Ripping his good shirt apart was out of the question. His mother would certainly have a fit if he used it to clean himself. Then he considered the shirt he was wearing. Might a replacement cost less than a good pair of knit stockings?
In the end, he donated the two socks to the darkened pit below and exited the shanty in search of a mercantile store. The thought of eating anything else that morning was shelved.
At the entrance to the railroad offices, Gopher slicked back his hair as best he could with spit. He noticed no one inside was wearing a hat and he thought he should comply with the dress code. After all, this was the very first big company he had ever done business with and he wanted to look his best.
The main lobby was lined with doorways. Each had a pebbled glass insert with lettering indicating the importance of the person inside. None of the titles made any sense to him.
Fortunately, there was a reception desk off to his right. No one was seated there at the moment, so he took a chair and waited for someone to arrive.
When the clerk came on duty, Gopher approached and asked what he thought was a legitimate question: “How do I get a job on the railroad?”
The bespectacled man looked him over from top to bottom. “Don’t much look like a railroad man to me, sonny. You sure you aren’t better suited for diggin’ dirt or pickin’ rocks outta the hillsides?”
“Actually, I’m interested in one particular locomotive; the Fairlie engine, to be specific.”
“Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no Fairlie. Best you talk with Gomer Lintz. His office is at the end of that hallway over yonder.”
Gopher thanked the man and walked to the hallway indicated. There were rows of smaller doors on each side but none of them had titles; only names. When he found the one printed with G. Lintz, he grasped the brass knob and entered.
“Don’tcha know how to knock?”
“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t know.”
“What’cha want? I gotta lot to do this morning.”
“I’m trying to locate the whereabouts of a particular locomotive. . .”
The surly man cut him off. “Why?”
“Well, sir, mostly because it fascinates me, that’s why?”
“Where you from, boy?”
“I came all the way from Santa Fe just to see the Fairlie engine.”
“This ain’t no circus. This here’s the headquarters of the Denver & Rio Grande railway.
“But Mister Lintz, I’ve come some distance and would like to know where that locomotive is operating so I could go see it.”
“Oh Hell, give me a few minutes and I’ll see if it’s on the active roster. What’s its specialty? Do you even know that?”
“Why, I don’t rightly know. Is it important?”
“Hell yes it’s important. These records are organized by the kind of job each piece of equipment specializes in. We’ve got hundreds of cars, flatbeds and engines all over the place. Do you expect me to look them all up? I ain’t got time for that.”
“Well sir, I recall reading something about the Fairlie being good on tight turns and steep grades, but that’s about all I could find out.”
“That may be enough. Give me a minute.”
The man turned a few pages in a big leather bound book and soon put his finger on a single passage. “If tight turns and steep grades is all you’ve got to go on, you’re in for a long hunt. These mountains are filled with narrow gauge rails—your engine could be anywhere. Best bet is in the Leadville area, where silver is being mined.”
“Oh, thank you sir. Now how do I get to Leadville?”
“That area ain’t for tourists. It’s hard rock mining country and ain’t suitable for pups like you. Now get outta my office. I got work to do.”
Gopher sheepishly returned to the desk clerk and inquired as to how one got hired to work in the Leadville mining region.
“You still here? Didn’t Lintz set you straight? Since the gold panned out there ain’t been much action in that region, unless you’re a certified silver expert.
“So forget it. You’re too wet behind the ears anyway. My advice is to go in with somebody with an established mining operation and work for them. The railroad can’t use you.”
So far, Gopher had to admit; his trip to Denver yielded little more than a sour stomach and a lost pair of good stockings. The long walk from the Union Station to downtown had led him nowhere.
RESOLUTIONS
The unexpected news that the Leadville mining region may not be fully operational when it came to locomotive usage did not deter Gopher Piddington from his chosen quest. He resolved somehow, to see a working Fairlie in action, no matter what he had to do to make it happen. He wasn’t ready to quit—not just yet.
If he had to become a hard rock miner to make his dream come true, then so be it.
The question now facing Gopher was where active mining was occurring and how would he get there? He had no idea whom he could ask about what mines and what rail lines might be using his elusive locomotive.
A final quick question to the clerk at the railway office sent him in the right direction. He was told to inquire about which silver mines might be hiring and where they were located by visiting the local mining registration and assayer’s office. The man kindly wrote down the cross-town address on a piece of paper and suggested hiring a buggy. “It’s a bit of hike from here, but you be the judge of how far too far might be.”
Gopher tried to count how many blocks the building might be but got caught up in numbers too high for his eighth grade education. He hailed a passing buggy and asked how much it would cost to deliver him to the address on the paper. The fee was nearly twice what old man Olson paid him for a half-day’s work.
On the way, Gopher took note of the many shops and other businesses lining the streets of Denver. This was a big city, compared to most New Mexico towns including Santa Fe. Here, anyone could obtain just about anything one could want. And, one could just as easily become swallowed up and forgotten in a city this spread out.
When Gopher asked the driver about all the businesses, he was told it wasn’t always like that. “Once the gold and silver started comin’ out of them mountains, why, this place really took off. Lots of places closed down. It ain’t been the same like when I was a boy.
“You goin’ to visit kin in them mountains?”
“No sir, I hope to become a railroad man but if that isn’t up for grabs then I’ll do some digging, I guess.”
“Either way, you watch that there satchel of your’n. There be lots of desperados out there just itchin’ to relieve you of it.”
“But if miners are rich, why steal?”
“Damn, if you ain’t still wet behind the ears. Most miners spend mor’n they make. If’n you want to get rich, go buy some good layin’ hens and sell eggs to them hungry sluice box jockeys; that’s where the real money is. Them boys can’t eat dirt or rocks.”
The driver pointed out the registry and assay office. “If anybody knows what’s goin’ on in them mountains, they will. Good luck, young feller. You’re gonna need it.”
Unlike the surly attitudes at the railway office, the gentleman in the assay office was polite and helpful. He wasn’t a bit surprised to see a young man come asking for information on how to go about filing a claim or finding work on someone else’s claim.
“If you don’t already have a claim staked out, you’re pretty much out of luck, as there aren’t many virgin plots left these days. And those that do remain are pretty hard to get at, much less mine.
“So, now that you know what mining is really like, what brings you to Colorado?”
“How did you know I’m not from here?”
“Just the way you’re dressed. Ain’t seen trousers decorated like that since I was in New Mexico.”
“That’s where I’m from; Santa Fe, to be exact.”
“Well, sonny, welcome to Colorado. Now what can I do for you this fine day?”
For a brief moment, Gopher pondered
the hand-hammered silver discs that festooned his pants. It had never occurred to him there might be different designs in different parts of the country.
“What I came all this way for was to see a particular steam locomotive up close—maybe even get to ride on it.”
“Must be one Jim-dandy of a train engine to bring you all the way up here.”
“It’s called a Fairlie and it’s about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, except for one Miss Grenda Friedman back in Santa Fe.
“Must be special, indeed, more special than an attractive female. Say, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you give me a day or two to ask around and see what I can find out? Maybe someone knows where this train of yours is working.”
“I would like that very much but I’m running low on funds and need to find an affordable place to bunk.”
“How about food? Are you getting hungry? I know of a couple of nice places near here.”
Gopher gulped. “Thanks, maybe later.”
“Suit yourself. There’s a house just around the corner that sometimes takes in boarders. Not many visitors these days, so maybe the widow Nielsen will let you stay there while I see what I can find out.”
Gopher thanked the kind man and said he would be checking back with him in the morning.
The widow Nielsen didn’t look anywhere old enough to have lost a husband. Gopher was no expert on guessing a woman’s age but he knew she couldn’t be much older than his own mother. Judging by her taught, smooth skin, he estimated her to be in her mid to late thirties—much too young to be widowed.
And, yes, she would be honored to board such a well-bred and polite young man.
Gopher Piddington now had a warm, dry place to sleep. The rest of his stay would be in comfort, without the threat of brigands or hooligans. As for meals, the widow Nielsen insisted he dine with her and her other two temporary guests. When he asked how much all this finery was going to cost, she quoted a price he could easily afford.
Things were beginning to look up. Gopher thought the entire trip just might be worthwhile after all. For a while there, he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of leaving Santa Fe, especially after the problems he had suffered after eating the street vendor’s offerings. Now, his future looked a bit brighter, and after a good night’s rest he would hopefully be finding out some new information the next day.
When it came time for the evening meal to be served, Gopher was instructed to wear something clean and nice. “We must keep up appearances, after all, this is a metropolitan city now.” There wasn’t much choice, so he wore the ruffle-front shirt along with his only trousers and his only socks. As for his boots, that didn’t seem to matter to her.
The other two boarders came downstairs looking for all the world like prosperous bankers. Both had bowler hats and neatly tied string ties. Gopher wondered if the two had tied each other’s ties, as he always had to ask his mother for help with that chore.
Compared to the other two boarders, Gopher felt much like the proverbial backwoods hick. To spruce up his image, he resolved to purchase another pair of stockings and maybe a nice jacket. The heavy greatcoat was fine for the outdoors but smacked of bear hunting and such. It was certainly not suited for the dining table.
That night, the widow Nielsen showed Gopher to his upstairs room at the end of the long hallway. It was small and dark, even though there was one tiny window on the outside wall. The small bed was situated under the window. It suited Gopher, as he would be sleeping facing the door, a good thing if someone came in to relieve him of his goods.
To his utter amazement, the widow Nielsen knocked lightly, then came in and asked if he was comfortable. Once he closed the door and began getting ready for bed he assumed he would be left alone, just like back home. But the woman made sure he was tucked in tightly. “Just in case the chills descend upon this room.”
Gopher was very uncomfortable with her hands pushing and patting the down cover onto and around his body. Not even his mother had bothered to do that—not lately anyway. He assumed she had tucked him in when he was little, but that was years ago.
After a quick breakfast of fried eggs and potatoes, Gopher excused himself with the claim that he had important business at the assayer’s office. The other two boarders looked at him as if he were telling a tall tale. He donned his hat, grabbed his satchel and headed out into the cold morning.
There was no news yet regarding the whereabouts of the Fairlie engine, so Gopher decided to stroll about in search of a bathhouse and a mercantile.
While walking around the business district of Denver, he noticed very few men displayed pistols. He wondered if maybe they were hidden beneath their outer garments. It was different in Santa Fe. Back home, everyone either wore a side arm or carried a long gun or both, but apparently not in Denver. So, Gopher decided to follow suit and keep his Colt .44 and his gun belt in the satchel.
As the day wore on and he ventured farther from the Nielsen place he did notice a few armed men, not as many as back home but enough of them were armed that he considered strapping the heavy weapon on. “After all,” he told himself, “This bag isn’t getting any lighter and if I wore the gun I wouldn’t have to lug the thing everywhere I went.”
When he came to a dry goods store that carried clothing, he resolved to strap on his pistol once his purchases had been made.
Selecting a new pair of socks was easy. There weren’t but two styles to choose from. One was clearly designed for bankers and businessmen, as they were thin and nearly useless inside heavy boots. The other option suited his needs and he selected a pair in his size.
As for buying a jacket that suited the dinner requirements, that process became a bit more difficult. He was tall and thin and the merchant simply didn’t have anything ready made that fit properly. Every coat in the inventory was either too large or too small. Both made him look the part of a dirt-poor sodbuster.
The merchant offered to have one of the larger jackets altered to fit, for a nominal fee, of course.
Gopher asked if there might be another mercantile in town with the right size. He was told he would be better off to shop locally and pay the alteration fee than to go off to a neighboring town. Gopher decided on a dark brown jacket with a cream colored silken lining. It made him feel good when he slipped his bare arms inside the slippery sleeves.
The fee for altering the jacket seemed a bit high, but the clerk said the fee was pretty much standard, no matter where one shopped. Gopher doubted the claim but decided to trust the man and pay the price.
The jacket was measured and marked. It was promised before the end of the workday. That schedule suited Gopher and he paid the bill in full.
“May I inquire as to a nearby bath house?”
The clerk said there was one in the back behind the mercantile. “You can’t miss it. There’s a large chimney coming out of the roof—bigger than most. That’s because they keep water hot all day long—laundry, you know—and for the miners coming back for a night on the town.”
Gopher didn’t want to seem stupid, but he really didn’t know what day it was. So he asked how many days the miners had off before heading back into the mountains.
“Most only get Sundays off, so the town will be bustling tonight.”
Judging by what the man said, it must be a Saturday. Why, he wondered, did he not know what day of the week it was, and more importantly, how could that vital information elude him?
Now he knew what the friendly assayer meant by needing a couple of days before finding out anything regarding the whereabouts of the Fairlie engine. Heck, for all Gopher knew, that engine might have been sent back to the factory to be melted down or lying at the bottom of a deep ravine. Only time and a little luck would tell.
The noon hour was evidenced by the chiming of a clock on a tower above the city hall. The building was closed for the weekend, which was fine, as Gopher had no business there anyway.
But his stomach was telling him he needed to find something to put in
it. Now the search for a good to eat became a toss-up. Either he took a chance of finding something in the city that might agree with him or wait until dinner was served back at the widow Nielsen’s place.
He decided to wait until dinner. In the meantime he found an unoccupied bench in the little park across the street from the empty city buildings and allowed the time to pass by watching the various citizens as they went about their business.
Several couples were out strolling leisurely, apparently in no particular hurry, as they stopped to inspect every flower and bush they encountered.
An attractive young mother came by pushing a beautiful wicker perambulator. Gopher could not see the child inside, as the sunshade was pulled down over the infant’s face. Then the thought came to him that he had never seen a baby buggy in Santa Fe, even though there were plenty of babies. The reason eluded him until he thought to compare the facilities both cities offered their strolling populations.
In Denver, there were extensive ribbons of smooth, stone or brick-paved walkways. Santa Fe had only rough, uneven boardwalks or dirt—neither much good for pushing small-wheeled carts or buggies.
There were other major differences between his hometown and the city of Denver. Santa Fe had no city parks set aside. There were grassy meadows in the hills and alongside the river but only red sand and dirt everywhere else. Gopher mused, “Maybe some day I will change that and put a city park right across the street from the Mayor’s office.”
He thought “Piddington Park” had a nice ring to it. It sounded much better than Gopher Park or Gilbert Park. He silently resolved to make that happen—some day.
After a while, his thoughts returned to the tailoring job at the mercantile. It was time to retrace his route back to the business district.
To his surprise, the jacket was not only ready; it fit perfectly. The man was as good as his word. Gopher considered offering a small tip as gratitude, but his meager resources influenced his decision and he left with a sincere thank you but no gratuity.
The Adventures of Gopher Piddington Page 11