Distinctly Montana Magazine

W W W. D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA N A . C O M 85 DEPARTMENT HERITAGE HERITAGE HERITAGE e male passengers were ordered down. e ladies were allowed to remain in the coach, though the leader entered it and searched for valuables. As he reached for a handbag, a little girl objected, saying "at's mine!" e robber handed it back, unopened, saying grandly, "All right, little miss; you shall have it, even if there's a thou- sand dollars in it." at would be too corny for today's cynical audiences, but this was no Western movie; it happened on the Helena to Deer Lodge stage on a warm July day in 1883. Stage coaches made tempting targets, particularly in Montana's gold rush days. Holdup men ex- pected a rich haul from passengers heading back to "the States" with their hard-won gold dust, the strong box with its treasure and the mail sack with paper wealth: Cash, deeds, and stock certificates. e robbers were captured a few days later; a disappointing end to a disappointing effort. During the robbery, the leader had mocked the passengers for their poverty, even handing back two pocket watches which weren't worth his trouble to steal. Salty stage drivers and gallant highwaymen are near-mythic figures in the old West, and — surprisingly — they often deserved the fame. A story is told of a driver on the Virginia City to Helena run who swore so much at his unruly team that the "outside passenger" sitting beside him chided, "My friend, don't swear so. Remember Job, he was severely tried, but never lost his patience." "Job? Job?" pondered the irascible driver. "What line did he drive for?" e skill and occasionally salty humor of stage drivers was often the subject of travelers' letters back home. "We had a driver, a jolly little Teuton, who like most of his profes- sion, was an interesting character, entertaining and witty, and took as much pride in displaying his skill and ability in handling the reins of his team as a monarch would in handling the reins of his Govern- ment." e description reads well, but the "jolly little Teuton" would probably have pointed out that a teamster handles lines, not reins. On the other hand, since governments often hand out lines, per- haps the error can be forgiven. As for the "gentlemanly" robber, one tale tells of frightened passengers confronted by a highwayman armed with a shotgun who told them to throw down their money. Rev. Coy handed over $5, remarking: "I am only a poor preacher, and that is all I have." True to the traditions of his profession, the highwayman handed the minister back $1 in change. "All right, pard," he said to the clergyman. "Here's one for luck." Outside passengers paid a lower fare, but price wasn't the only attraction of sitting up on the "box" as the driver's seat was called. Some passengers preferred the excitement and the view from the top of the swaying coach. Surprisingly, a mother and her child were A dozen passengers were aboard Gilmer, Salisbury & Company's stagecoach as the six horses trotted leisurely up a long, wooded hill. Just as the road emerged from the timber a large gentleman with an enormous gun arose from the brush and ordered the driver to "hold up, sir!" Two more men with guns, one holding a double-barreled shotgun stepped out. Illustration from the Anaconda Standard in 1899 By LYNDEL MEIKLE MO NT A NA ' S W ILD A ND WO OLY S TA GEC OAC H DAYS

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