^ Twin Lakes, one of the stops on the stage road from Leadville to Independence. This is probably very much as it looked when Mrs. Hall traveled that road in 1881.
^ Although the road surely wasn’t so wide and smooth at the time, this was what Mrs. Hall and her husband saw as they started down the western side of the pass. The boomtown of Independence can be seen at the curve where the road disappears.
^ The Farwell Stamp Mill, c. 1881. The Farwell Stamp Company acquired most of the leading mines in the area and also operated a large sawmill nearby.
^ Cabins, saloons and boarding houses lined Independence’s main street. This photo was taken c. 1920, long after the boom.
^ A "soiled dove."
^ A typical mining town drinking hole
^ A miner and his jack
^ Stage coaches and wagons lined up on the Independence Toll Road, c. 1882.

After a few days of sightseeing, we went by the D. & R. G. to Leadville. Our train was held up at Salida for several hours, for the tracks to be cleared of the remains of a freight and construction train that had met on the mountainside. As I had always lived in the prairie states of lowa and Kansas, I was frightened and felt sure I would never again ride on a train over mountain roads. However, we reached Leadville safely and put up at the Gregory House on Third Street, not far from Harrison Avenue.

On June 6th, we left Leadville by stage coach for Independence, a mining camp over the Divide. We stopped at Twin Lakes for dinner and left there a six-year-old boy, Jesse Scoggins, with his father, who was there for the summer; and, by the way, he was also father of Charley Scoggins, writer of the song, "Where the Silvery Colorado Wends Its Way." The Scoggins family were neighbors of ours at Abilene, Kansas. Just before sundown we reached a station which, as I remember, was the end of several stage lines and was situated at the foot of Independence Pass. Just as our driver stepped down, the driver of another stage stabbed him. He did not die, but was in a hospital in Leadville for several months. As I remember, the other driver (I do not remember the name of either) had sworn to kill on sight, because of some former trouble. As I had known no life but that of the farm and small town, I was horrified and could see that dread knife all night long.

Well, with my baby in front of me and my husband leading the horse, I did very well until we got to the top. But going down on the other side, the trail was so narrow and steep that I felt sure I would go over the horse’s head. Riding on the train began to look very safe, after my stage experience and this ride. I got to know the owner of the horse real well, but cannot remember his name. We finally reached the camp site.

My husband had work in the office of the stamp mill. As the camp was booming, the only house we could get was one named the "Last Dollar Cabin." There was a mine of the same name. It was said the owners has spent their last dollar on this prospect. I think it was a paying one but am not sure. I was disappointed and afraid and then in thee days’ time my husband was subpoenaed as a witness to the stabbing of our driver, and had to leave for Leadville the next morning. I was afraid to stay alone but could not bear to go over that pass again so soon. Our cabin had no floor and only a fireplace to cook on, although later we had a floor and a stove. That morning I had put on the fire a five-gallon can filled with water. The can was the kind that powder comes in for the mines. Just as the water got hot, the can tumbled over, and just imagine what it did to my perfectly good dirt floor. That was the straw too much, so I used the woman’s prerogative and cried until my baby cried with me. I left the muddy cabin and went outside, where I met a woman with a fifteen-year-old daughter, who was there for her health. I liked them and afterwards went on with me many times. Her parents had a small store, where my little girl liked to stay, so we semi-invalids lived out of doors most of the time. I wish I could remember their names.

Our cabin was made liveable and later I was very glad of the floor. The door had been hewn out of a log, so thick that no bullets could go through it, which I appreciated, as there was much careless shooting going on. There was a half window in front and one on the side. The house was built on the side of a hill. The rear rested on the ground, while the front was several feet above the street. The only hotel in the camp was about six feet from our cabin. At the front, between the buildings, the hotel people had built a storeroom that extended back several feet. I am telling you all this to explain what happened. Several feet above the cabin was a ditch that carried off the waste water from the mines. One day this ditch broke loose and the water rushed down between the buildings. The window gave way and, fortunately, the door was open, so it flowed out of the floor and across the street and into a tent saloon. I had a glimpse of a man on a table, then the tent collapsed, probably diluting the stock in trade with the muddy ditch water.

The hotel people had two little girls who had played with mine. One day they had some kind of a mixup and their mother came to my door with a knife in her hand, to tell me, very emphatically that I had to make my child behave herself. When she left, I saw three men in the street ready to help me if I needed them.

Our little girl had the time of her life, too bad she cannot remember those days. She would watch for the miners coming from their work. They kept her pockets full of silver. A man who had a saloon would call her in to play, when there was no trade. I remonstrated but he said he had two little girls in Leadville and promised to always send her home when anyone came in. I had her hair cut short and someone called her "Little Tommie."’ There was a mine named for her. The "Little Tommie" was a paying one. For a short time she was the only child in the camp. She learned to swear, would repeat the most awful oaths, and I was silly enough to punish her for it.

A man rode through the camp one day and told someone that President Garfield had been shot. Most of the population met the stage a mile away that night. There was great excitement in Leadville, for Guiteau’s former wife lived there. She had married a man by the name of Wilson, who ran an employment office. They were both called east to testify as to Guiteau’s former life.

If I remember, the ore was principally gold, found in pockets that proved to be shallow; so the boom was short lived. There were many things to enjoy. The wonderful scenery, the low drifting clouds that settled on us when we were tramping, the return of health, the new folks and environment, the men with their pockets filled with valuable specimens of ore, the thrill of listening to the story of the "best find yet," the chivalry of the men that I was so much afraid of at first, because they carried guns.

But the reverse side showed, this little town of one street, with the percentage of saloons over- balancing that of the population, the professional gambler, the saloon and the underworld all ready, day or night, to prey on the men who did the hard work of the mines.

In some ways it seemed like a dream and yet, years later, in the boom oil towns of Oklahoma, I found the same element of chance, the gambling spirit and excitement when a new gusher came in, the same situation where the few reaped the benefit of the riches taken from old Mother Earth. In spite of the difference of the setting, there was a real reproduction of the spirit and mind of the mining camp.

During the summer a stage road was built over the pass. It was very rough, not much like the highway that has been built there recently. We met one of the drivers and liked him very much. He was young and pleasant. His name was Bob Carson, said to be a relative of Kit Carson, but I do no know if that was true. I think he owned an interest in one of the stage lines to Leadville. In the fall when we were about ready to go to Leadville for the winter, my husband was called to the murder trial again. I could not go with him without sacrificing more that I cared to and, having perfect confidence in Bob, I waited a few days before starting. I do not remember the exact date, but it was some time in October; anyway the morning I started was quite cool. Several men took the short trail, expecting to meet the stage at the foot of the pass, so it happened that my little girl and I were the only passengers. All went well until we got to the top.

The stage was very heavy, being drawn by six horses. For some reason the brake refused to work and the heavy stage plunged against the horses and frightened them, and the way we sailed around the comers! Talk about the ride of Paul Revere—that was an easy canter compared to our wild ride. At the first plunge we went to the floor, but we did not stay there. I never could understand how Bob stayed on that high seat, but he kept the lines, looking back to say, "I’ll get you there, Mrs. Hall," but did not say where. There were people living on the road who depended on the stage for their mail. I remember glimpses of them staring at us, with letters in their hands for the outgoing mail, but even Uncle Sam’s mail could not stop us. A friend who had gone on horseback started to meet us, knowing we were passengers, but could only give us the road. We finally reached the station, the horses having run every step of the way. We were badly shaken up but we were transferred to another stage, and another driver, and went on our way to Leadville without any more trouble.

My husband met us and took us to the Gregory House, where we spent the winter of ’81 and ’82. He worked in the office of a smelter, the "Harrison," if I remember. In the spring we moved to Stray Horse Gulch.

While living there, the city had a fire that destroyed many buildings. It started in the roof of a hotel. An engineer at one of the smelters saw it and sent out such unearthly whistles that everyone was out of bed to see what was wrong with the smelter. The night clerk ran out and found that the roof was burning, and going in, with a gun in each hand, went from floor to floor, shooting and calling. There were some lives lost. One of the buildings was a hardware store that kept all kinds of explosives used in the mines and that made it very dangerous for the firemen, a volunteer company, as I remember it. A morning paper said that if the Lord’s Prayer had been written of the clouds, it could easily have been read.

When my husband was on the night shift, I liked to go with him and watch those great furnaces melting and separating the ore from the slag. The sight of the silver running into the moulds and the red hot slag dropping were very fascinating. I understand that the slag was worked over, later on, with improved machinery in a way that paid well.

One day a lawyer shot a policeman. The only mob I ever saw was headed by the police, looking for the lawyer, but the sheriff somehow got him out of town, to some place near where the trial was held. If my memory serves me right, he was a relative of General Early, of southern fame. He was defended by Senator Vest of Missouri, who was said to be the best criminal lawyer in the country at the time; anyway, the lawyer was acquitted.

There were at least two legal hangings, Gilbert and Rosecrans, I think. One day my brother, F. Belden, and I were walking down Harrison Avenue. We heard the report of a gun and a man fell dead a few feet in front of me. The shot came from a desperado across the street, and that ended the chapter for both of them. I remember visiting in Tennessee Park, where Charley Scoggins’ sister lived.

In the fall of 1882, we moved back to the Gregory House. Sometime during the winter, an epidemic of smallpox broke out. One evening twenty seven of us stood in line for vaccination. Later I was ill, so we concluded I had better go to a lower altitude for a while. I left, expecting to return, but the smallpox was so general that I never did, and later my husband joined me at our old home in Abilene, Kansas, and so ends the story of my experiences in Leadville and Independence Pass.

^ Harrison Avenue in Leadville, c. 1879. Colorado State Historical Society Photo.

^ A mining town law man.