The following appeared in the Spokane Falls Review on May 21, 1891, and was republished as Over The Central Washington to Coulee City in BIG BEND RAILROAD HISTORY on January 4, 2012
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HISTORY OF THE TOWN
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A Lively Night Passed in a Crowded Hotel.
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THE LANDLORD AN EARLY BIRD
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Two Giggling Girls and a Brassy
Peanut Vendor--Staging Out
of the Town.
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[Special Correspondence of THE REVIEW.]
It was twilight when we ran into Coulee City over the tracks of the Washington Central. The yellow lights were gleaming pleasantly from half a hundred houses, and a dash of rain, which had just then blown out of the west, gave a grateful moistness to the atmosphere. Afloat on the night breeze was a pleasing touch of that subtle, saline odor which always follows the first long roll of the rising tide upon a sandy shore.
For five hours we had ridden westward from Spokane through a beautiful agricultural region of undulating, grassy slopes and scattering forests of pine, with here and there a little valley made vividly green by a tangled growth of cottonwood, birch and willow. As we drew farther and farther from Spokane, and after passing Cheney and Medical Lake, the pineries became more scattering and finally disappeared entirely from the landscape. But the view retained its picturesque nature long after the prairie had entirely replaced the forest. Out in the north and northwest a line of billowy, purple mountains marked the course of the majestic Columbia and the border land of the Colville Indian reservation, extending far northward to the British boundary. A low, wide opening in the blue mountain wall marked the valley of the San Puell [Sanpoil]. There is gold somewhere along this stream, for it has been brought out in quantities of five and six ounces by Indians and squaw men.
Since 200 or 300 Spokaneites were recently the guests of Coulee City, and enjoyed a splendid opportunity of viewing its unique and picturesque surroundings, the earlier history of the place may be of more than ordinary interest. No doubt the enterprising people of the place took care to inform the excursionists that Coulee City is the only place for a distance of seventy miles where lines of railroad can cross that wonder of nature, the Grand coulee, and that for that reason the town has one road already, and will soon have the great Northern, and stands in hope of some day drawing in two or three more. Very likely they also spoke of the fact that their town sits between the two great grain belts of the Big Bend, and that they have an abundance of pure, cold water bursting from the earth and running through the town, and of course they drew attention to the substantial brick buildings of the Washington Central; but possibly they overlooked the fact that Philip McEntee, the present mayor, was the first settler; that he drove a band of cattle into the coulee seventeen years ago, and that the place was long known both far and wide as McEntee's crossing.
"When I came here," said the old pioneer, "the coulee was the finest pasturage I had ever seen. It was covered with rich grasses, and the cattle were kept in there as tightly as in a corral."
It was a long way then to the nearest railroad, and Spokane had no existence, but McEntee's crossing was known all over the Inland Empire by the stockmen and straggling miners who were always glad to pitch their camp in its pleasant groves and upon the banks of its running streams.
The hotel was crowded, and we counted ourselves fortunate to gain the privilege of occupying a little bed in the dining room. At 4 o'clock in the morning everybody in the house was aroused by a tremendous scuffling in the front office. There was a great deal of vehement oratory, a page or two of profanity and some blood spilling. It was nothing of consequence, however, we afterward learned--merely a little encounter between the landlord and a guest who was endeavoring to depart without the usual formality of placing a little silver in the proprietor's palm.
Then the guest went away in ignominy and with a bloody nose, and a small season of silence pervaded the caravansary. I use that word advisedly, for here it is that the caravans of freighters from the Okanogan mines, 100 miles to the north, Chelan, fifty-five miles to the northwest, and Waterville, fifty miles to the westward, lodge after their weary pull across country.
The "peanut boy" on the train occupied an humble couch in our modest little apartment, and as the train pulled out for Spokane at 5 o-clock in the morning the hotel people began the difficult task of arousing him along about 4:30. If he was given to selling scorched peanuts and wormy fruit the offense must have rested lightly upon his conscience, for he slept away with all the persistence of Mr. Wardle's fat boy Joe. However, the efforts of the gentleman who did the pounding upon our chamber door were not entirely unrewarded, for he awoke both Mr. Coe and myself and disturbed the slumbers of the two dining-room girls in the adjoining apartment. They began to whisper in delicate tones that could have been heard all over the house, and then they began giggling about their beaux. That awoke Mr. Peanut in an instant, and he fell to chaffing the girls through the telephonic partition.
"I just wish I was back East!" exclaimed one of the girls. "I am sick and tired of the West. Old Minnesoty is good enough for me."
"Oh, pshaw," retorted the railroad official, "you'll go mashed on a stage driver or a train man and wouldn't leave Coulee for anything."
"Well, you just bet he'll have to be a jewel to keep me here. I'm just that homesick that I set down and bawl every night. No, siree, I won't stay here for the handsomest man in the Big Bend--no, not if he had all the money in Washington territory."
Then the owner of the Washington Central pulled himself into his clothes and rushed out to catch the train, and the girls lapsed into silence, and we vainly tried to take another cat nap.
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It had been raining through the night, and when we went out for a short stroll before breakfast the air was so pure and invigorating that we forgot all about our loss of sleep. After breakfast the stages came rolling up to the hotel, and there was a clatter and bustle, a stowing away of baggage and bundles and shrewd scheming for the front seat with the driver.
The Ruby stage came rolling up first, and all question of title to the front seat was quickly cleared away by the appearance of a lady. The western wind and the lowering clouds bore a menace of more rain, and there was considerable delay in finding a rubber coat for the lady passenger, but that accomplished the driver swung his whip and the passengers were off on their two days' ride to the mines of Salmon river.
When the Waterville stage drew up with four horses, a natty gentleman climbed in and elevated an umbrella. That was all right, for the drizzling rain had set in, but the crowd jeered politely, so he drew down the shelter and took his medicine the same as the others.
The stage for Chelan was the last to depart. Mr. Gilbert, one of the affable proprietors of the line, had one of his horses entered for the races, and wanted very much to remain and help entertain the Spokane excursionists, but a driver could not be found, and he was obliged to turn his back upon the Spokanites and drive through to the wonderful lake. The long whip swings in the cool morning air, the horses spring forward, and we are rolling pleasantly across the coulee--the Big Bend before us, and beyond that the lordly Columbia, the pineclad foothills of the Cascade mountains, the deep blue lake, and further yet the snowy peaks of the distant Sierras.
N.W.D.
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