STAGECOACH MUSEUM

Prologue

 

What follows is a fictionalized account of what it was like for a woman to ride the stagecoach from Cheyenne to Deadwood in 1878. The Stagecoach Museum in Lusk, Wyoming, displays the last stagecoach to make this trip in 1886. Museum visitors ask questions such as – How much did it cost? How long did it take? Where did they stop for food and sleep? What dangers were there?

 

This story attempts to answer such questions. It is based on accounts written at the time. Much of the background information is in the files at the Stagecoach Museum. Other resources are listed at the end of the story.  To follow the journey, see the map below.

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September 11, 1878

Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory

Evening

 

I arrived in Cheyenne yesterday after an arduous train trip from my home back east. Tomorrow I plan to ride the stagecoach to the gold mining town of Deadwood, about 250 miles north of Cheyenne. I decided this morning to keep a journal of my stage trip to send to my friends and family back home. For those unfamiliar with my situation, I am including some background about why I am making this journey.

 

I am traveling to Deadwood for two reasons. The first is that I have been offered a paid position. I have a head for numbers and some schooling in bookkeeping. In the East, employers prefer men for those jobs. Apparently, in Deadwood, all the men are making a living mining or gambling. One of the hotels and gambling establishments decided to take a chance on a woman. They offered me a position if I would make my own way to Deadwood.

 

My family was against this move. My father understood; he is an adventurous sort. My mother wanted to keep her only daughter close for my safety and security. To me, that meant a marriage to a man with an impeccable reputation, several children, and a life of social events and charity work. This brings me to the second reason for going to Deadwood – I was suffocating in the strict expectations of home.

 

My four brothers eventually agreed with the move. In fact, I think they are jealous that I am having this adventure instead of them. They offered me plenty of advice about how to recognize danger, how to discourage unwanted advances, and if necessary, how to protect myself. My oldest brother pressed a small pistol into my hand and showed me how to use it. He said to keep it hidden but available and not to use it unless absolutely necessary. It could be easily taken from me and perhaps even used against me. 
 

I was concerned about how much luggage I could carry on the stagecoach. I was advised that most stagecoach companies limit the luggage to 20 to 50 pounds per person. To be on the safe side, I packed only the essentials for my train and stage journeys. Before I left home, I packed several trunks with the possessions I will need in Deadwood. They have gone ahead by express, first by train and then by ox or mule wagon. I wonder if they or I will arrive first in Deadwood. 

 

The train trip was uncomfortable, noisy, and hot. Fortunately, the other passengers were polite and kept to themselves. I saw no Indians, cowboys, or buffalo, but the prairie was beautiful beyond description with its tall waving grasses and blooming wildflowers. The grasses ripple like waves on the ocean. It was mesmerizing, and I found myself frequently dozing off. 

 

Cheyenne is a sprawling town with many hastily built wooden buildings. As we approached the center of town, I saw more-imposing structures. I also saw my first cowboys. They seemed to be loud, dusty, and rough. I hoped to avoid them as much as possible but still examine them from a safe distance. 

 

Yesterday upon arrival, I checked into the Inter-Ocean Hotel. I had been advised that it was the best and safest hotel in Cheyenne. I enjoyed a much-needed and much-anticipated supper last night seated at a table with some local businessmen and their wives. They entertained me with stories about the city, the weather, and what I might expect on the trip to Deadwood. Here is some of what I learned:

 

• Last March, Cheyenne was blanketed by a five-day blizzard. After the blizzard passed, guests at this hotel walked out of the second-story windows on top of the hard-packed snowdrifts.

• Heavy rains this spring destroyed bridges along the stage route. Many are still not repaired, and heavy rains delay the coaches. However, a new, iron bridge now spans the North Platte River at Fort Laramie.

• The stage company began only two years ago. It is a successful and growing operation. 

• The stage goes straight through to Deadwood night and day, stopping only to change horses and to allow passengers to eat quick meals. The trip takes perhaps 55 hours if there are no delays. In the summer, the stage company must deliver mail to Deadwood within 83 hours or face penalties. 

• Deadwood is not in Dakota Territory, as I had supposed. It is just west of Dakota and still in Indian Territory. This information did not comfort me. 

• This summer was somewhat dull in Cheyenne. However, there was excitement along the stage route. Road agents have been busy robbing passengers, and now they are robbing the mail as well. Just this week, two coaches were robbed at the same time. The road agents took all the registered mail and the contents of the treasure box. Some 30 robberies of the stage have occurred so far. Several passengers have been wounded.

• Earlier, I had been advised to keep my valuables hidden in my hair. However, the robbers have become wise to this ruse and now demand women passengers to take down their hair. 

• These road agents hope to obtain the gold coming south from Deadwood. To thwart this, the stage company has built special coaches that are clad in iron and have men riding with rifles to protect the gold.

• I was apprehensive about traveling through wide-open areas that the Indians consider their hunting grounds. My companions assured me that there had been little interaction with the Indians since last summer.

• I had hoped to see the vast herds of buffalo that the newspapers back east had written so much about. I had seen none from the train. My companions regretfully told me that the large herds were mostly gone. However, I still might see some small groups.

 

This morning, after a delightful sleep in a real bed, I bathed and freshened my traveling clothes. This afternoon, I plan to buy my ticket for the stage to Deadwood. As I made my way along 16th street, I saw more cowboys. No one looked at all threatening. Finally, I saw the sign for the Black Hills Stage and Express Line. Outside was a stagecoach that had recently arrived from Deadwood, so I crossed the street to examine my next mode of conveyance. 

 

It is a beautifully painted wagon with a crimson red body and yellow wheels and undercarriage. On the doors are painted landscape scenes. I noticed the leather straps underneath the carriage, which I have been told have the same function as springs but make the ride much more comfortable. The carriage rocks instead of bouncing over the rough terrain. Inside the coach are three benches, one in the front, one in the back and one in the middle that folds down and has no backrest. It looks extremely crowded, and it appears that the passengers in the middle bench must interlock their knees with those facing them. On top, there is a seat behind the driver for a few passengers and another facing backward at the back of the coach. I wonder how many passengers this coach could carry – probably three on each bench inside and at least six more on top. I am beginning to dread the journey.

 

As the driver unhitched the six-horse team, I was impressed by the quality of the horses. They are not rough western mustangs but look like horses that I know from back east. Even though they are tired and wet with perspiration, they obviously are very well cared for, being sleek and filled out. The pairs of horses are even matched in terms of size and color. I hear the driver telling his assistant to make sure the harnesses are cleaned and put in their proper order. Apparently, each horse has its own harness.

 

Inside the stage office, I asked the agent about buying a ticket for tomorrow’s coach. He said the cost was $20 for first class, in which case I could sit inside the coach. Second class cost $15, which required sitting on top facing forward. Third class cost $10, which required sitting on top in the back-facing seat. I very happily paid my $20 for first class. 

 

He told me that so far, only one other passenger has a first-class ticket for tomorrow. If that is still true in the morning, he said the company may decide to use a smaller coach. That coach would have two facing benches inside for six passengers and one on top for three more.  If they used this smaller coach, we would need to share the inside of the coach with mail bags. That sounded just fine with me. 

 

I spent the rest of the day preparing for the trip and resting. Most noteworthy, I bought some apples and biscuits in case the meals along the way did not appeal to me. I also filled my canteen with Cheyenne water, not knowing the quality of the water along the route. 

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September 12, 1878

Pole Creek Ranch

Morning

 

I am taking a few minutes to write the events since I boarded the coach early this morning. We are stopped at Pole Creek Ranch. At this stage stop, there is a 2-story structure that serves meals and offers rooms. I am not hungry yet, so I declined the meal and am eating one of my apples. We have gone about 18 miles since leaving Cheyenne. 

 

I was instructed to be at the stage office at 5 a.m. this morning. The stage might not leave right away, but the agent did not want me to miss it. We left within the hour. Indeed, the agent was correct; we are using the smaller coach. The other first-class passenger is Mr. Goldworthy. He is a polite and humbly dressed gentleman.  He and I are sitting facing forward, and the backward-facing bench is covered with mail bags and express parcels. Two men are riding as passengers on top of the stage seated behind the driver. They are not going the whole distance but only to Fort Laramie. 

 

The ride has been surprisingly smooth with few jolts. The leather thoroughbraces, as I now know they are called, make the ride smoother. However, I can see that passengers with weaker stomachs might now be suffering from something akin to seasickness due to the swaying of the coach. I am grateful for the buffalo robes that the stage company provides, for the morning was chilly. The windows are open. The curtains that are rolled and tied up can be lowered if we wish. But it is not rainy, so I have been watching the countryside go by. We are traveling right along, about as fast as a man can run.

 

At each stop, we will be changing the horses and harnesses, an effort that takes about 20 minutes. We will be taking advantage of the stops to stretch our legs and take care of our hygienic needs. I was instructed to walk away from the coach on the right side, while the men are to use the left side. 

 

Along the route, we passed villages of large rodents that chirped at us while they perched on top of their mounds of dirt. I saw no bison, but we saw deer and fleet-footed deer-like animals that Mr. Goldworthy says are antelope. The road here is very dry, and dust flies from the wheels. It is working its way into all our clothing. 

 

During this segment of the journey, we overtook a wagon loaded with supplies and pulled by mules. Our driver stopped to talk to the other driver. From the conversation, I learned that the wagon also belongs to the stage company and is taking the supplies to stations along the route.

 

In fact, we have been meeting and overtaking wagons ever since leaving Cheyenne. It is becoming apparent that this route is used by many wagons and travelers going both directions between Cheyenne and Deadwood. This is not one “trail” but a route that can be several miles wide as freighters stop to make repairs or look for opportunities for their teams to graze.

 

September 12, 1878

Chugwater Station and Phillips Ranch

Evening

 

It is now evening, and we have stopped at Phillips Ranch. According to the driver, we have gone about 55 miles since we left Cheyenne. This is the third time we have changed horses. The first was at Horse Creek, which offered rooms and meals, neither of which we needed. We drove by a prosperous ranch called Little Bear. Then we changed horses at Bear Springs, which is named after a bubbly spring. I took advantage of the delicious water to fill my canteen. 

 

Phillips Ranch has an imposing brick house in a wooded valley full of birds. It is in a quaintly named but beautiful spot called Chugwater. This time I was really ready for the hearty meal served here. I was looking forward to using an enclosed outhouse but afterwards decided I preferred the freshness of the outdoors. 

 

It appears that we will be changing drivers. Each driver has a section and drives back and forth along that part of the route. At each change of drivers, the coach is looked over carefully in case repairs are needed. 

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September 13, 1878

Fort Laramie

Before dawn

 

Thank goodness we have arrived at Fort Laramie. 

 

By the time we left Chugwater, night had arrived. Both Mr. Goldworthy and and I were hoping for a night’s rest. We devised a scheme in which we would each take one of the bench seats, divide the mail bags between the two seats, and arrange them so that we could somewhat lean against them and rest our heads on the softer of the parcels. A bit of moon had risen, so, when I wasn’t dozing with the rocking of the coach, I could see shadows and shapes in the landscape. 

 

We had three stops to change horses, stretch our legs, and use whatever shelter we could find to take care of our bodily needs. I asked the driver the name of each of the stops so that I could accurately relate the journey. After Phillips Ranch, we stopped at Hunton’s Ranch (also known as Bordeaux), Eagle’s Nest, and 6-Mile Ranch. When we were stopped at Eagle’s Nest, I noticed a high cliff with the names of previous travelers chiseled into the stone and the date of their journey.

 

Now at Fort Laramie, we have traveled about 95 miles from Cheyenne. Fort Laramie is situated in an idyllic spot between two rivers with meadows and woodlands. The tidy buildings are made of stone. We are changing drivers again. I plan to find something for breakfast here after the long and uncomfortable night.  

 

September 13, 1878

Hat Creek Stage Station

Sundown

 

We didn’t stay long enough in Fort Laramie to suit me. I had hoped we would arrive during the daylight so I could visit a store to see what goods are available. The only interesting sight was cavalrymen riding and walking everywhere. It was exciting to cross the North Platte River after leaving Fort Laramie. The iron bridge is new, having been built after the floods last spring. It is hard to imagine this lazy river having enough flow to wipe any structure away.

 

The next section of our route took us along the flank of hills, below cliffs, and through ravines. We again changed horses at a place the driver called Government Farm, which actually used to be a farm where experiments were conducted to raise crops for soldiers.  

 

We stopped next at Rawhide Buttes, which had a good spring to replenish my canteen. Mr. Goldworthy said that this site was used for trading among the Indians, fur traders, and buffalo hunters. I talked briefly to Mr. Henry Chase, who is the station agent. He struck me as remarkably refined and well-educated. Then, we reached a small creek called Running Water, which the Indians call Niobrara. I was impressed by the sturdily built stone building at the station.

 

When we were at Running Water, our driver told us that the next section would be rough because we would be driving through a pine forest and then down a steep hillside to our next stop, which he called Hat Creek Station. The road was indeed rough. We had to wedge ourselves between the mail bags and the wall of the coach. I was glad it was still daylight so that I could see the pine-covered hills and gold-colored rock outcroppings. 

 

Hat Creek Station is a well-developed stage stop with many services such as hotel, telegraph, post office, brewery, bakery, butcher, and blacksmith. Nearby is a cavalry post that has a surgeon and hospital. 

 

I just finished a quick dinner and am ready to settle down for yet another uncomfortable night on the coach. I am apprehensive about this leg of the journey, for we will be crossing the trail that the Indians take to what’s called the Powder River country. We changed drivers again and left soon for stations on our way to the Cheyenne River crossing.

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September 14, 1878

Jenney Stockade, Beaver Creek Station

Dawn

 

I am writing now from the Beaver Creek Station where we are eating a quick breakfast. Much has happened since I last wrote. I am busily jotting my notes while eating. 

 

A few hours after leaving Hat Creek Station, we crossed several creeks and eventually stopped at Old Woman’s Fork to change horses. I was sleepy so I didn’t bother getting out. But very shortly, I was suddenly awakened by a jolting of the coach and loud voices. Some men with their faces covered and holding rifles aimed at the driver had stopped the coach. Mr. Goldworthy took a quick glance at his watch (it was 11 pm) and quickly tucked it between the seat cushion and the wall of the coach. The men demanded that we step out. It appeared that we were to be the victims of road agents. I was defenseless and terrified. The trip thus far had been so peaceful and placid that I had stowed my pistol in my satchel. Everything my brothers had coached me to do completely left my head. 

 

The robbers motioned us to the edge of the road. They demanded all of our valuables. My companion handed over $10. They searched him but found nothing more. After he convinced them that he was just a laborer, they returned his money. They demanded that I take down my hair. But I had been forewarned, and had no valuables hidden there. Indeed, I was dressed very simply and plainly, having sent all my valuables ahead by express. Luckily, they did not search me closely or they would have discovered the cash I had hidden in my underclothes. 

 

The robbers hastily searched the mail, but took none of it. They demanded that the driver give them whatever money and gold the coach was carrying, but he told them this was largely a mail and express stage and was not carrying any money. Finally, with some disgust, the robbers told us to get in and the driver to proceed. 

 

Trembling and with great relief, we did as they ordered. But it was only a few miles later that we met the stage coming south from Deadwood on its way to Cheyenne. Our driver warned the other driver about the road agents lying in wait for them. This coach had two armed men as guards riding alongside. After some discussion, the guards decided to stay well behind the coach to catch the robbers in the act of their thievery. We wished them and the passengers well and they proceeded. I cannot imagine their state of mind, knowing what lay ahead and that they may not be as easily treated by the robbers as we were. 

 

Needless to say, it took a while for me to settle down. I tried to relax through the next stops to change horses, which were May’s Ranch at the Lance Creek Station and Robber’s Roost at the Cheyenne River. The crossing of the Cheyenne River was very steep and wooded on both banks – a perfect spot for another robbery and an aptly named spot. We changed drivers here but luckily had no further encounters with robbers. 

 

September 14, 1878

Late afternoon

Deadwood, Indian Territory

 

This is the last entry in this travel journey, for we have reached Deadwood after changing horses at Beaver Station, Cold or Canyon Springs, and a place called 10-Mile. I have bid farewell to my stalwart traveling companion, Mr. Goldworthy. 

 

I must admit to being very hot, dusty, and fatigued. I am eagerly anticipating a bath and a good sleep in the hotel. I am also interested to find out if the trunks I sent ahead have arrived. I desperately need a change of clothes. Only then will I announce myself to my new employers.

 

I am somewhat shocked at the primitiveness of Deadwood. It consists merely of hastily built wooden buildings bordering a narrow, dusty, rutted street. But it is bustling and seems prosperous enough in its primitive way.

 

I am very pleased to have arrived safely after traveling some 250 miles in 58 hours. I have learned much about the West in this short time, and I am certain that I have much more to learn. On this journey, I admit that I questioned my decision to give up the comforts and security of home, but I am determined to give this adventure its full chance to succeed.

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Epilogue

 

The descriptions and stage stops in this story are all factual. I had hoped to answer other questions that museum visitors ask, such as – How much do the meals cost? What did the meals include? But I had no information available to answer these questions, and I decided against fictionalizing the responses.

 

The Black Hills Stage and Express Line used both the larger and smaller coaches. The coach displayed in the Stagecoach Museum in Lusk is one of the smaller coaches – the same size as the one that took the journey in this story. 

 

The route taken by the stage changed during the years the company was in operation. Thus, the mileage from Cheyenne to Deadwood is approximate and also changed over time. 

 

Where names are used, those people actually existed. Mr. Goldworthy was truly a passenger on the stage when it was robbed on September 13, 1878, and the incident occurred as described. The contemporary accounts of the robbery merely stated that the other passenger, a woman, was “not molested”. I have made that woman the heroine of this story. We can only hope that her trunks arrived safely in Deadwood before she did, that she awed her employers with her business acumen, and that she had a long life full of the adventure she was looking for. 

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Resources

 

Cheyenne to Deadwood Stageline: A Lasting Legacy. The Complete Collection of Edmond Cook’s “Dateline: Hat Creek.” 1990. Reprinted 2019.

 

The Cheyenne and Black Hills Stage and Express Routes. Agnes Wright Spring. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, NE. 1948. 2nd printing by Bison Books. 1967.

 

Roughing It. Mark Twain. Grosset &Dunlap, New York. Copyrights 1871, 1899, 1913. 

 

Visit the Stagecoach Museum in Lusk to further explore the Black Hills Stage and Express Line. See the stagecoach described here, equipment used on the stage, drawings of some of the stage stations, more descriptions of robberies, famous people who rode the stage, and much more.