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Show THE NORTH COUNTRY. X. Sends Us a Spicy Letter From The Terminus. Perhaps some of the people of Cache, who have never visited any of the mushroom towns, like Red Rock, that spring up almost literally in a night, [repeated line: Rock, that spring up almost literally in] like Jonah's gourd, would like a description of one of them. The writer happened to be here some six or seven weeks ago, when the town of Beaver, or "the Dives," as it was usually called, was being moved to this point. Some houses (so called by courtesy) were erected, and many others were being built as fast as mechanics, tools, whiskey, profanity and a total ignoring of the Sabbath would allow. Acres of land along the railway track were strewn with portions of houses, taken down and transported in sections: boxes, tables, stoves, tinware, carpets and almost everything used about a residence, totally unsheltered and unprotected. But it don't take long to put up a house here. Boards stuck up on end, the cracks between battened or not, as the case may be, form the sides and ends; if no shingles or slabs for roofing are on hand, tents or wagon sheets are stretched over the top, and the house is built. If it is a hotel, like the one I am writing this in, and is to have a number of rooms, all you have to do is to put up a rough board partition, cover it with sheeting, and the thing is done - that is, after casting (?) the room with the slight material. Of course, a parlor requires a more elaborate finish, which is effected by fastening up wall paper by means of tacks; but people who do this are regarded by others as "rather putting on style." But this style of building has its advantages. A person stopping at such a "house" need never be lonesome; for he may understand every word spoken in all the rooms adjoining his, and in this way sometimes hear very interesting conversation; as was the case with the writer, whose bed room adjoined one occupied by three ladies; and as ladies will talk, of course one must hear. But one must not forget himself, or his conversation may be found equally interesting. Red Rock contains, I should judge, about a hundred houses besides warehouses, &c. Almost every third house is a saloon, bar, or gambling shop; the rest are stores and dwellings. Most of the inhabitants are men; now and then a woman is seen, but somehow, the gentler sex seems sadly out of place here, among so much that is gross and vile. Wagons and long teams fill the streets, loading with frieght [freight] for Montana. Some of them take great loads, 18,000 to 20,000 lbs. [pounds] with from twelve to fourteen mules. In a few months, probably, the terminus will advance 30 or 40 miles, and - "presto-chango," Red Rock will have become a city of the past, its site marked by empty whisky bottles, tin cans and an indescribably assortment of trash. Something might be said of the fine scenery around the place, but not to become wordsome, a few words must suffice. On the south lie the Rocky Mountains, which here run nearly west, their beautifully outlined summits still clothed in snow, while their green, grassy sides are gemmed with flowers to within a few feet of the snow - summer and winter at one view. A sad accident occurred near here yesterday afternoon. Some young men, graders, were examining a Colt revolver, when it accidentally discharged. A young man named Jensen, of Richmond, Cache Co., Utah, was shot through the heart and instantly killed. His body will be sent home by train to his parents to-day. I see here Mr. Larson, of Joslin & Park, Salt Lake city, on a fishing excursion, (nominally) but really out for a change. While the streams are so high, a "river hook" is best for amateur fishermen. J.H. Martineau and son, civil engineers, are also here, with quite a number of residents of Cache county. X. |
