Cindi Bigelow uploaded the following biography by Forest Crossen of Anthony Arnett which first appeared in the Boulder, Colorado newspaper in 1933. (It's about 15 pages)
Anthony Arnett - Empire Builder
By
Forest Crossen
To the grand-children and great grand-children of the subject of this sketch, this little book is respectfully dedicated by R. E. Arnett, only surviving heir of the late Anthony Arnett.
Published -- January 1, 1933....Biography of Anthony Arnett
Adventurer, traveler in strange new countries, gold seeker, and empire builder was Anthony Arnett. After rounding Cape Horn on a wind-jammer to California in 1849, he made a fortune and was in Colorado for the '59 boom. His name will live forever in the annals of the University of Colorado as one of its founders.
Anthony Arnett was born in Reichstoff, a province on the Rhine river, Alsace-Lorraine, France, July 7, 1819. When he was about nine years old, he came to the United States with his parents, Louis and Clara Arnett and their nine other children. They came on a sailing vessel which took seven weeks to reach its destination, New York.
The family settled for a time in New York and later at Warren, Pennsylvania, but finally landed in Whiteside county, Illinois. The children grew in number to thirteen. The sons were loyal to their father, helping him on the farm or turning over their wages when they worked out, until they reached the age of twenty-one.
One of the sons, William, ran away from home to make his own way in the world. After he became of age, he returned to his people. "What is my time worth, father?" he asked. "I don't want it said that I didn't do my part." The father named a sum which the son gladly paid.
As the sons became of age they took up land in the vicinity of Prophetstown and developed farms from the wilderness. The father died at the age of 76.
Anthony Arnett's early life was devoted largely to breaking prairie for homesteaders and farming, although at one time he teamed from Chicago to Michigan City. In 1846 he engaged in the mercantile business at Portland, Illinois.
About this time he married Mary Rose Graham, daughter of William and Rose Graham, natives of the town of Monagham, Ireland. From this union were born nine children, five of whom died in infancy. Those who lived to maturity were Willamette, Jennie, Robert Emmett and Eugene.
Willamette passed away in the Klondike, in 1901, following in his father's footsteps as a seeker of gold in new countries. Eugene died in Los Angeles, February, 1918. Jennie passed away in Boulder, Colorado, January, 1928. Robert Emmett still survives and operates the Arnett hotel in Boulder.
The mercantile business, Anthony Arnett's last venture in Illinois, not proving very satisfactory, he decided to follow the gold rush to California. Accordingly, he left his wife and baby son, Willamette, at the home place and, in 1849, sailed from New York in the bark Clyde, around Cape Horn for San Francisco. His brother and another man accompanied him.
While going through the Straits of Magellan, one of the roughest stretches of water in the world, two of the sailors were swept overboard. Later the ship was wrecked on the western coast of South America, being driven clear up into the town of Valpariso, Chile.
The captain agreed to refund all passage money, but the U. S. consul advised him not to. Evidently the two worthies decided that they would put the money into their own pockets, at the expense of the stranded gold seekers.
Arnett got the passengers together--all of them rough and ready men on their way to the gold fields--and marched up to see the consul. When they reached the building, Arnett boldly walked in, confronting the surprised and angry consul and ship captain.
"We want our passage money refunded, so that we can get out of here," he demanded. The men flowed in around him, fists clenched and faces cold with determination.
"Young man", thundered the consul, "I'll have you put in irons for your insolence!"
"There ain't enough of you to do that," was the steady answer. "We'll go down and take possession of that ship until we get our money."
The two officials conferred. "We'll give you the money tomorrow, but you leave that ship alone," they announced.
The miners left them and carried out their original plan.
Early that evening another vessel dropped anchor in the harbor, totally unexpected. The stranded miners were not long in making up their minds to leave without their money; another ship might not come for a long time. Accordingly, they paid their passages and boarded her, being informed by the captain that they would sail at dawn.
This circumstance caused Arnett to land in San Francisco dead broke, the three companions having ten cents left. After a six months' voyage he was forced to wash dishes for his first meal in California.
He soon found employment in freighting goods over the mountains to placer mines. He escorted his partners to the "new diggin's", put up a cabin for them and returned to Stockton.
Arnett was more than fortunate in securing a start in the new country. The evening of his arrival he was walking down the board sidewalk when a man accosted him, thrusting out a hand and booming the words: "Why if it ain't Tony Arnett!"
Arnett recognized him as a man to whom he had sold a yoke of oxen in Illinois, some two years before.
"Where's the cattle?" he inquired. "That was a good yoke."
"Well, I used 'em to cross the Plains", was the answer. "I've still got 'em. They're running out close to "Frisco now."
They talked on, with Arnett telling him of his bad luck on the trip around the Horn.
"Tony", this man began, after Arnett told him that he was looking for a job, "I ain't got a bit of use for them oxen. They're running out and if you catch 'em up, you're welcome to use 'em to express with. We'll go halves on what you make".
Naturally, the newcomer was pleased with this proposal. After hunting three days in the rain, he located them and, at first, began to express around town. The mud was knee deep, for the rainy season was on, and he had to walk in order to drive the oxen.
He soon got an offer of one dollar a pound to haul freight to a mining camp. He could take 1600 pounds to the load. When he came to a certain slough, around which there was no road, he had to unload and carry the goods across on his back, while the oxen floundered through with the empty wagon. Then he had to reload before proceeding on his way. He made a round trip every two weeks, thereby making $1600 each time. He hauled from October to May, sleeping under oak trees. He did not have a dry rag on him during the entire time. He said he was going to "make hay while the sun shone", because he knew those prices would not last long. After the first trip to the mines he bought his partner's interest in the ox team.
The two companions who had come to California with him told him that if he would make his living in Frisco during the winter and bring their supplies to them, they would ask no more. They were mining and felt sure that they were on the verge of a big strike.
He did not see or hear from them for a long time, but finally he had a chance to take a load of freight to the camp where they were. This was in a remote place, and he received $1.25 a pound for the load.
He found the men and went with them to their shanty for supper. After they had finished eating, they wanted to know if he had made any money.
"Yes", he replied, "I've made a little. How much have you fellows cleaned up",
They dug up their buckskin poke and weighed out their gold, about $350.
"Well, I can beat you fellows a little" Arnett told them, feeling for his poke and gold belt, which he laid on the table. "Count that over."
The partners did so and found that he had nearly $13,000. They were astounded.
"That's not all," he went on. 'That freight on the wagon will bring me $2.000. Here you fellows have mined all this time and ain't made your salt. I'll divide with you but we'd better try something different."
The next morning the crestfallen miners listened to his suggestion.
"I've just noticed a likely spot for a roadhouse. The road crosses the creek right there and there's plenty of travel, getting bigger every day, with these new people from the East coming in. She's right on the main trail. I'm in favor of building a roadhouse there and making some money."
They agreed. They divided the money, as planned. He took the sea captain with him to the creek, his brother following in a short time. They put up a wooden frame, and the seaman, who was a good sailmaker, covered it with canvas. This was their establishment on the creek, which they named Rock River after the river near the old home in Illinois.
They made money rapidly. Meals were one dollar each, and the privilege of spreading one's blanket on the floor was the same. Game was plentiful so that meat cost only the powder and lead used.
While Arnett was operating this roadhouse he decided to buy a bunch of cattle. He was on his way to make a purchase when a man, a total stranger, overtook him. They rode along, Arnett telling him about the cattle and how he planned to buy a part of the herd.
"Why don't you buy the whole herd?" queried the stranger.
"I haven't got the money", was the reply.
"I'll lend you the money", volunteered the other. "There ain't nothing to this half-way business".
Arnett had never seen him before. "Ain't you afraid I'll skip the country with the money?" he countered.
The man looked him over coolly. "If you do, I'll follow you to the end of the earth and get it back!"
Arnett borrowed the money and bought the entire herd. In two weeks he was able to sell part of them to some miners for a big price and pay off his loan. The stranger--he never learned his name--refused to take any interest for the use of his money. Arnett came out well on this deal, paying off the debt and having most of the cattle left.
One year later the three partners sold the Rock River roadhouse. Anthony Arnett immediately invested his money in mules and started operating pack-trains to mining camps. This was a profitable venture, because freight charges were very high.
Once, when he heard that some miners were snowed in at a remote camp, he loaded his pack-train with provisions and started to them. A snowstorm overtook him, the flakes coming down as big as half dollars. Knowing that fifteen feet of snow was not uncommon, he ordered the two men with him to chop down several trees and set them afire, hoping to keep the snow melted back and escape being frozen to death. They took the pack saddles off the mules and turned them loose.
After the storm settled, the miners in the stranded camp, having heard that Arnett was on the way, came out on snowshoes and found him. They bought all his provisions, paying $100 a sack for flour, with other articles selling proportionately high. The miners carried this food away, each able to handle a hundred pounds with ease.
Arnett and his companions were stranded for some time, but with the coming of spring were able to get out. When he turned the mules loose he expected them to return to the valley. Instead, he found that they had taken refuge under some big oak trees and had perished.
During this time Arnett's brother, who was a fast foot racer, met his end. He had outstripped everything in California, winning a large amount of money. Then some promoter brought a runner in from Australia and challenged him to a race. Everything was arranged, with high stakes on each man.
Just before the race an acquaintance asked Arnett to have a glass of lemonade with him. He consented. As soon as he drank it he became suspicious and ran to the judge's stand.
"Let's run this race right away", he called out. "I'm doped!"
The race was run, with Arnett beating his rival. This victory was his last, because he fell down and died after reaching his goal. When Anthony arrived in San Francisco he found that gamblers and crooks had made off with all his brother's money.
Mexicans troubled a great deal in the early days in California. Once, a Mexican stole one of Arnett's mules and started south. The owner followed him for three days and nights before overtaking him. He came upon the camp at night, but found that several Mexicans were sleeping in a tent, with one of their number on guard outside. Sixshooter in hand he went up to this man.
"Who does that mule belong to?" he asked, pointing to the stolen animal.
The guard motioned towards another tent opposite. Arnett entered the tent and soon dragged forth the robber. He put the thief on the mule and started back to the camp, driving him ahead of him for three days and nights. It was a nervy thing to do, because the Mexicans hated "gringos" as they called Americans, like poison.
After their arrival at the camp, the miners held a trial and ended by giving the culprit twenty-one lashes on the bare back and turning him loose.
Shortly after this Arnett was stricken and almost died, as the result of a friendly boxing match with one of his companions. After hitting the man a blow, he fell to the floor and commenced to swell in the abdominal region. His intestines had telescoped.
"What in the world's the matter with Tony?" asked the man whom he had hit, bending over the groaning man.
An older man in the party came forward. "Don't know. Put him on this buffalo robe, boys, while one of you run for Doc Stevens. Tell him to get a move on", he directed the man, who volunteered to go.
They laid Arnett on the robe and straightened him out, only to have him draw up his legs again in agony. The doctor came rushing in, almost breathless from running. He knelt by Arnett's side and felt his pulse. Then he shook his head.
"Nothing I can do", he announced in a low voice to the crowd. "If ther's anything you want to settle, you'd better do it", he went on, talking to the suffering man.
"Call Jim," directed Arnett in a low whisper.
Jim came and listened closely to what Arnett told him.
"Jim, you dig up my gold. You remember the big stake I showed you in the corral? It's under it. Send it home to my wife."
"Sure, Tony", was the reply. "Just rest easy now."
The partner in the mule pack-train was called. While this excitement prevailed, an old miner came in and knelt by Arnett's side.
"Tony", he whispered, "you've got one chance in a thousand."
The suffering man whispered, "I'll take it."
"You'll have to keep still," he was cautioned as the old man looked around the room. "If it kills you and the Vigilance Committee finds it out, they'll hang me, right off!"
Arnett motioned for him to go on, being now too weak to speak. The old man measured out a dose of croton oil and lifted the sick man's head. It refused to stay down. The miner then doubled the dose, to which he added some sugar. It took effect this time. The congestion was relieved. When his partner came in, Arnett sold his half of the fifty pack-mules to him, the mules and their Spanish pack-saddles bringin' $125 apiece.
The purchaser loaded the train in a few days and traveled across the mountains to a remote camp, where he was offered the price he had paid for the mules and saddles for he pack-saddles alone. When Arnett heard this news, he was so disgusted that he took his gold and boarded a ship for the States.
The vessel sailed to the Isthmus, landing the passengers at Panama. Arnett saw the name cut in stone battlements where a shipload of Forty-niners waiting for a ship to take them on to California, watched many weary months for a sail and whiled away the time by carving their names in the walls.
Arnett and companions rode out of Panama on mules, into the hot jungle. When they reached the end of the mule trail, Arnett was taken with fever. The party camped here because they did not want to abandon him to the care of the natives and nursed him as best they could. When he had regained a little strength, the men of the party wanted to go on.
"We've got to go now, Tony," the leader told him. "If we don't get into Colon on the twenty-fifth, we're liable to miss the ship, and God only knows when another will come in. Now we'll make you as comfortable as we can. The next party will pick you up. These natives'll take care--"
"No! No!" Arnett gasped, clutching the other by the arm. "Don't leave me here."
"You can't walk and that's the only way to get across the divide. The guide says there's a ledge just wide enough for a man to pass."
"Bring me that mule I rode across. I know him; he'll carry me over". The fever-glazed eyes of the man bored into the leader's. "I'll ride him through. I won't be left here".
The mule was brought. Arnett paid his owner a good price for him.
"Now put me on," he directed.
They lifted him to the animal's back, where he clung with his arms around the mule's neck and his feet in his flanks. The party struck out. When they reached the section of trail which the guide said was passable only for man, the returning miners tried to dissuade Arnett from going on. Ahead was the ledge, not more than three feet wide, along the face of a mountain, two thousand feet or more above a roaring stream.
"Don't try it, Tony," every voice in the party cried out.
There was no reply. Arnett sat out, the men watching him in silence. The sure-footed mule went on, hugging the bank and carrying him to safety.
At Colon the party boarded ship and sailed to Havana. Here Arnett stopped for the rest of the winter, slowly recovering from the effects of the tropical fever.
When Arnett returned to Illinois from Cuba, he purchased a farm that he had always wanted. He planned to settle down and live comfortably on the gold he had won with so great a sacrifice. But it was this very gold that started him out again.
Possibly a year after his return, his two brothers, fired with the gold lust by the sight of his small fortune, persuaded him to accompany them across the Plains to California. He succumbed to the offer and they loaded their wagons. The evening before they started Anthony drove down to a neighbor's place to tell them good-by. On his way home a rain came up, wetting him to the skin. The next morning he was unable to get out of bed; rheumatism had set in. His brothers were so impatient to get started that they left him behind.
He remained on his farm until the spring of 1859 when the news came of the rich gold strikes in the Pikes Peak country. This excitement was a welcome relief to the reckless spirits of the country, who were beginning to chafe at the quietude. The land seethed with the news of this new discovery, following as it did so closely upon the heels of the Forty-niner strike. It was "Pikes Peak or Bust".
Arnett outfitted three wagons with enough supplies to start a store. This time he took his wife and son, Willamette. A young man, John Topping, accompanied the party. They reached Denver without any trouble, stopped one night, and proceeded to Golden City, ten miles west, which was at that time more important than Denver. It was in Denver that an event occurred which the family had reason to remember in after years.
Arnett camped near a small log grocery store and saloon. The storekeeper came out to talk with him about his trip. Finding that he had a supply of provisions, the business man was ready to drive a bargain.
"What's that in the barrel?" he asked, pointing to a barrel in one of the wagons. "Ain't whiskey, is it?"
"No", was the answer. "That's molasses."
"Molasses!" the other exclaimed. "You don't mean it. Why these Missourians have been runnin' me fair crazy askin' for molasses. What'll ye take for it?"
Arnett was informed as to prices in the new country. "She's worth $300 just as she sits."
The storekeeper looked thoughtful. "Would ye trade it?" he finally asked.
"Don't know. What for?"
"See that land right over there?" queried the merchant, pointing to a strip of prairie land on their left. "I'll trade you the whole hundred and sixty for the barrel."
Arnett looked the land over--it was raw prairie--and then at the little cluster of cabins. No, he decided, she was no good. He could take that molasses and peddle it out for five hundred dollars.
"Nothing doing," he told the storekeeper, and that closed the deal.
That hundred and sixty acres of land is the heart of the down-town district of Denver.
Going on to Golden City, Arnett established a store in a tent. The precious molasses barrel was rolled in. The young man, John Topping, who slept in the tent during the first night kicked open the spiggot on the barrel and let all the molasses flow out on the ground. The queer part about it was that he did not awaken until the next morning but spent the night in a welter of stickiness.
Shortly after their arrival, Arnett rode up to the store on a mule and leaned over to talk to Topping. The bully of the town, a big strapping ruffian, came up, interrupting the conversation, saying:
"What did you say about me, you son---------?"
"I didn't way anything about you", Arnett informed him. "I never saw you before."
"I'll show you," the bully roared out, grabbing him by the collar.
It did not take the man on the mule long to get into action. With one leap he landed on top of the bully and commenced mauling him. Over and over they rolled in the dust of the street. A crowd of soldiers came running, crowding up close to the fighters. Arnett had $1500 in a wallet and it fell out of his pocket as he leaped onto the bully. John Topping saw it, grabbed it up, and ran for the store to get a cavalry sabre. The soldiers kicked him down so that he had to go on his hands and knees.
He got the weapon and came out, brandishing it around his head, shouting: "Stand back, you sons-----------. I'll see fair play, or I'll cut you to pieces!" He was fighting mad.
The soldiers got back. They were friendly with the bully and would have stepped in had it not been for Topping, if he had got the worst of it, which he very promptly did. Arnett gave him a fearful beating and almost killed him. He would have finished him, he afterwards said, had he not feared that the soldiers would hang him. Not long after this a couple of these same soldiers came into Arnett's store and said:
"We wish you had killed that son-----!"
Arnett looked at them. "If I had, you sons-------would have hung me. What's the matter now?"
"He kicks our plates off the mess table and makes trouble all the time."
"Good enough for you if you ain't men enough to settle him!"
The winter of '59 and '60 so impressed Arnett with its mildness that he began to observe everything closely. At that time the country was over-run with game--herds of antelope and buffalo grazing near the foothills and waxing fat. The few cows and oxen of the emigrants also showed the effects of plenty of feed. The native grass was high and rich, and snow did not stay on for long periods. He formed the idea that Colorado would be a good stock country. The next spring he went back to Iowa and bought one hundred head of heifers, trailing them across the Plains.
Late in the fall of 1860 Mrs. Arnett returned to the old home in Illinois, so that she could be with her people for the birth of an expected child.
Arnett made his start in the new country with the herd of heifers, which he wintered successfully in Estes Park the winter of 1861. The basin of the park was covered with rich grass, and the Chinook winds melted the snow almost as rapidly as it fell. About three hundred elk wintered with the cattle. Arnett not only deserves the credit of bringing the first good stock into Colorado but, as far as known, was the first white settler in Estes Park.
The fever for raw gold seemed to run in the veins of Anthony Arnett; so with the news of the rich placer finds at Bannock and Alaer Gulch, in Montana, he made ready to try his luck there. His son, Willamette, and John Topping accompanied him. They started for Bannock, then one of the roughest camps ever known in the West. The Blackfeet Indians hunted the white invaders with persistence, making mining very dangerous.
One morning, when they were nearing Bannock, two squaws came into the camp and begged for food. Anthony Arnett caught the reason for their coming; they were Blackfeet spies.
"Get everything ready to go, boys," he directed, after they had gone. "Bucks disguised. There's liable to be a bunch on us right away. Hurry!"
They were loading the last of their equipment on the pack horses when eleven yelling Blackfeet came down the mountain at their right. The men left the supplies and sprang on their horses. There was but one gun in the party, a Spencer rifle which was carried by Topping. The Indians closed with them, and one of them grabbed the weapon by the muzzled, but the owner jerked it away, after hearing Arnett yell:
"If you lose that gun, we're done!"
The Indians were so excited over the supplies that they left the white men alone, expecting to get them later. Arnett and the boys walked their horses up a long hill, keeping close watch on the Blackfeet.
"Go easy, boys," cautioned the older man. "We're almost to the tope. When we make it, put the buckskin to your nags and let's clear. Watch close now."
They reached the top of the hill and struck out.
"Hear that yelling?" inquired Arnett, urging his horse on with stinging blows of a quirt. "The Blackfeet have woke up and they're coming!"
"Here," he called out, jerking his horse to a halt by a heavy growth of spruce. "Get in behind this timber and keep still. We can't outrun 'em but we can hide."
The Blackfeet came into view, urging their wind-blown horses forward and making the air ring with the war-whoop. They rode past the shelter of the whites, who watched them without daring to move. Soon they came back and went down the hill to the plunder they had taken.
"We'd better stay right here till dark, boys," Arnett directed. "We'll travel on them. They'll be in camp."
The trio set out at nightfall, traveling over the rough ground with great difficulty. They followed this course thereafter, taking advantage of the Indians' fear of the dark.
They had no food and became dangerously weak. Finally they sighted an old cow that had been left by some emigrants because she was too weak to travel. The men killed this animal and took the only edible portion of meat, from along the hind quarters. This they were forced to eat raw, because they had no matches and would not have dared build a fire if they had. The raw meat gave them scurvy and they suffered horribly.
On the tenth day they saw four men on horseback far ahead of them, coming down a little valley. Arnett halted the boys.
"We've got to hide. No telling who it is. May be Indians."
They hid behind some big rocks and watched the approach of the small party.
"That's old Hugo!" Arnett told the boys. "Hi, Hugo!" he called, stepping out into the open.
The other stopped their horses, laying hands on their guns.
"It's all right," Arnett reassured them.
The men came up and Hugo, a grizzled old Indian trader, shook Arnett's hand.
"What's the matter?" he asked, surveying the pinched faces of the three fugitives. "Blackfeet, I'll bet." His eyes took in their meagre equipment.
"Yes, we had a brush with a bunch of 'em. They cleaned us and we barely got away," was the explanation.
"Well, well," commented Hugo. "Bet you're hungry too." "Get off there, Joe," he directed, "and get the pot a-boiling."
They ate the first decent food they had had in ten days. After this they felt like doing something. Arnett wanted to recover their lost equipment and his spare horse.
"We'll go with you," Hugo told him. " I may be able to get your stuff back. Got to be careful, though, 'cause these Blackfeet is mean as hell!"
They met the Indians next day. When the Blackfeet saw who it was, they all pulled up in line, not even taking their guns out of the buckskin coverings. Arnett dismounted, grabbed the old chief's horse by the rawhide loop around his lower jaw, pulled him aside and said:
"This is the son------who's got my money and ring!"
The chief became frightened and threw Arnett his ring and money. He compenced talking in his native tongue.
"Says he'll get your horse tomorrow," Hugo told Arnett.
"Tell him he's a d------liar!" Arnett flashed.
He was for killing them. The whites numbered seven, as compared with the eleven of the Blackfeet. He spat out:
"Let's each pick an Indian and let him have it," Arnett said.
Hugo had let Arnett have two extra rifles.
"Won't do," Hugo spoke up. "There're be four left and they'll make for Devils Head and bring the whole tribe on us."
Arnett was angry. "No, we can get the other four before they get out of range. I'm for killing the murderin' devils!"
"No, I won't do that!" the trader ripped out, commencing to get angry too. "I've got a damn good notion to turn you over to them, Arnett, and see what comes off! This is my tradin' territory."
"Yes, that's the way." Arnett was bitter. "Let 'em get away and they'll take the first white scalp they come across. Kill 'em, I say!"
The argument went on and the Blackfeet slunk away.
Arnett recovered his horses, which had been ridden down, the next day. He and the two boys quitted the country and made their way to Colorado, poorer but with their scalps.
In 1864, one of the worst years for the Indian trocities in the annals of the West, Mrs. Arnett and her two children, Willamette, then a boy of 18 years, and Robert Emmett, three, left the old home in Illinois to join her husband in Boulder.
One day when they were within about a hundred miles of Fort Kearney, a party of soldiers came down the trail in their direction. Now it happened that Mrs. Arnett had purchased a number of U. S. Army blankets and one overcoat of regulation issue. Not wanting the soldiers to see the blankets, which were in the lead wagon driven by Willamette, she called to him:
"Hide those blankets, Will. The soldiers might take them as stolen and cause trouble."
"All right, Mother." Willamette hid the blankets, but both he and his mother forgot the regulation overcoat which he was wearing. The soldiers came up and immediately noticed it.
"Where'd you get that overcoat, son?" asked the sergeant, taking out some papers.
Willamette told him.
"You just tally the description of a deserter we're lookin' for," the sergeant told him bluntly. "Where's your discharge papers?"
"That's my boy," put in Mrs. Arnett. "He's no deserter. We bought that coat in Illinois."
"That's a pretty story," scoffed the sergeant. "He looks too suspicious to me for that. I'm going to take him along."
Mrs. Arnett argued with them for half an hour, endeavoring to establish the boy's innocence. Finally the sergeant ordered them to go on, adding a word of caution:
"You'd better not let any other officer see that coat, son. The country's full of deserters and we're on the lookout for them."
That evening when they camped at a small road ranch they found that the soldiers had captured the deserter, a poor home-sick boy of eighteen, and housed him in a small outbuilding, the only window of which was barred with iron. They had taken him on an island in the Platte river.
Willamette went around to talk with him and as there was no guard slipped a file through the bars. He went on with his mother the next morning, never knowing whether the file did the young man any good in making his escape.
Fort Kearney, at that time, was under strict government regulations in regard to emigrant trains, because it was here that scouts and escorts were furnished for the trip. A large number of wagons were in the vicinity of the fort when Mrs. Arnett arrived, all waiting for an armed force so that they could cross the Plains.
The next morning Mrs. Arnett, knowing nothing of the regulations, hitched up the horses and moved out on the trail. She was not stopped, possibly because the soldiers thought that no one would dare start out alone, or that she was pulling up the river a short distance to camp. They kept on until they met a scout on the road two days later.
"Good Lord, ma'am!" he exclaimed. "Don't you know that you're a-takin' your lives in your hands, crossin' this way without an escort. The country's alive with Indians!"
"What can we do?" asked Mrs. Arnett. "No one told us about the Indians being so bad."
"Well," mused the scout. "I've got to get into Kearney with these dispatches. It's too late for you to turn back now. You'd better go on as fast as you can. Be mighty careful and don't stop for nothin'. Good Luck!"
They were left in the midst of the dangerous Plains. At one place they came across some gruesome remains--a lone wagon that had been ambushed by Indians, its occupants killed and scalped. The bodies of the murdered husband and wife lay alongside the trail. The children's bodies were here and there, and the baby lay where it had been dropped, after its brains had been dashed out against a wagon wheel. They went on. Indians must have, without a doubt, seen them. Possibly they feared to attack, thinking them a decoy for a company of soldiers. Once, they sighted a half-dozen squaws standing in the trail. As the two rigs approached, the old hags shrieked and waved their arms.
"Drive right through them, Will!" called Mrs. Arnett. "Whip up your horses and don't stop for anything."
When the boy reached them, they kicked dust into the horses's faces, trying to stampede them by this trick. They had piled the dust of the trail--it was five or six inches deep--into big mounds for this purpose. Amid the choking dust the lead wagon kept on, with the squaws screeching and trying their trick over and over. But it was no use. The two rigs went on, leaving the old squaws to curse at each other.
When the heroic woman and her sons reached Denver, the authorities could scarcely believe her story, deeming it almost impossible that two lone rigs to come through unmolested.
"I don't see how you made it, Mrs. Arnett," said a cavalry major "There has been constant fighting on the trail all this summer. The Indians are the worst I've ever seen them."
The next morning they started for Boulder where they supposed Mr. Arnett to be as that was the information supplied by his last letter, come four months before. In the meantime he had moved his ranch 9 miles east of Boulder. They reached Valmont Butte just at nightfall and here one of the horses took sick. The poor woman was worried, because she had counted on being in Boulder to spend the night. They were all worn out with the long nerve-racking journey. She had Willamette unhitch the horses and camp for the night.
She was sitting on the wagon tongue, heartsick, while Willamette was working with the sick horse, which was rolling and groaning with the colic, when a man rode up with a broom over his shoulder. Noticing the sick horse, he stopped and in so doing recognized the animal as one he had left in Illinois. He looked again to make sure and recognized his wife, sitting there as brown as an Indian, and cried out:
"What in the hell are you doing here?"
It was Anthony Arnett. He had come along by chance, on his way to his ranch near Canfield. The broom he was carrying he intended to use to make his cabin presentable for their coming. Jumping from his horse, he folded them in his arms.
The mother afterwards said that those were the sweetest words she ever listened to. He hitched the horse he was riding in place of the sick one and proceeded to the ranch.
Mrs. Arnett was always a loyal helpmate, sharing her husband's burdens and cheering him with her love and sympathy. The story of her pioneering in Colorado, with her mild, gentle, refined influence was most remarkable and well known to the early-day people. She had the added distinction of crossing the Plains four times in a covered wagon and twice in a stage-coach. Mrs. Arnett was a charter member of the Fortnightly, the first women's literary club in Boulder. She was intellectually minded and made the most of her opportunities by reading and study. Anthony Arnett, with a rough exterior, but a most generous and kind heart, was sometimes spoken of as a diamond in the rough, in contrast to the refinement of his brave little wife.
In 1871, the Arnett family and a party of friends, including a young lady from Chicago, crossed over the old Fremont Trail, now known as Rollins Pass, to Hot Sulphur Spring, now a famous resort. These were the first white women to cross that pass. When the party reached the springs, they found 800 Ute Indians camped there, having come off their reservation and living off the game of the country and taking baths. The band was under the leadership of Chief Colorow, a wily old savage. He came to visit the white people and fell in love with one of the Arnett girls. At first the family considered this a joke; but later the matter looked grave. The chief wanted to bargain for her, as was his way of getting a wife.
"How many ponies will you give?" asked Mrs. Arnett, thinking to set a price far too high and discourage him. At that time, let it be said, she did not realize he was so much in earnest.
Colorow looked at the girl. She was his type, with clear features and luxuriant black hair.
"Give two ponies."
The white mother laughed, "No.: After a time she pointed to another of the girls, the one from Chicago, who was a pale blond.
"I'll give you that girl for two ponies."
The Ute chief did not, it appeared, want this girl. "Heap too pale face for me. Want other girl."
Mrs. Arnett saw now that he was in earnest. She told him that under no circumstances would she let her daughter go for less than six ponies. This was an exorbitant sum and she thought that the old Ute would go away and forget it.
Early the next morning the family was awakened by a shout. They arose and went out into the snappy air. There, with a look of determination on his face, was old Colorow with six of his best ponies.
"Come for girl. Give six ponies," he announced proudly drawing his blanket around him.
"Chief," put in Anthony Arnett, "we don't intend to let that girl go for all the ponies in the Ute nation. This thing has gone far enough. I don't want to hear any more about it."
The old chief was furious. "White men, white women heap liar. Give promise; no keep."
His warriors crowded closer. For a time it looked as though there might be trouble for the Utes were angry. Arnett stood his ground and the Indians finally moved off.
In 1864, soon after Mrs. Arnett's arrival, Arnett purchased the Boulder House and was proprietor for many years. It occupied the site of the present Buckingham building at Eleventh and Pearl streets. In 1875 he erected the Brainard hotel, now known as the Arnett.
In 1865 he took up two hundred acres of land in what is now the southwest section of Boulder. It extended from the south side of the Columbia cemetery, east to about the center of the University campus, then south to Baseline, and west to the mouth of Gregory canon. Here he ran cattle and horses, about 300 head of each, proving that Boulder Valley was one of the finest places to winter stock in Colorado.
A great deal of credit is due Anthony Arnett for the liberal manner in which he supported all enterprises calculated to develop Colorado.
When the Caribou silver discovery was first made, the trade of the camp went to Blackhawk and Central City, by reason of the road that had been built into it from these places. This trade amounted to thousands of dollars each month, and Boulder people looked upon it as their rightful heritage, by virtue of location. If they could get a wagon road into Caribou, the revenue from that immense trade would be theirs. But to get the road was the question. It was believed an impossibility.
Anthony Arnett, with two other far-seeing men, Amos Wilmer and William Pound, decided that they would build the road, odds over odds. A road had previously been built up Boulder Canon, over Magnolia hill, and across country to Blackhawk. They planned to continue the road from the foot of Magnolia hill, up Boulder canon to Nederland, and thence to Caribou.
It was in the winter that they made this decision. A survey was the first thing; so that the work could start early the next spring. They took a surveyor and started up the canon. As they were unable to survey the canon either up or down in summer on account of high water and steep banks, a route was taken over the hills by way of Sugar Loaf, to Nederland. From here they surveyed downstream, traveling in ice the entire distance.
Building the road was difficult both from physical and financial stand-points. It passes through a rugged country, calling for an immense amount of blasting and hard labor. The three men were forced to buy holdings of ranchmen who were on the right-of-way. They acquired 2200 acres in this way.
Eventually the road was finished. A big celebration was held to officially open it at Boulder Park, since known as Rogers Park. Trade commenced to pour into Boulder. Toll was charged in order to repay the builders for their outlay of money. But, owing to the expense of keeping the road in repair, little money was made on the investment. However, it was a wonderful thing for Boulder. Trade from the great silver camp poured in, enriching everybody. It is said that the town had 10 livery stables, and that the streets were full of stagecoaches and wagons freighting ore from the mines or returning with coal and other supplies for the camp. Sidewalks were so crowded in the evenings that, if one were in a hurry, he had to take to the streets.
Arnett later acquired the interests of the other men in the 2200 acres which they had jointly purchase, extending from near Boulder Falls to the town of Tungsten. He kept it for about thirty years, losing money, because the taxes were greater than the revenue. He finally sold it to Platt Rogers of Denver, getting a gold watch and $3000. Rogers, after about ten years, sold timber from this tract to the McAllister Lumber Company of Boulder for $10,000. Later, when the tungsten boom hit the country, it is said that he sold one hundred and sixty acres to a mining company for $150,000.
When the Boulder Valley Railroad, later the Union Pacific, came into Boulder from Brighton, it was halted by lack of funds. This road meant a great deal to the growing city. The citizens donated $30,000. Arnett came forward to the worthy cause. He gave $2200 and two lots, one at Fifteenth and Pine Streets, and the other at Fourteenth and Pine Streets.
When Boulder county needed a court house badly and had no money to build one, Anthony Arnett and Fred Squires Sr. constructed a brick building, paying for it themselves, and presented it to the country for a courthouse and jail. It was used in after years as a police station for the city of Boulder, and will be remembered as citizens as standing just across the street from the Arnett hotel. It has since been torn down to make way for a second-hand car lot.
When it was decided to establish a state university, there was great controversy as to the location. Naturally, each city presented its claims, and the forthcoming meeting of the legislature was to decide which should have it. John Topping, the young man who had crossed the Plains to Colorado with Mr. Arnett, had gone to the southern part of the state and had prospered eventually becoming a member of the Colorado legislature. He was very friendly with Arnett, regarding him almost as a father. Topping was visiting with the Arnetts before the meeting of the legislature.
"If there's anything I can ever do to help you, tell me," he told Arnett.
"John, I want to see that state university located here in Boulder," was the reply. "I've got three hundred head of horses over there on that land. You can take your pick of them if you get us the school."
"I'll give you my support on it, Mr. Arnett," Topping promised, laughing at the idea of getting a horse.
When the legislature met, the question of location was long and bitterly fought. Boulder and its rival were running neck and neck, with one vote needed to decide it. John Topping cast the deciding vote for Boulder. There was great excitement in the House. Topping jumped up and shouted: "By God, I've got a horse!"
He came to Boulder, received Mr. Arnett's hearty thanks and picked out a fine saddle horse from the herd.
Establishing a university is a costly procedure, and the state was hampered by lack of funds. Anthony Arnett donated five acres of the present campus and $500. He also made the institution a gift of eighty acres of land, lying just north of Lover's Hill, afterwards purchased by C. M. Tyler from the state. These gifts of the rugged empire builder helped make the University of Colorado what it is today.
Today there stands a rustic monument of native stone on the campus of the University of Colorado, carrying a bronze table on which is engraved:
"In Memory of Marinus Gilbert Smith, George Asa Andrews and Anthony Arnett, Citizens of Boulder, who in 1872, when the University of Colorado was still a dream, donated the land upon which it was to begin its life."
After a busy life of achievement, in which he acquired a considerable fortune in real estate and mining properties, he retired at the ripe age of sixty. Later, in 1894, he and Mrs. Arnett moved to LaJolla, California.
Mrs. Arnett died May 3, 1903, at the age of Seventy-three.
Exactly one month later, June 3, the rugged old empire builder, aged eighty-three, passed away.
Today they both sleep side by side in Columbia Cemetery, Boulder, in the shadow of the mighty Rockies.
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