Some Freaks of Fate

By John A. Hill and Jasper Ewing Brady in 1898

The vast expanse of the American plains, a landscape painted in hues of gray and brown, held a certain allure for those who dared to venture into its untamed heart. Having recently returned from revisiting these familiar scenes, the author reflects upon the remarkable individuals encountered during his time on the western frontier. These were men and women forged in the crucible of hardship and opportunity, their lives rich with stories waiting to be told.

The author laments the fact that many writers, though skilled with words, lack firsthand experience of the frontier. He suggests that a year spent immersed in this rugged environment, with eyes and ears open, would provide them with a wealth of authentic material, capable of eclipsing even the most imaginative works of fiction. The frontier, in its raw and unforgiving beauty, held a unique power to shape character and test the limits of human resilience.

The frontier was a magnet for strong individuals, those driven by a pioneering spirit and a willingness to sacrifice for their ambitions. It attracted people with a diverse range of motivations, from love and ambition to resentment and a desire for a fresh start. While some may have been fleeing troubled pasts, the author observes that there were no fools to be found among them. Every face bore the mark of a unique story, etched into the lines and expressions of those who had dared to carve out a life on the edge of civilization.

Each person on the frontier had a purpose, whether it was to build a fortune, escape a checkered past, or simply indulge in a life of unrestrained revelry. Even those who sought only to drink, shout, and shoot did so with a fervent intensity, their actions imbued with a sense of purpose. Of the many men who worked as locomotive engineers, the author recalls few whose lives lacked meaning. Almost everyone had a compelling narrative, a personal saga worthy of being immortalized in literature.

The author expresses his fondness for sharing a pipe and listening to the life stories of these remarkable individuals, each tale worthy of a Kipling. The women of the frontier were equally striking, their faces reflecting the trials and triumphs of their lives. Self-sacrifice, devotion, or even degradation were etched into their features, revealing the profound impact of their experiences. The frontier was a place where fate dealt decisive hands, leaving little room for the mundane or the unremarkable. It was a place with some freaks of fate.

It is no coincidence that fools rarely ventured into the frontier. They lacked the drive and resourcefulness required to thrive in such an environment. Pioneers, by their very nature, were individuals of exceptional strength and determination. One such character who left a lasting impression on the author was Oscar Gunderson, a locomotive engineer of Swedish descent.

Gunderson, a man of imposing size and fair complexion, possessed the mechanical aptitude often associated with his heritage. Although officially known as Oscar Gunderson on the company’s records, he was universally known as "Big Gun" by his fellow railroaders. His moniker was a testament to his commanding presence and his expertise in all things related to locomotives. "Gun" to those closest to him, including the author.

Gunderson approached life with the same meticulous care and attention he devoted to his engine. He spoke of his own body, his clothes, his food, and his drink in terms of locomotive mechanics. His hat was his "dome-casing," his Brotherhood pin his "number-plate," his coat "the jacket," his legs "the drivers," his hands "the pins," his arms "side-rods," his stomach "fire-box," and his mouth "the pop."

A missing suspender button was invariably referred to as a broken "spring-hanger," a limp as a "flat-wheel." He "fired up" when eating, "took water" like his engine, and "oiled round" when he indulged in a taste of whisky. Gunderson was fluent in the slang and shop-talk of the railroad, and was even rumored to have invented much of it. However, his unique and inimitable engine talk set him apart from his peers. This story is about some freaks of fate.

The author recalls sharing a room with Gunderson one winter, during which he would often return late at night and deliver monologues filled with railroad jargon as he undressed. One such monologue, translated into plain English, described Gunderson’s encounter with an old ex-engineer at a local saloon.

Gunderson had found the man, Dock Taggert, in a state of disrepair, looking as if he had been tramping, drinking, and neglecting his appearance. Gunderson had "set out his packing" by feeding him and putting him up at a hotel, believing that Taggert would need to reform before he could return to active service. Taggert was a skilled engineer, but his drinking habits had led to his downfall, leaving him unable to navigate life without assistance. This shows us some freaks of fate.

Gunderson was a bachelor who had come west because of a woman. He expressed no desire to "double-crew his mill," preferring to maintain control over his own life and destiny. He believed that partnerships, like double-heading locomotives, inevitably led to conflict over who should lead and who should follow.

The author sensed that Gunderson harbored a deeper story, but his attempts to elicit it were always met with resistance. One day, the author stumbled upon a receipt that had fallen from Gunderson’s pocket, revealing a monthly payment to a mission in San Antonio for a girl named Mabel Rogers.

The receipt sparked the author’s curiosity, leading him to inquire about the girl. Gunderson revealed that he was helping to educate her, but denied any familial connection, stating that he would give a significant sum if she were his own. He admitted that he didn’t know her age or had ever seen her. She was "willed to him," and he could not explain the story, partly because he didn’t know it all himself and partly because he didn’t want to. These were some freaks of fate!

The author respected Gunderson’s privacy and refrained from pressing the issue further. However, he remained intrigued by the mystery surrounding the little girl. One evening, the author overheard Gunderson lecturing his fireman in his characteristic style, using colorful railroad metaphors to scold him for his drunken behavior.

Gunderson’s colorful language painted a vivid picture of the fireman’s disheveled appearance and reckless conduct. He used railroad terms to describe his condition and behavior, warning him to reform his ways or face being "scrapped." Soon after that, the author was transferred, and Oscar Gunderson and his little girl faded into memory, becoming a half-read book in the author’s life.

Years later, the author encountered Gunderson on a westbound express train. Despite the passage of time, the author recognized Gunderson’s imposing figure and distinctive features.

After exchanging greetings, the two men reminisced about old times. Gunderson revealed that he had been on a special assignment to New York for a wedding. He excitedly described the marriage of his "little girl" to a "long-fire-boxed ten-wheeler," predicting that their union would lead to "express speed that will make the canals sick."

Gunderson’s enthusiasm over his daughter’s marriage was infectious. As the porter prepared the sleeping car for the night, Gunderson promised to share the story of his little girl in the morning.

After breakfast the next day, Gunderson prepared to recount the tale. He began by describing the wedding, but the author interrupted, reminding him that he had promised to tell the story of his life and the little girl.

Gunderson launched into a narrative that traced his life from his humble beginnings as the son of a sea captain. He shared his experiences working on the railroad. He eventually landed a job on the Virginia & Truckee.

He then recounted the story of meeting Mabel Verne in a Virginia City chop-house. He was moved by her quiet strength and asked to call upon her. He later learned that she owned the Odeon dance hall and the Tontine in Carson. The author found this story a perfect example of some freaks of fate.

Despite his initial reservations, Gunderson accepted Mabel’s invitation. She revealed her past and her desire to protect her child from the stigma of her profession. She asked for his help in raising her daughter. Mabel shared the tragic story of her past, including the accidental death of her child’s father. The author then confessed to having been the engineer who had run over her child’s father, an admission that surprisingly drew them closer.

Mabel described her struggles to provide for her child and her decision to place her in a mission in San Antonio. She expressed her desire to give her daughter a better life and asked Gunderson to be her guardian. Gunderson agreed to help, but refused her other proposals of moving to Los Angeles.

Gunderson revealed that he had been sending money to the mission for Mabel’s care. However, he had no romantic involvement with the mother. Then, one winter, he was out on a snow-bucking expedition, became ill, and found himself in a hospital. To his surprise, he began receiving special treatment, with luxuries labeled "From the Boys." He later discovered that Mabel Verne had been secretly providing for him.

At the height of his misfortune, Gunderson received a letter from Mabel, offering him a home and her devotion. He was tempted to accept, but a letter from his sister changed his mind. The letter included a picture of his nephew, who idolized him. This made him realize that he could not lead a double life.

Gunderson wrote to Mabel, explaining his decision, and sent her the money she had given him. He later received a letter informing him that Mabel had left a substantial sum of money in the Phoenix Bank for his little girl. Mabel Verne was never heard from again.

Gunderson adopted Mabel and raised her as his own. He prospered in outside speculations and allowed her inheritance to accumulate in the bank. Mabel went to Germany to study music. Gunderson never told Mabel about her parentage.

Mabel married a man from New York. Gunderson learned that the groom was his own nephew, the very boy whose picture had once prevented him from marrying Mabel’s mother.

After the wedding, Gunderson gifted Mabel her inheritance, unaware that the Phoenix Bank had failed and that he had replaced the lost funds with his own savings.

The story ends with a twist. As Gunderson concluded his tale, a nun, Sister Florence, entered the scene. She revealed that she had overheard the entire conversation and that Gunderson had secretly replaced Mabel’s lost inheritance. The nun praised Gunderson’s noble character.

As Gunderson prepared to resume his story, the nun placed her hands over his eyes. He recognized her touch and identified her as Mabel.