 Hello there and welcome to the Chambers Street Theatre. We've been running around the studio this morning trying to get everything ready. We've been repairing our cameras and fixing our lights and we're all set to go. I want to thank everyone at DCTV here, Jeff Shaw and Derek Service for all they've done physically to get this studio in shape again. And of course our regular triumph for it of Alex Silva-Satter. Sometimes I get his name backwards. And then of course Bryce Parker and the three of us pretty much turned out this show. But we have to add Jeff today because he did so much getting our lighting set up. I'm going to thank everyone. Well I guess all of our shows are going to be in a much better situation now here at DCTV. And we want to thank everybody. Well today for Chambers Street Theatre we're going to be reading The Stagecoach Ride in the Country. And I'm Ruth Chambers. I'm the one who wrote the story. This is from my second book that's going to be combined with my first book and an expanded second edition. Doesn't that sound good? I know. I think I'm impressed by it. Wasn't my idea. So I guess it's okay to be impressed. Okay let's get started. It was a lovely day. A perfect day for a stagecoach ride. The sun was shining and there had been a light shower overnight to keep the dust down. Yes it's a perfect day for a stagecoach ride. We were going to go from Sacramento City to a place called Hangtown. Later called Placerville. My carpet bag was stashed on the back rack outside the stagecoach. I had a seat facing forward and that was good. I never liked sitting backward as the stage moves. The stagecoach could seat nine people inside but there were only four of us so no one had to sit on the center bench with a leather strap for a back. All four of us had a cushioned seat and a cushioned ride. A cushioned seat back is always welcome. There was a lady going up to her family that came out last year to seek for gold. A husband and two sons. Mrs. Carter came from good Virginia stock and she figured her men were rich by now. She was ready to move into a fine house and be a great lady. I didn't tell her different. Mr. Claybourne was a preacher visiting one of his mining camp congregations. He went from camp to camp with the word. My guess was his word wasn't that wanted. Not that miners didn't enjoy a good rousing sermon. They did but Mr. Claybourne was more sincere than enthusiastic. Something feverish about the eyes said he'd be dead before the end of winter. The fourth rider was a fine looking man with a mustache and silk vest. Don't think he'll play much cards with these stage riders. I bet Mr. Smith goes from camp to camp doing quite well. Better than Mr. Claybourne I'm sure. We were all a little nervous since we heard the Indians were none too happy with the way they'd been treated of late. We were all told to carry a gun and have plenty of powder. That's just an expression now since we all have bullets. I'm already laughing at the thought of reloading in a rolling stagecoach. It would probably be better off with a sack of rocks to throw at the Indians. You can do a lot of damage with a flying rock. Of course you might hit a horse. I guess an Indian's horse knows the dangers when he signed up. Mrs. Carter had a gun but I doubt she knows what to do with it. If things go badly she'll learn quick and be wearing a gun tucked in her belt like all the other fine gold country ladies. That lady's stuff can fall off fast at the side of a not too happy Indian. And I hear there's some gold and coin in the storage box. The Indians might figure to get even for the raid and the fire on their village. Drunk miners can really hoot it up on a Sunday. Of course it could all just be talk about the Indians. I have two guns anyway. A rifle's hard to handle out of a window. I prefer a handgun and hope they ride close together so I'll hit something. I saw a man lose a tooth with a bouncing rifle. I've already lost two teeth all on my own. That's not bad for my age but I don't need to lose any extra ones. I'm going up to Placerville because of the new strike up there. Once men have gold they soon want homemade pies. Been doing good business with wagon deliveries. Even the ones a little bashed in sell well. Indians don't bother the pie wagon because I just give them some pies and we're fine. The problem today is I'm on the stagecoach. I'm counting the Indians know me if they bother at all. It's such a nice day. Hunting or fishing would be better than stage robbing. We've started seeing wire fences around here. There's no cattle or crops and the scenery is the same on both sides of the fence. But there's a fence even I could climb over or under. I guess some people just have to make it clear that this is theirs. There was a gate so I went through and stood on this fenced land just to do it. Then I went out the gate carefully closing it to keep the sameness in. We don't want any sameness wandering about. The stagecoach is a wondrous thing. It's not as rough as a wagon and sort of sways as it rolls. It has leather straps under the coach called braces. That cushions and suspends the coach. That's what causes the swaying. Some people get seasick with no water in sight. Mrs. Carter came by boat from Virginia around the Horn to Sacramento City. She was green as a sour apple all the way. I hear we'll see how she does on the stagecoach. She had a few good days rest at the Union Hotel and a nice breakfast for strength. California has a great huge valley running lengthways down the middle. You could ride for hours and still be nowhere different. Now if you ride east to west or west east you'll soon hit the hills or the ocean. But north to south is flat grassland with some trees near water. So if you're riding in a stagecoach and you see where well you can see where water is a long way off. We'll be going up into the gold hills to the east. Lovely scenery. As the hills get bigger there are more trees even when there isn't water. If someone wanted to hide and wait for a stagecoach it would be easy to do. Mostly the Indians around here don't have horses. The plains Indians had horses but the May do didn't. If Indians were going to catch this stagecoach they'd need horses. Indians are as smart as anyone and have probably figured this out. I'm guessing some of John Sutter's horses were stolen. It serves him right. He had Indians working without pay and feeding them in a horse trough. The Indians would have to bend over and eat inadequate and unattractive food out of a trough at Sutter's fort. I saw it. People don't forget how they've been treated. Sutter being a drinking man probably doesn't even know his horses are missing. It should also be part of his Swiss pride to believe Indians wouldn't be smart enough to steal horses. Granted Indians usually steal chickens but I'm certain they could also steal horses. I'm looking over at Mrs. Carter. I'd better tell her about the guns. Mrs. Carter a lovely day for a ride isn't it? Always good to be prepared for all kinds of weather. Have you loaded your gun yet? Mr. Claybourne spoke up. Do you think we'll need guns? Mr. Smith spoke for the first time. Always good to be ready for whichever way the wind blows. Mrs. Carter reached in her large carpet bag purse and pulled out a revolver and a handful of shells. She showed them to me. Mr. Smith and you know I'll bet gold that isn't his real name in the States. He took the gun and shells and started loading the gun. He did it slowly and clearly so Mrs. Carter could see how it was done. Then he unloaded the gun and gave it to Mrs. Carter. She loaded it right smartly and Mr. Smith said she's already now. And smiled at Mrs. Carter that charming smile a gambler always has ready. Mr. Claybourne reached inside his cardboard box and well it was a carry box tied with twine and pulled out his gun. Shall I have it ready? Mr. Smith said best to put it on the floor between your feet. Don't want it going off in your lap. Good advice. Mr. Claybourne was way too nervous to have his hand on a gun before it's needed. Having been in situations before I've come to notice how social barriers dissolve sudden in times of danger. People who would never talk to each other under everyday terms become open companions. If there's to be shooing everyone's survival depends on each person being the most effective that they can be. Mr. Smith then said if there's trouble we'll each take a window near us and stay at that window. That will be yours to cover. Don't change windows. Do you hear me? Mrs. Carter nodded and so did Mr. Claybourne. Mr. Smith knew what he was talking about and didn't even check for my response. He knew I agreed. The stage was moving along pretty good now and more and more trees could be seen. Mrs. Carter laid her gun in her lap but didn't touch it. She had her gloves on as any respectable proper lady should. Mr. Smith looked at me and said the gloves. The gloves. I looked over to Mrs. Carter and leaned forward. A best to take the gloves off for a better grip if needed. Oh yes you're right I'm sure. Replied Mrs. Carter who was becoming less and less the better than you great lady. She took her gloves off and neatly folded them and then reached to put them in her bag. As she leaned forward to the bag on the floor the gun fell off her lap. It didn't go off it just fell. Mr. Smith said leave it there for now Mrs. Carter answered oh yes yes of course. Mr. Claybourne finally said it didn't go off. Pulling the trigger makes the gun fire said Mr. Smith that and nerves. Keep the guns on the floor. Mr. Smith could have been a good teacher strange how life deals us cards and we make the best of what we've been dealt. Mrs. Carter took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and put it to her mouth. I looked over to her and said are you well? She said it's like being on a boat all this swaying. I'll be fine I hope. She looked paler than lady like pale. It's true the stage does sway in a way that can be like the motion on a ship. The coach is cradled and moves from side to side. It's supposed to make an easier ride than a wagon but many people would disagree and Mrs. Carter would be one of that disagreeing group. Indians on horses came the call from up top the coach. We all started looking out the windows. Yes the Indians were coming down the hill from the stand of trees and were quickly just 10 feet behind us. Don't shoot till I tell you said Mr. Smith. Arrows started to fly. It's amazing how fast an Indian can shoot arrows but we saw some of the Indians had rifles. Make your shoots count said Mr. Smith. They'll get close right up to the windows that's when to shoot right at them near. Being on horses the Indians could ride faster than the coach. Just then the coach hit a rock and bounced up a good two feet. Stan Stanton riding shotgun next to the driver was taken in when the bounce and knocked the rifle out of his hands and made the gun fly through the air in an arch over the stage coach. The Indians who were now close to the stage looked up at the rifle flying in the air towards them. One of the Indians was near Mrs. Carter's window. He was looking up at the flying rifle. Just then Mrs. Carter stuck her head out the window and relieved her stomach of breakfast. The breakfast landed on the face and chest of the Indian who was wearing a settler style muslin shirt. He was so stunned he slowed his horse. The other Indians followed the flight of the rifle until it landed, point down in the dust and slowly fell flat to the ground. Then the Indians saw their companion with Mrs. Carter's breakfast. They didn't understand what happened at first. As the Indians slowed to figure out what was going on with their companion, Mr. Smith tossed a handful of gold coins out the window. That'll keep them busy finding those in the dust, said Mr. Smith. We certainly have the resourceful Mrs. Carter to thank for our lives. We all laughed with relief at Mr. Smith's comment. From on top the coach we heard Mr. Stanton call out, What did you toss out the window? Whatever it was it sure worked. It wasn't known whether Stanton meant the breakfast or the coins. It didn't matter. Laughter was heard from above. Everyone was enjoying their good fortune. Usually an Indian doesn't care for money. A gold coin doesn't mean anything to him. He wants trade goods, but enough time has passed for Indians to have seen settlers put down gold nuggets or a coin and get a wool blanket in return. Not to mention how nice a bag of beans or a side of bacon would be. So the shower of coins was of interest in the confusion of a flying rifle and a woman's breakfast. The Indians stopped and dismounted to get the coins in the road dust. The stage and all on board set up a whoop of relief. Someone could have been killed and now all were well and on the way. The stage didn't even slow down. If someone was hurt inside the coach the driver would check on him in town. This was no time to stop. The Indians were ahead one rifle and 40 some dollars. They had also made their point. Settlers would think twice before shooting up an Indian village again. Indians have horses now and will return any visit. After some months when Mrs. Carter had seen her men folk, seen their hairy faces, seen the wood cabin with air holes between the wallboards, seen the dirt floor and sat in the wobbly chair, she had accepted she would not be the great lady. The ship and stagecoach had opened her eyes too much. That would be California. And now she accepted the challenge of cooking dinner over a fire in a Dutch oven. Not the life she had dreamed of for herself, but the family was together again. And that was something to be grateful for. The men folk made a concession of shaven occasionally. What Mrs. Carter didn't expect was the frequent visitors from stagecoach family members and friends too. First the stage driver's sister came up to the Carter cabin and thanked Mrs. Carter for saving her brother's life. The sister also brought a lace shawl and a large sack of beans as presents. The gratitude went on for a couple of hours much to the embarrassment of Mrs. Carter who wanted nothing more than for no one to know she tossed her breakfast out the stagecoach's window. Mrs. Carter was mortified but said nothing. Weeks passed and the freshness of the Mrs. Carter breakfast story started to fade. When mother of the shotgun, the man carrying a shotgun and sitting next to the stagecoach driver came all the way up to the Carter cabin with a donkey and tears of gratitude. The mother apologized for taking so long to thank Mrs. Carter but the mother wanted to bring this fine donkey as a gift. The donkey was packed with supplies and new shovels and picks. This was a mighty fine gift but along with the gift came the story again of the flying breakfast much to the embarrassment of Mrs. Carter. The Carter men were fallen on the ground laughing. Mrs. Carter said nothing. Well she did say thank you so she did say something. Now here Mrs. Carter sat with a fine shawl and a donkey. The picks and shovels were claimed by the Carter men. The donkey would become very attached to Mrs. Carter and would follow her around all day as she tended her vegetable garden or fetched water. The donkey would even try to get in the cabin with the dirt floor. Mrs. Carter put her foot down and only let the donkey stick its head in the upper half door. The bottom half door was closed. That was made by the Carter men so the donkey could watch Mrs. Carter. Seeing Mrs. Carter was very important to the donkey and stopped his braying. All this was a great source of laughter to the men folk. Often at night when the men and family sat around the campfire the men would burst out laughing. No one even needed to say anything. Before the year changed into the next Mrs. Carter learned to laugh. Well to smile a little. To repay Mr. Smith for his financial loss I made arrangements for his stay at the best of hotels when he returned to Sacramento City and that hotel was the famous Union Hotel on Second Street. He had a fine room and all meals paid for. This was the hotel that had a sitting room for women so they didn't have to stay alone in rented rooms while their husbands went on business. The women could go to the sitting room and do so and or just talk. There were a few widows in the group. Three Indians walked into the Hang Town mercantile store at the far end of town. Mr. Hodges greeted them with a small smile. The Indians looked at Mr. Hodges then looked away as was Indian custom. To look eye to eye for too long was a challenge. One of the Indians walked up to Mr. Hodges and asked if he had cotton cloth. He did. The three Indians then looked at the bolts of yardage making conversation. Mr. Hodges asked what the Indians wanted floured and plaid cotton for. It was explained the women of the tribe wanted dresses like the settler women had. Mr. Hodges shared that each dress would take about eight yards. This surprised the Indians. They talked among themselves and showed a handful of gold coins. Being a careful man Mr. Hodges asked how many females needed a dress. From there Mr. Hodges and the Indians did some figurine. Mr. Hodges being a fair and decent man took only the coins needed to buy the cloth. Not being able to hold back his curiosity any longer Mr. Hodges asked where the Indians got the coins. Traded for them. Mr. Hodges knew Indians didn't usually want money so he continued to wander. By this time everyone had heard the stagecoach story. The Indians paused and seemed to want to say something. Finally after some shifting of feet and one or two looks to Mr. Hodges an Indian asked what did that woman have for breakfast. Mr. Hodges said he didn't know but she had eaten breakfast at the Union Hotel and they had fine French cooking. As well as Mexican style cooking with tomatoes. No it wasn't tomatoes. It was something that never came out of the shirt worn by the Indian. Much of his hair had to be cut too. The smell never went away. The shirt was buried and the cut hair was buried as well. Mr. Hodges asked how the Indians knew about this. They said the story had been told and retold. The Indians would sit around the campfire and laugh without even telling the story. Everyone knew what was funny. Riders have seen Indians stop where the stagecoach attack took place and have seen one Indian with short hair get off his horse and pee in the road where the famous breakfast toss happened. The under Indians still on their horses would laugh. As for Mr. Claybourne the hand of death reached from the other side and helped him over before the spring melt. And that's the stagecoach story. Just a ride in the country and we're of course at the end of our time. Thank you for being with us. Blessings.