1891 — Cut Loose and Bound Again

It was a dry and bitter winter in 1891—the kind that sets your teeth on edge and keeps your dreams the size of a thimble. Not a whisper of snow to speak of, save for one grudging foot that dropped on Horse Prairie and promptly crusted over like stale bread. The nights sank to ten, sometimes sixteen below, and frost clung to the windows like a creditor at your door—cold, insistent, and without pity. People talked about the weather like it was a houseguest who’d overstayed its welcome but I figured better the cold than the company I was keeping—meaning none at all. At least the frost didn’t forget to say good morning.

I kept my hands busy with paper and purpose, writing letters and questions to anyone who might know the whereabouts of a man who’d made himself scarce. It had been a year and a half since James left—no note, no word, not so much as a broken horseshoe in the road. A vanishing act as clean as any stage magician—only with less flair and more cowardice. The last whisper placed him in Custer, up the Yankee Fork. A town full of rock, whiskey and men who’d rather be buried alive in a stope than answer for the sake of, if not me, then his children.

Back in Salmon, there was ink flying for other reasons. Ada Merritt had her hands full with Olin Mintzer again, though it must be said she held her own. Olin, always ready to smear with the pen, sent one of his tirades to the Salt Lake Tribune, cloaked under the celestial alias “Perihelion.” He made a right mess of it, slandering the Recorder from his perch not two miles away in Salmon City.

When Ada lit into him, Olin didn’t even blink. Owned it outright. Said he was proud of the thing.

Ada answered in print, as she does: “The character of this ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ is so well known throughout the length and breadth of Lemma country that comment is unnecessary.” She noted that hiding behind a pen name was just about what one could expect from a man of his “notorious record.”

And then, wouldn’t you know it—a week after that fine display of moral cowardice, Olin’s wife delivered a twelve-pound baby girl. Heaven gives and takes in strange measure.

All the while, sickness went door to door. Tommy Boyle caught a bad case of pneumonia and took weeks to rise from his bed. Otto Michel—gentle, soft-spoken, a German emigrant from ’71—wasn’t so lucky. Three days into his illness, he passed. The Recorder put it plainly: “So sudden death has cast a pall-like gloom over the town.” They weren’t wrong.

As for me, I saddled up on the second week of February and made my way into Salmon City, cold wind and all, to appear before the court. My petition for divorce was filed—grounds: desertion, which no one contested. James A. Callahan, last seen headed toward Custer, hadn’t been heard from since.

The summons, directed at Jimmy, ran in the Recorder for seven straight weeks starting February 18th and cost a tidy sum, though Ada Merritt graciously absorbed the price of public notice. My attorney, John McDonald, was another matter entirely. I returned home with an empty purse. My heart, though—while still bruised—was beginning to mend. Truth be told, Violin Billy had something to do with that, though so did time. Neither waited politely for the ink to dry.

SUMMONS

IN THE DISTRICT COURT OF THE FIFTH JUDICIAL DISTRICT, OF THE STATE OF IDAHO, IN AND FOR THE COUNTY OF LEMHI

Annee C. Callahan, Plaintiff,

vs.

James A. Callahan, Defendant.

The People of the State of Idaho Send Greeting to James A. Callahan, Defendant:

You are hereby required to appear in an action brought against you by the above named plaintiff, in the District Court of the Fifth Judicial district, of the State of Idaho, in and for the county of Lemhi, and to answer the complaint filed therein, within ten days (exclusive of the day of service), after the service on you of this summons, if served within this county; or, if served out of this county, but in this district, within twenty days, otherwise within forty days, or judgment by default will be taken against you according to the prayer of said complaint.

The said action is brought to obtain a decree dissolving the bonds of matrimony existing between the plaintiff and defendant, and giving the care, custody and education of Alta and Edward, minor children, the issue of said marriage, described in said complaint, to the plaintiff, and for general relief. And you are hereby notified that if you fail to appear and answer said complaint as above required, the said plaintiff will apply to the court for the relief demanded.

Given under my hand and the seal of the District Court of the Fifth Judicial District, of the State of Idaho, in and for the County of Lemhi, this 13th, day of February, in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and ninety one.

Timothy Dore, Clerk

John McDonald, Att'y for Plaintiff.

Life went on, in its stubborn, uneven way, but for weeks that notice appeared in the newspaper. I wasn’t writing columns that winter. Perhaps I was too tired to form thoughts after the miners and children were fed and the wood was stacked. With the mines shut down and tempers frozen, there wasn’t much work for me and no news worth reporting anyway—unless frostbite counted as such. The pages of the Recorder grew quiet on my part, and my poetry stayed hidden, written on scraps of paper or sealed in my heart.

The weather stayed sharp. March dropped to twenty-one below and though the mountains wore their snow like a crown, it would be May before the thaw came for good. I sent along short bits of news to Ada—scraps she could tuck into one column or another.

Zephaniah Merritt slipped while chopping wood and broke two ribs. John Parfet filed a lawsuit against the Pine Creek Mining Company for $2,300 owed. In the Coeur d’Alenes, the reservation was opened to mining—so much for treaties, so much for promises.

The Red Rock Stage kept running, at least, and a soul could ride out of Shoup if they had business beyond the canyon. As for me, I trusted my horse more than any coach. Cheaper, warmer, and less opinionated, but with two little ones, I was tied to canyon life.

Thomas and Arvilla (Della, to most), Boyle had a baby boy on March 9th, naming him after father and grandfather both.

Down on the Fort Hall Reservation the cattlemen were running their stock right through the canals, sucking water from the earth that Native families needed for their wheat. Progress always seems to take more than its share.

On April 12th, the first flatboat of the season set off from Salmon with freight for the Kentuck mine. It shoved off at seven and made Shoup by six—best time yet on low water.

Two weeks later, on Sunday, April 26th, I appeared in Salmon City with Thomas and Della Boyle, Charles Spayds and Thomas Wend to give witness for me. The divorce was granted the following day.

The April 29th Recorder had plenty to say. Charles Spayds was building a “neat little house” in Shoup and the rumor mill had him pegged for matrimony. Not with me, I’ll say that much. I had my eyes on a handsome man with a head full of hair.

John Parfet’s lawsuit dragged into the next court term. On May 11th, the sheriff sold off personal property of the Pine Creek Mining Company. Parfet bought it for $1,600. The mine itself was scheduled for sale come June.

Eli Suydam took a lease on the Pine Creek mill, running ore from the Clipper Bullion. Spinney and Slavin’s pack train kept the rock moving, mule by mule and the town of Shoup raised $83 for little Elsie Morrill’s medical care—she was born with a spinal deformity. Folks gave what they could and I stitched dresses for the raffle. By May, spring had finally arrived. The Salmon River swelled and thundered and love—so they said—was in the air.

By that time it was no secret to the downriver inhabitants that William Taylor and I were courting. Billy, as everyone called him (I called him Violin Billy), easy on the eyes— straight and steady. His paid work was at the Kentuck, tending the mill and handling the mercury, but in his spare hours he was an artist with wood. Not a tinkerer—no. He built fine, intricate furniture and when someone died, it was Billy who built the casket.

He had the kind of bearing—and stories—that turned heads and quieted rooms. Even I listened. Tales of the early days in California, when the world west of the Sierra Mountains still felt half-imagined to many. He was gentle with Alta and Eddy, and would make a good father.

Billy’s parents, William Edward and Nancy (Griffiths) Taylor, had each made the heroic journey west in covered wagons. They hadn’t waited for wagon roads or news of gold. His father came in 1846,[1] his mother the year before, with her family. They married that same December in Sonoma. Like me, Billy was one of ten siblings. He was born in Plumas, California, but raised in Downieville. We couldn’t have been raised farther apart without an ocean between us.

He played the violin, I sang. He spent his days beneath the pounding of the stamps; I spent mine in the cookhouse. But come evening, we’d walk the trail from Shoup and pause at the Pine Creek rapids, watching the water tumble through that narrow throat of boulder strewn canyon. I’d tell Billy about my dream of a ranch up that creek.

On June 10th, the Recorder noted a flurry of visitors: Labrecque, Z.L. Merritt, Thomas Wend (his garden doing “remarkably well”), and John Richardson of the Grunter Mine, all coming into Salmon. Meanwhile, Wainwright, Tripler and Parfet took Saturday’s coach back to Pine Creek.

The Parfets moved to Sandy Creek, sixteen miles out, but John still minded the mining company’s affairs.

In early July, John Gilmore and George Sandilands finished building a flatboat. On July 9th, they launched from Salmon and landed in Shoup nine hours later—best time on the river to date.

That same month, Eli Suydam and James Dowling came down from Shoup, while Phil Poe, Spinney, and Slavin returned to Pine Creek. The Kentuck Company deposited $3,000 worth of gold in the Boise mint.

And in the last days of July, a new liquor law passed. It forbade sales to “habitual drunkards,” if complaint was made. Wives, mothers, fathers, even sisters could file one. The law didn’t solve much but it made good gossip.

Eli Suydam’s lease held strong through the summer. The Clipper Bullion ore came down steady, the mill on the south shore of the Salmon pounded day and night, while the pack trains and the Red Rock Stage line struggled through the hills like clockwork.

That summer Charley Spayds bought the saloon and its fixtures from James Chilsom. He aimed to open soon and maybe—just maybe—get that army of Benedicts marching again. In August, Alex and Jessie McLeod visited Salt Lake. Jessie hadn’t left the canyon since she married on Pine Creek in 1888.

And yes, prejudice had a seat at the table. The Recorder printed some sneering gossip about Lemhi Indians using parasols and palm-leaf fans, as if dignity were a crime. Civilization, they implied, could be measured in umbrellas. The Recorder mockingly called it progress—I called it the same old hatred, freshly pressed and buttoned up for church. And back then? I wore it, too.

As for me, I was sewing a new dress and stitching together a different kind of life.

On August 26th, 1891, I married William Edward Taylor. Our wedding was held at the home of George J. Thomas in North Fork, with Willard Dunton of Gibbonsville officiating. It was not my first wedding but it was the first time, in a long time, that I felt a new beginning.

John M. Parfet’s lawsuit against the Pine Creek Mining Company was settled in September with a judgment for the plaintiff in the sum of $2,513 with interest thereon until paid at the rate of 10 per cent, per annum, together with costs of suit.[2]

The citizens of Gibbonsville took it upon themselves to build a wagon road over the divide into Montana and hoped to have the road finished by fall. On September 23rd, Ada Merritt would write, “We admire the enterprise of Gibbonsville, and explore the short sightedness of the resident of Salmon city and lemma valley in not building the eight miles of road between Boyle’s ranch and mouth of the North Fork.”

Frank and Baily Wintmore along with James “Scotty” Stewart spent the winter at Sheepeater, a small valley below Shoup where they intended to ranch and prospect come spring. John Pilati, who worked at the Kentuck for the last three years, took sick. His brother took him home to Italy for medical treatment.

Last but not least, nor silent forever, I was sitting at my table, setting the quill of the ‘vanity faber’ into motion, chasing the children around and enjoying married life.

Idaho Recorder, September 30, 1891

SHOUP

Hon. Eli Suydam will resume operations with the Pine Creek mill about the 30th inst.

A number of our citizens are ill with the grip. Two of them are going out for medical aid.

Messrs. Richardson & Ralston will start the Grunter mill again in the morning on their own quartz.

Slaven & Spinney’s pack train will leave here tomorrow for Salmon City after a load of supplies for the camp.

Mr. J.T. Gilmer will leave in a few days time for Salt Lake, where his is called on important business.

The Kentuck Company made a test run with the Grunter mill on Lost Mine ore, which worked fully as was expected.

Mr. T. Wend had built himself a threshing machine which is a very ingenious piece of mechanism and worth patenting. He has about 10,000 bushels of grain to thresh.

Mrs. C. Morrill has gone to New York with her little daughter Elsie who is to be treated for spinal trouble. They went via Mineral Hill and expect to be gone six weeks.

Messrs, Murray and Laughlin have also struck a large body of galena ore. A ten-foot vein of ore which assays $60 in silver and carried a large per cent of lead is not to be sneezed at.

Mr. John Carroll came to our lovely burg with the intention of residing for the winter and is faithfully digging into the bowels of the earth after the precious metal. We hope be will be rewarded for his work.

We expect soon to hear the whistle of the locomotive and the wagons rattling in from Bitter Root valley. The way road is now completed to Mineral Point, which is but thirteen miles from here. A force of men are still at work pushing the road rapidly as the rough country will permit, toward Shoup.

A few days ago Mr. Rodney Park,[3]ne of the Kentuck teamsters, fell in front of his wagon and had both legs run over, bruising them badly although no bones were broken, the accident will lay him up for some time. Mr. Parks is an estimable young man and has many friends who regret his misfortune.

Mr. Wood is engaged in opening some placer ground at the bend of Boulder creek which is reported to be of great quality and extent.[4] We understand he was offered $25,000 for the property. We are almost sorry that gold has been discovered there as it will spoil our good drinking water, as we all use Boulder creek water to quench our thirst.

James Chisholm came up from Owl creek recently and reports his mine looking well. Assays were made which went as high as $100 per ton in silver, and as the vein is some seven feet in width, it is doubtless a valuable property. It is situated within ten miles of the Mineral Hill wagon road and is easily accessible by trail. He has two men at work and intends to develop it this winter.

Sept 22, 1891.—U Know

Idaho Recorder, October 7, 1891

LOCAL INTELLIGENCE

C.H. Spayds came up from Shoup on Monday. He informs us that Rodney Park is lying at the bunk house of the Kentuck mine at Shoup in a very precarious condition. His limbs are so badly desecrated that it is very doubtful if the wounds will ever heal. He has had no medical attendance whatever.

R.H. Chapman, C.P. Wainwright and J.W. Tripler of Philadelphia, arrived in town on Sunday afternoon and left for Pine creek Monday. Mr. Chapman is the owner of the Pine creek group of mines, which were purchased at Sheriff’s sale for him by Mr. Wainwright last June, and he is now examining his purchase for the first time. This valuable property has been lying idle for some time and we would be very glad to see the present owner put a force of men at work, open up the mine and start the mill once more. Mr. J.M. Parfet accompanied the men.

Idaho Recorder, October 14, 1891

LOCAL INTELLIGENCE

We learn that Rodney Park, who had both limbs so badly lacerated, while driving team at Shoup, is not gaining and fears are entertained that he may lose one or both of the injured members.

Idaho Recorder, October 21, 1891

LOCAL INTELLIGENCE

Rodney Park, of Shoup is getting well fast and is now able to be about on crutches.

Frank Hopkins and Tom Palmer of Pine creek have been in the city for the past week.

Jack Leopold and Bill Taylor returned Monday from the Californian and Freeman mines where they have been for the past three weeks engaged in doing representing work for Senator Shoup.[5]

W.E. Taylor came up from Shoup Friday and remained a couple of days. Mr. Taylor has been employed at the Kentuck mill for the past five years and has been a faithful and competent employee. He will remain at Shoup for the winter.

Idaho Recorder, October 28, 1891

SHOUP

From our regular correspondent

Times are changing very much in this camp, a few days ago it looked blue but now it is quite lively again.[6]

We are indebted to Joe Laughlin for a fine haunch of venison which he brought in from the hills. He reports plenty of game in the mountains this season.

Tom Wright left this morning for North Fork. We will miss him very much here.

We have had several fight for the championship of Shoup lately. Sam Moore wears the belt.[7]

C.H. Spayds’ hen post was robbed last night. Chickens have no chance for their lives now in this camp.[8]

Mr. Rodney Parks is recovering very fast and is around on his feet again. The Kentuck Company has done all it could for Mr. Parks.

E.S. Suydam has left with his last clean up for Salmon City. He has closed his mine down till snow flies, as he has no water at the mine and depends on snow for a water supply during the winter.[9]

Abe Legyt will start for Boise in a few days.

John Rowe is going to North Fork to work on his mine this winter. The mine is located about 3 miles from George Thomas’ ranch.

Wm. Whitmore is laid up with a shrined uncle.[10]

James Chisholm got what the boys call “a bay window,” put on him the other day, which will be an eyesore to him for some time to come.[11]

John Taylor[12] is champion fisherman of Shoup. Three hours fishing resulted in 60 speckled beauties.

Today is William Buchanan’s birthday. He is making Rome howl.[13]

Mrssres. Whitmore & Sandilands took the first large boat that ever went through the Pine creek rapids down the river recently. The Whitmore brothers intend starting a hay ranch down the river. It was a very brave act of Captain George Sandilands to take the boat through the rapids. Mr. Murray came in tonight and reports the boat a safe arrival at its destination.

The Grunter shut down this morning. They will make another run this fall if the weather permits.

Oct. 18, 1891. U Know

Idaho Recorder, November, 4, 1891

LOCAL INTELLIGENCE

CV Gilmer built a flat boat during the weekend and left for Shoup Saturday morning with Johnny Rowe as his assistant at the oars. Mrs CV Gilmer and babe, Mrs. CH Martin and daughter Mabel, and Mrs. Thos. Harvey were the passengers. Mrs. Martin has gone to take charge of the boarding house at the Kentuck mine during the winter.

SHOUP

From our regular correspondent

Mr. D Ed__, who is a guest of Hon. E. S. Suydam, is out for a hunt on Pine creek. There are a good many mountain lions below here which have made some of the boys leave the trail.

James Stuart (Scotty) is catching dog salmon to feed his hogs. He caught one the other day that weighed 20 pounds.

CV Gilmer and John Rowe arrived with their boatmen on Sunday. They report the fastest voyage ever made on the river.

November 23, 1891. U Know[14]

Idaho Recorder, November 25, 1891

SHOUP

From our regular correspondent

Winter has set in. All the small boats have been taken out of the river and now we would like to see the river freeze over so we can cross on the ice.

We have a bed-tick here, belonging to some one on Pine Creek, filled with brand new straw. The owner can have the same by paying for this notice.[15]

John Rowe returned yesterday from upper country.

Eli Suydam made us a short visit and left this morning for Salmon City. He promised to be back here in two weeks.

William Taylor and family have moved into the house of C.H. Spayds for the winter.[16]

McCormack & Laughlin have built a cabin on the property formerly owned by Sherman now deceased.

The Grunter mill has closed down for the winter, as the mill power is an over shot wheel which freezes up at the first cold spell.[17]

John Richardson is doing representing work on his claim. After he gets it done he will leave for Salmon where he intends spending the balance of the winter.

J. Carroll has returned from Pine Creek, where he has been doing representing work, and is now working his old claim here.He is in 50 feet and expects to tap the ledge in 50 feet further.

Two Italians came in tonight from Leesburg. They report only about one foot of snow on the range at the head of Pine Creek.

Spinney & Slavin left with their pack train yesterday, having done all their packing here for the season.[18]

Our postmistress, Mrs. Moll, will visit Salmon City next week.[19]

William and John Taylor are getting up their winter’s wood.

Robert Campbell has gone down to paradise ranch on a visit to Whitmore Bros.

C. Morrill has moved his family to the house formerly occupied by W.W. St. Clair in Boulder canyon.

November, 19, 1891. U. Know.

Idaho Recorder, December 9, 1891

SHOUP

Thanksgiving day is past, and, in our distant land, on the Salmon river, we went fishing on thanksgiving day. Of course we are excusable lot we did not get the president’s or governor’s proclamation till after thanksgiving.[20]

Jack Ralston is running a ferry boat at his place for the accommodation of the Pine creek folks when coming after their mail.

C.H. Spayds is building an addition to his saloon and making general repairs to the old stand.

Mr. Morrill’s little daughter Elsie is getting along nicely since her arrival from New York. We are glad to see her improve so fast.

Mrs. McLeod and Mrs. McCullough were visitors in town to day.

Mr. John Richardson was unfortunate a few days ago. While breaking some rock a piece of it flew up and hit him in the eye. He walks sideways yet.

The boys are fishing these nice sunny days for the speckled beauties. Mr. John Murray wears the belt, having brought in a string of forty nice trout.[21] He says if the days were longer he could do better.

The sun has left us, better known as Sour Dough, for the winter.

George Sandilands called in town to day. He took a trip to Big creek where he left his horses for the winter.

Frank Whitmore received word Saturday evening that his mother was very sick and left for the States immediately.

Nov. 22, 1891. U-Know

Idaho Recorder, December 23, 1891

SHOUP

From our regular correspondent

There is but one thing that prevents us from jumping into the river and that is the water.[22]

The price of tar and feathers would go up in Shoup if some of the men got their just dues. We do not want to be personal but Mr. Moll came back to Shoup from one of his semi-annual trips, and went and cut a tree down that any sensible man knew would fall on the Grunter company’s pipe and destroy the same, which he has done. We hope he will be dealt with according to law.

C.V. Gilmer has started the Kentuck mill again for a few days run. We hear the boys have struck the lead in the golden chamber, as of yore, rich in the precious metal.

Quite a number of our citizens are thinking of taking their Christmas dinner at the county seat.

David Sandilands and Thomas Boyle have returned from Carmen creek.

The Pine creek people can not get their mail now. We must call on our county companions to build a bridge across the river or buy us a cable across the Salmon river. There are more people on the south side of the river than on this side.

We have not seen the sun for the last six weeks.

A company was formed a few days ago to prospect Boulder Creek. They are now down almost 20 feet. We think by the looks of the prospect load, that Boulder creek was named properly, as it is all boulders as far as they are down. City Inspector J. Ralston thinks they will have to go 50 feet before they will strike bedrock.

The otters, traveling up Salmon river made a great commotion among the side this evening. C.H. Spayds took aim at them, but they began diving for China about that time.

We notice the Recorder came out to new columns last week. We are glad of the change and all that it is expected and a much better paper.

By the time December had its boots planted deep in the canyon, the snow was up to the porch rails and the river edged in ice thick enough to walk across—if you dared that early in the season. William spoiled the children with store-bought presents that Christmas, and pampered me with silk blouses—real silk, smooth as river ice and softer than anything I had business wearing. I loved the feel of it against my skin. But I clipped off the collars and cuffs just the same—didn’t want anyone in camp knowing I had silk on under my wool. When Bill found the scraps, he looked at me like I’d taken a razor to a Sunday hymn. I told him silk wasn’t for showing—it was for surviving. He smiled, nodded, and never said another word about it.

And not long after, when I was sure of what my body already knew—that a child, Billy’s child, was growing steady inside me—I waited for a quiet evening. After Alta and Eddy were asleep, I told him. Just the two of us by the stove, no fanfare, no fuss. His hand found mine and held on, like he already knew.

Winter wasn’t easing off; it was just getting started but that didn’t stop Shoup from ringing in the new year early. Folks made the rounds from one house to the next—passing plates, pouring strong drink, telling the same stories louder with each stop. Charley had a fire going hot enough to peel the bark off your shins, and over at the Molls’, Julia had managed a pudding that didn’t collapse. Musicians made their rounds and the floorboards of Shoup rattled with dancing feet. Just before midnight I stepped outside for air. Billy was beside me, the children asleep inside and I let the old year go with a gentle kiss. We’d survived it which was enough. The new one would come one snowfall at a time.

Notes

[1] Diary of William E. Taylor Sr., as published in Overland in 1846, Diaries and Letters of the Callifornia-Oregon Trail, Tailsman Press, 1963 Georgetown California, p. 118-132; https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5ba91a924d546e02930362bc/t/5e00db62b8cce867603b1c81/1577114597654/Taylor%2C+William+E.pdf

[2] $2,513 dollars in 1891 would be worth $89,942 in today’s money.

[3] Rodney Park Jr., son of Rodney Park, Sr.

[4] The bend of Boulder Creek is about two miles above Shoup and where the Monolith mine and boarding house would be established.

[5] “representing work”—The legal requirement to perform annual labor on a mining claim—typically prospecting, digging, or repairing work—to maintain ownership. In this case, John Murray and Bill Taylor had spent three weeks at the Californian and Freeman mines performing this upkeep on behalf of Senator George L. Shoup, who owned or held interest in those claims.

[6] A happy nod to William being back in Shoup, and staying through winter.

[7] “championship of Shoup”—A rough-and-ready local contest of fists, not formal boxing. Sam Moore “wears the belt” by winning the town’s unofficial brawl title.

[8] “hen post was robbed”—A tongue-in-cheek way of saying someone (quite possibly Annie or Billy), helped themselves to one of Charley Spayds’ chickens for supper. On the frontier theft and dinner often walked the same line—especially when you were living side by side as the residents of Shoup did.

[9] “depends on snow for a water supply”—mines lacked access to year-round running water, creeks froze in winter and relied on melting snow in spring to supply water for ore processing. Annie’s tone is light but the need was real—no water meant no work.

[10] “shrined uncle”—Annie’s twist on “sprained ankle,” limping on wordplay.

[11] “a bay window”—Slang for a black eye, the kind that sticks out like fine architecture.

[12] Probably Annie’s brother-in-law. John Taylor, one of William’s older brothers.

[13] “making Rome howl”—A 19th-century phrase meaning to raise hell, celebrate noisily or cause a grand commotion—often with drink involved. While the idiom itself is usually attributed to General William Tecumseh Sherman (who threatened to make Georgia howl during his Civil War campaign), Annie here makes a sly and likely intentional nod to President James Buchanan. Known for his prodigious drinking habits and bachelor lifestyle, Buchanan was said to consume large quantities of Madeira and whiskey daily and kept an impressively stocked wine cellar at the White House. According to some accounts he ordered up to ten gallons of whiskey a week for personal use while serving in Congress. Though not credited with coining the phrase, Buchanan's fondness for festive excess made him a fitting figure to invoke when describing someone "making Rome howl." Annie’s quip is both a social comment and a wry wink.

[14] This article is longer, but unreadable in the online archives of the Idaho Recorder.

[15] “bed-tick “—The cloth mattress cover stuffed with straw, common in frontier homes and mining camps. This notice means someone lost their mattress (that was probably coming in on a pack animal), and can reclaim it by paying the cost of printing this announcement—a cheeky reminder that even your bedding has a price.

[16] Uncertain whether this refers to Spayds' home in Shoup or the property east of town.

[17] An “overshot wheel “ is a type of water wheel where water pours over the top to turn it, prized for efficiency but prone to freezing in cold weather.

[18] Spinney and Slavin’s pack train was a freight outfit that hauled ore, supplies and equipment between remote mining camps like Pine Creek and towns such as Salmon City. Pack trains, often made up of sturdy mules led in single file, were essential to frontier commerce in rugged terrain where wagon roads were scarce or impassable. Spinney and Slavin were well-known downriver packers, trusted to keep the lifeline of goods moving in and out of the canyon.

[19] Julia Moll, wife of Ernest Moll who became the postmistress after Benjamin Harrison left for Cedar City, Iowa.

[20] Thanksgiving Day, 1891. Although President Lincoln proclaimed Thanksgiving a national holiday in 1863, individual states and territories often made their own proclamations in those early years. In Idaho Territory official recognition would come late, explaining why Annie and company went steelhead fishing on Thanksgiving before receiving the president’s or governor’s proclamation. Steelhead trout run the Salmon river in late autumn, making fishing at Thanksgiving both practical and symbolic of frontier independence.

[21] “wears the belt” is an old-fashioned way of saying someone’s the reigning champ or top fisherman—like holding the championship belt today. And the ‘trout” are steelhead that filled the river that time of year on the migratory route from the ocean.

[22] Probably a reference to the dreary weather when the clouds settle into the canyon and the river is freezing over.