yere party's rustlin' the mails, we- alls can't call his hand too quick. Wolfville's a straight camp an' don't back no crim'nal plays; none whatever.
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