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The year was 1905, the fifteenth year of my life. I had just finished grammar school in Blue Lake, Humboldt County, California, and was looking for work whereby I might earn money to attend Eureka Business College. Tuition in that institution was $120.00 on time, or $85.00 cash, for an eleven months course. Many of you old timers will probably remember C. J. Craddock, Professor Glenn, the mathematics teacher, and Miss Mae Smith, the shorthand and typing instructor.

My uncle, Jack A. MacPherson, owned a livery stable in Blue Lake, with about every conceivable horse-drawn vehicle — surreys-with-the-fringe-on-top, rubber-tired buggies, with and without tops, two to six seated stages, a mail stage, the town hearse, and 27 horses. He employed two men in the stables, one of whom slept in the barn at night to receive any transient business or rigs returning during the night. These men were Danny McCann and Vic Jensen.

There were many traveling men in those days, called “Drummers” who needed rigs to transport them and their sample cases from store to store, and often they would ask for a driver, as they lacked the time to care for the horse. If it were a trip requiring an overnight stay, my uncle would have to find a driver for the occasion, and he’d called upon me several times for this type of work.

Mr. Ike Denney, the mail stage driver, used to leave Blue Lake for the Hoopa Indian Reservation, 50 miles up the mountains, at 6 o’clock Monday mornings, drive half-way, to the mail station, put up for the night, and travel the balance of the distance on Tuesday, remain over Wednesday to make up the freight and mail, rest the animals for his return trip, then leave Hoopa at 6:00 o’clock Thursday morning, back to the mail station, stay over that night and arrive in Blue Lake Friday evening.

Platt Lupton owned a small homestead about 14 miles up this Hoopa road, and 2-3 miles to the left, off the main road. On this particular Friday, Platt walked out to the main road in time to catch the mail stage on its return trip to Blue Lake. When they reached the stable, Platt told my uncle he had come to town to purchase a good, second-hand buckboard for use around his ranch. “Mac” thought he had just the rig, and they agreed to meet early Saturday morning. Platt then left for the Blue Lake Hotel to spend the night.

He was back at the stable early Saturday morning, and the deal was made, with the understanding that a horse and driver would be furnished to transport the buckboard to Platt’s ranch. He wanted to start home by 2 p.m., Saturday, as he had chores awaiting him on Sunday. He then went down to the saloon for a drink or two before leaving town. “Mac” called me at 1:30 p.m. asking if I’d drive for him, and I was at the stable by 1:45 p.m., and we started preparing for the trip.

We harnessed the horse to the rig, put in a saddle, blankets, bridle, a gunny sack and 4 feet of baling rope, with which to tie the sack of harness for the return. By 2 o’clock. Platt hadn’t shown up. The stablemen went down to see what was causing the delay. Platt was quite drunk and didn’t seem to be in any hurry to start home. The men came back, we unharnessed the horse and put him back in the stall. At 3 o’clock the men went down once more. Platt, by then, did not care whether he ever went home.

“Mac” stated we would wait until 4 p.m. and if he hadn’t shown up by then, they would go down and get him even if be had to be carried.

At 4 o’clock we started to get ready again. “Mac” said: “Now that you are getting such a late start, I am going to give you ‘Silver-mane Fanny’ to drive. She is awfully good in the dark and will automatically yield one-half the road if you should meet anyone.” The men headed for the saloon and practically carried Platt back to the stable. He was placed in the buckboard, feet forward, under the seat, with his bead on the seat of the saddle, padded with blankets to make him comfortable as possible.

Now we were off for his ranch. The hour was 4:30 p.m. Some four miles later we passed the John Anderson sheep ranch, just at the base of the mountain. Here they raised hundreds of head of sheep each year. From this point on I was not too familiar with the road. About 3 and a half miles beyond was a stand of timber, which hadn’t been logged yet, and through which we would have to pass.

As it was a bright, moonlit night. I did not think this would pose any problem, but when we entered the forest it was so dark that I could not see my hands before me. I could hear Fanny’s footsteps on the gravel road, and it was getting pretty lonely. I called down to Platt a couple of times, with no response. He was still dead drunk.

Through the quietness of the timber, it seemed I heard a man’s voice, and as we advanced, step by step, the voice became louder. I saw the light of a lantern and a man on horseback. I could see by his light that I was approximately 4 feet from the bank on the right and about 8 feet to the shoulder of the road on my left. I stopped the wagon, and Mr. Swanson, a hog raiser from Hoopa, rode up beside me.

He said that he had 500 head of razorback hogs for the Bull slaughterhouse in Arcata, and that he had come from the mail station that morning, expecting to reach the Anderson ranch before dark, but that it bad been such a hot day and the hogs were tired, so he bad to travel very slowly. He still had about four miles to go before reaching the Anderson ranch.

He started off down the road, calling to the hogs, and for the next 10 or 15 minutes it was perfect bedlam. There were hogs under the buckboard, and on both sides. I could feel the rig sliding back and forth across the road, and was afraid the wheels would cave in and let us down in the path of the animals. I slid off the seat and down onto my knees, astraddle Platt’s legs, to make us less top-heavy.

At the rear of the drove of pigs were two burly young Indians, each with a straight limb, about 4 feet long, which they used as a sort of cane to urge the slower hogs along. I suppose they had noticed that the drove had been delayed somewhat, and it made them angry, for when they reached us, they cursed us and one of them struck Fanny across the nose with his stick, knocking her down onto her stomach. They went on, leaving us helpless there in the road.

I waited for a time in the seat, thinking my horse might get to her feet. I could hear her struggling to rise, but the wagon shaft made it the more difficult for her. Climbing down the left side of the rig, I went to her head and patted her neck and stroked the swollen nose.

We were on a rather steep grade and I didn’t have anything to block the wheels, had I been able to find a rock or limb in the darkness, and I did not dare free Fanny from the shaft. I took hold of the lines at her head and kept talking soothingly, patting and rubbing her sore nose, and on the third attempt, she managed to struggle to her feet.

We waited a while for her to regain strength, then started on. We were two-thirds through the timber by now. “Mac” had told me that when we emerged from the timber stand, in the moonlight I would see a very large rock to the right, silhouetted against the sky, and that I was to go no further than a quarter mile beyond this rock, where I would see Platt’s mailbox and his private road.

We found the landmarks, and still had two miles to go down Platt’s road, which was much overgrown, and two or three times the overhead branches almost raked me off the wagon seat. We reached our destination in about three-quarters of an hour. I approached his cabin and found the door unlocked, went in and lit the lamp, and then had before me the task of getting him out of the rig and on his feet again. Half-dragging him into the cabin, I dumped him upon the bed, clothes, shoes and all, put out the lamp, closed his door and proceeded to ready myself for the return trip.

I unharnessed Fanny, loaded the harness into the gunny sack, tied it with bailing rope and placed it on the seat of the buckboard. Then, blanketed, saddled and bridled Fanny, mounted the saddle and eased her up to the buckboard from which I pulled the sack of harness over in front of me on the horn of my saddle. Feeling much relieved that this task was accomplished, I started homeward.

It was much easier traveling on horseback than with the rig. I had passed through the timber stand and out into the moonlight again, when suddenly, a panther cried within about 12 feet of the road. Fanny almost jumped from under me. In my efforts to hold my position on her back, the sack of harness fell to the ground and Fanny dashed down the road as fast as she could travel.

I allowed her to run for about a quarter of a mile, then reined her in and tried to quiet her as best I could. I hesitated for some time, thinking maybe to leave the sack of harness in the road and return for it in the morning. Then, since it was a brand new harness, costing $25, a lot of money in those days, and just might jeopardize my chances of getting more driving to do should I abandon it, decided to go back for it.

Fanny was not too cooperative. She snorted and pranced about in circles. After considerable coaxing and persuasion, I managed to get her started back up the road. I knew there would be no trouble in finding the big sack, she would let me know when we approached it. Sure enough, she walked within 60 feet of the “bulk” and would go no closer.

By moonlight I could see the object in the middle of the road, but could not distinguish whether it was the sack of harness or the panther crouched there. I watched it for several minutes, while my horse pranced and wheeled around in the road, and, seeing no movement, started my approach.

I dismounted, taking the reins down over Fanny’s head, putting my right arm through them to the elbow, so that if the panther should cry out again, my horse would not get away from me. We started toward the bulky object very slowly. The closer we came, the more convinced I was that it was the sack of harness. I walked up to it and retrieved it with both ends of the baling rope, leaving a loop in the middle, by which to lift it over the saddle horn, remounted, and pulled the sack up before me. Once more we started for home.

As we passed the Anderson ranch I could see the hogs in his corral. From then on I really enjoyed the ride in the moonlight, arriving at the stable approximately 2 a.m. Sunday.

When the night man learned of my trials and saw poor Fanny’s swollen nose, he was pretty much disturbed and said we would demand an apology from the Indians when they came through town; but they did not come. Mr. Swanson took the Scottsville road, skirting the town. I suppose he thought they would have less trouble going that way, as there were no intersections and most of the homes had front-yard fences.

We did not see the Indians on their way to Arcata nor on the return to Hoopa, and we never did get an apology from them.