Joseph to Sacramento by this old stage route was
nearly nineteen hundred miles. The time required by mail contracts and
the government schedule was nineteen days. The trip was frequently made
in fifteen, but there were so many causes for detention that the limit
was more often reached. Each two hundred and fifty miles of road was
designated a "division," and was in charge of an agent, who had great
authority in his own jurisdiction. He was commonly a man of more than
ordinary intelligence, and all matters pertaining to his division were
entirely under his control. He hired and discharged employee, purchased
horses, mules, harness, and food, and attended to their distribution at
the different stations. He superintended the erection of all buildings,
had charge of the water supply, and he was the paymaster. There was also
a man known as the conductor, whose route was almost coincident with
that of the agent. He sat with the driver, and often rode the whole
two hundred and fifty miles of his division without any rest or sleep,
except what he could catch sitting on the top of the flying coach. The
coach itself was a roomy, swaying vehicle, swung on thorough-braces
instead of springs. It always had a six-horse or six-mule team to
draw it, and the speed was nerve-breaking. Passengers were allowed
twenty-five pounds of baggage, and that, with the mail, express, and
the passengers themselves, was in charge of the conductor. The Overland
stagecoaches were operated at a loss until 1862. In March of that year
Russell, Majors & Waddell transferred the whole outfit to Ben Holliday.
Here was a typical frontiersman, of great individuality and character.
At the time he took charge of the route the United States mail was given
to it. This put the line on a sound financial basis, as the government
spent $800,000 yearly in transporting the mail to San Francisco. Will
reported for duty the morning after his talk with Trotter, and when
he mounted the stage-box and gathered the reins over the six spirited
horses, the passengers were assured of an expert driver. His run was
from Fort Kearny to Plum Creek. The country was sharply familiar. It was
the scene of his first encounter with Indians. A long and lonely ride
it was, and a dismal one when the weather turned cold; but it meant a
hundred and fifty dollars a month; and each pay day brought him nearer
to St. Louis.

Indian signs there had been right along, but they were only signs until
one