When the Midland freight train from Aspen pulled into the depot one 1890 evening, a juvenile traveler was seen getting off. From the interest taken in him by the train hands, a reporter came to the conclusion that the child had a story.

So, what might get an old newspaper man going?

The lad was about 8 years old, a bright little fellow, and seemingly could take care of himself. He said his name is Willie Smith, and that his father’s name is Ezra Smith, who had a ranch somewhere below Glenwood Springs.

The boy tells the following story: “About two years ago my parents sent me to a family named Gross, in Pueblo, who adopted me, but they whipped and ill-used me, so that I ran away. I went to Cañon City, from there to Colorado Springs, thence to Rockdale, and then to Vulcan, a station on the Rock Island road, where I met a family who were very kind to me. I was happy there, went to school and used to help with chores about the house. After being there for some months I got restless and wanted to see my father, so thought I would leave for Glenwood Springs.

“I told the family so, and they said ‘all right,’ and that if I ever got tired of my parents and wanted to return, to come back. One day I left and got on the train and rode to Colorado Springs, where I got on board the Midland train, which took me to Leadville. The conductor saw me and told me to get off, twice, but I sat quite quiet, behaved myself well, and he never again said a word to me. From Leadville, I stole rides to Glenwood, where I remained one day, I asked several people if they knew my father, and they told me no, so I guess they have left the country.

“Father or mother can’t care for me very much, or they would never have sent me to live with strangers.”

The little fellow then left Glenwood and got as far as Aspen Junction, where he laid over for a few hours, and arrived in Leadville on a Tuesday evening.

The boy was respectably dressed, wrote in a very fair schoolboy hand, and had advanced far enough in his studies to be in the third reader. He said that he was going back to the people at Vulcan, who were the only ones he had met in his short pilgrimage through life who have shown him any kindness.

There the story ends as far as

I can tell.

Vulcan, as you might expect was a tiny place near the town of Newcastle, west of Glenwood. It vanished a hundred years ago.

I’m sure today this would be different story! E.M. “Mel” Mcfarland is an artist, historian and railroad enthusiast. He is a Pikes Peak region native and has written a handful of books and guides highlighting the area’s rich history. Contact Mel at mcmidland@yahoo.com.