Outlaw Tales of the Old West by Erin H. Turner

Author:Erin H. Turner [Turner, Erin H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TwoDot
Published: 2016-03-16T20:52:25+00:00

Nevada Outlaws

Andrew Jackson “Big Jack” Davis

:

Master Stage Robber

Andrew Jackson “Big Jack” Davis started out as an honest miner in the California Sierras. The intelligent, well-educated, fine-looking man, tall and strong, earned an excellent reputation that extended from the Tuolumne diggings as far north as Nevada and Sierra Counties. But he didn’t find much gold, so he came to the Comstock Lode of Nevada Territory in late 1859, shortly after the discovery of silver there.

Perhaps Jack had grown tired of digging ore out of the ground in California. Blister-raising, knuckle-busting toil under the glaring sun of summer, followed by vainly seeking warmth in the thin tents pitched against the freezing winds of winter, made many give up and return to eastern homes. They had seen the elephant and would let others seek riches in a forbidding land. Jack was willing to keep trying, but he had figured out that very few of those who made money in a mining camp were the ones who mined the ore. He wondered if he should try something different. When he reached Nevada, he built the first stable in Gold Hill.

Boarding horses for other people and renting out his own was easier than mining, but Jack soon tired of that, too—he tired of hunting for hay and grain, shoveling manure, repairing damaged buggies and wagons, and worrying about abuse to his own and leased horses. He moved over to Six Mile Canyon, a few miles east of Virginia City, leased a quartz mill, and built a cabin nearby.

Now he would grind the ore that others brought in, mix the pulverized product with mercury to extract the silver, and refine that amalgam into silver bullion. The work was still hard, but most of it could be done with heavy machinery operated by employees.

It appeared to outsiders that Jack prospered. He worked hard in his mill during the day, played poker in the evening, and became noted for his generous nature. Wanderers and wayfarers found his cabin door always open and his larder well stocked. He was even elected recorder of claims for the Flowery Mining District. He might have been mistaken for a scholarly professor or a wealthy merchant. Judges, lawyers, and bankers welcomed him to their high-stakes poker games.

“That big fella sure looks out fer a man down on his luck,” one hard-luck prospector would say.

“And he hobnobs with all them high muck-a-mucks, too. Jist like he was one of ’em.”

But gradually close observers of Davis’s mill began wondering if he was shipping more bullion than could be reasonably extracted from the ore he seemed to be buying. He appeared to be a prosperous mill operator, but no one knew where he got his paying rock. He kept turning out a steady stream of bullion, and rumors even cropped up that the purpose of the mill was re-melting and marketing bullion that had been obtained in robberies.

At that time western mining communities disliked Wells Fargo for fares that seemed extortions to the people.

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