A la California - Chapters IX-X



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CHAPTER IX. WAITING UNDER THE MADROO. 
Dreaming of the Tropics again.--The Honey.Bee in California.--A Good Joke 
on the Bear.--In the valley of the Shadow.--Nia Hermosa.--On the Red 
Desert.--Fair Alfaretto.--Burning the Mezquites.--The Curse of the White 
Man.--A Wild Night's Bide in the Sierra. 

HERE, under the great Madroo, on the gently sloping hillside we, the trout-
fishing party, the Doctor, with his Henry rifle, moodily bent on somebody 
or something, he cares little what, so that it is large and dangerous-a 
grizzly, if he can find him; a California lion, if one comes in his way; a 
wild-cat, or an eagle, if nothing better offers; or possibly, by the 
rarest good fortune, a specimen of the mighty mountain vulture of 
California, first cousin to and almost the counterpart of the giant condor 
of the Andes--and myself, less aspiring hunter after pigeons, and such 
small game, were to meet and lunch after our morning's wanderings in the 
mountains. "I am either the first man up, or blamedly belated!" remarked 
the incorrigible drunkard, as he awoke in the coffin, in which his 
appreciative friends, by way of experiment, had conveyed him to the 
cemetery and left him beside a new-made grave; sat up, rubbed his eyes, 
and looked around him under the impression 

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that the last trumpet had blown, and the dead of all time were called upon 
to come forth in response. There is no one else in sight, and I see no 
chicken bones, empty champagne bottles, or other"" of a lunch party having 
been here. On the whole, I think I must be the first man up on this 
occasion. I wonder where that Bill is with the lunch basket? It is barely 
half-past twelve o'clock, but I was off at daybreak, and climbing rocky 
mountain sides, and pushing through tangled chaparral and the blackened 
stumps of thickets, run through and killed by last autumn's fires, is 
tiresome work, especially when the few pigeons you see keep half a mile 
out of the way, beyond the reach of a gun, as they have done with me all 
this morning. I would like to see Bill about this time. Hall-o-o-o-o-o-a! 
HALL-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-A! No response. Well, this is a nice place for a quiet 
nap-anyway, and the air is just warm and soft enough to make it a luxury. 
I will improve my time. 

"Ah me! 
The hours o'er which we have least cause to weep 
Are those we pass in childhood, or in sleep." 

The first haven't come my way of late, but I can put in as square a day's 
work at the last as any man I have ever met yet. The Madroo boughs are 
loaded down with great, fleecy masses of creamy-white, bell-shaped 
blossoms, fragrant as the magnolia, and I see the black and yellow 
honeybees swarming over them, while their low, steady humming falls with a 
soothing effect upon my drowsy ear. Even so I listened to and listlessly 
watched them, as I sat beneath 

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the cocoa palms and breathed the fragrance of the orange and primavera 
blossoms at La Calera. Every flower gives its own distinct flavor to the 
honey gathered from it. The orange-flower honey of Orizaba is fit to grace 
the table of the gods. I wish I had a little of it now, with some nice 
warm biscuits, such as my mother used to make for me. This madroo-flower 
honey ought to be delicious! I wonder if the bears of California have 
found out how good it is! The honey bee came to California with the 
Yankees, but the American variety soon found out that they could get along 
with next to nothing in the shape of a winter store, and so in a few years 
they took to loafing all summer, and shifting for themselves as best they 
might during the rainy season, leaving no margin for profit for their 
owners, who, after paying fabulous prices for them, were obliged to turn 
them adrift and import Italian bees to take their places. Singularly 
enough, the yellow rascals, as soon as they were independent, and under no 
obligation to work for anybody else, took to the mountains, and went to 
work with a will on their own hook. They have now spread through the whole 
State; and in some localities, as in San Bernardino and Los Angeles 
counties, bee hunting, for their stores of delicious honey, has become a 
regular and profitable business. 

If the California bears have not found out how good the honey is, the fact 
does no credit to their intelligence. In the valley of the Mississippi the 
bear is the wild bees' most persistent enemy. But 

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the bees sometimes make it very lively for him. I remember an old Arkansas 
hunter who told with infinite gusto one anecdote in point. Said he: "I had 
heard an angry growling and snapping in the bushes, and I knowed that a 
bar was thar and in trouble; but for the soul of me I couldn't make out 
what it was. I allowed that perhaps he might have got a bullet into him, 
and was tryin' to work it out by mouthing it; bar will do that sometimes; 
so I just crawled like a cat through the underbrush for about ten rods, 
pulling old Grim--that's what I used to call my old Kaintuck rifle for 
short--after me, and going mighty cautious, not to be heard. The growlin' 
and snappin' kept up all the time, and it was no trouble to find the right 
place. Jest when I got to the edge of the brush, I looked out into a 
little open space whar thar was no bushes, and right in the middle of it I 
seen a bar sittin' on a bee-gum that had been blowed down and split open, 
and jest shovelin' the honey into his mouth, hand over hand. The bees they 
was as thick as hair on a dog's back, all around and over him, and the way 
they was puttin' in their best licks in the way of stingin' him onto the 
nose and around the eyes and mouth, was a caution to snakes, you bet. 
Every time he shoveled a handfull of honey into his face he would give a 
growl and a slap or two at the bees. Arter a while, he reached forard a 
little more nor usual, and the bees seen a bare spot on his rump--bars has 
a bare spot on their rump generally, whar they wears the har off, sittin' 
down and turnin' round--and they went for it, for all there was in sight. 
This startled him like, and 

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in tryin' to whirl around, so as to get a good grab at 'em, he fell off 
the log heels over head. He rolled over and over on the ground three or 
four times, and then jumped back on the log and went for the honey, uglier 
nor ever. I thought I had had fun enough watchin' on him up to that time, 
and I had better save him and the rest of the honey at the same time. So I 
jest drawed a bead on him with old Grim, and he rolled off that bee-gum 
deader nor he'd been struck by lightnin'. And would you believe it, ladies 
and gentlemen, that d--d bar never seen me at all, but thinks to this 
minnit that 'twas them ar bees that stung him to death!" 

Up from the depths of the deep caon, over on the other side of the narrow 
valley, at the foot of the hill, comes a long-drawn bugle-call, and I turn 
drowsily over and gaze in that direction, half impressed with the idea 
that I shall see again the long-drawn lines and glancing arms of the Guard 
of Jalisco filing through the barrancas at the foot of the volcano of 
Colima. But there rises no smoke from the summit of yonder mountain--the 
volcanic fires died out ages and ages ago in the crater of St. Helena, and 
I look in vain down the winding valley for the green palanquin, with the 
grey-haired statesman and wanderer in many lands, borne by white-clad 
Aztecs, and the gallant Zomeli, the beau sabreur of Guadalajara, riding at 
the head of his squadrons of swarthy horsemen. I am not in the tropics 
after all, though dreaming of them; and it is the madroo, not the palm, 
whose green leaves rustle so gently in the sweet spring air above me. 

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I wonder where Bill can be. I could stand the loss of the rest of the 
party, but he is my friend indeed, or would be if I could see him. If I 
thought I could find a good dish of frijoles and tortillas in the camp of 
those Mexican or Chileno charcoal-burners over there in the caon, from 
whence the bugle-call came, I would start on the instant, and let the rest 
of the party go; but the chances are ten to one that they have become 
demoralized, living among the Yankees and Pikes, and I should find only 
black coffee in the place of the delicious chocolate de Tabasco, fried 
bacon for frijoles, and saleratus or yeast-powder biscuit for the 
tortillas. This is a pretty good place after all, though I am getting very 
dry. 

I believe I will take a smoke. Why did I not think of that before? The 
tobacco of Orizava is meat and drink and rest, all in one. Leonardo 
Sandoval, proprietor of "LA FABRICA DEL BUEN GUSTO EN GUADALAJARA," you 
are a noble fellow, though anti-tobacco-nists may say what they please; 
and you are my friend! You have the soul of a poet, too, in your bosom, 
else this would never have been printed in letters of gold upon the 
wrapper of the package of your cigarritos, which by unbounded good luck I 
find in my pocket: 

Nia hermosa, Ya que te di natura bondadosa Dientes de perla, labios de 
coral; La ambrosia Aspira solo de la escencia mia Y har tu aliento puro, 
angelical. 

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Your head is eminently level, Seor Sandoval! I endorse your sentiments to 
the very letter. Si Nia hermosa, I know her well! Teeth of pearl, lips of 
coral; that is her description to the life! Hang me, Leonardo, if you are 
not an artist as well as a poet and tobacconist! When next I enter your 
shop on the corner of the street of the Aduana and San Felipe, in orange-
embowered Guadalajara, I will cultivate a more intimate acquaintance. Nia 
hermosa, I should like wonderfully well to drink to your health just now, 
but as I have not the essential for such a demonstration with me, I will 
do the best I can under the circumstances, and give you a puff--from my 
cigarrito! The blue smoke curls gracefully upward, rising through the 
madroo branches in a slender column, so like a delicate, long-stemmed wine-
glass in form, as to awaken a double recollection and association in my 
mind. I stand again on the Red Desert, hot, blistering sand beneath my 
feet, a brazen sky all aflame above, and bare, red mountains flickering in 
the reflected rays of the fierce, blazing sun of the south, around me, 
gazing on a scene so sad, that even I, bitter Indian-hater that I am and 
must be, witness with heartfelt pain. Let me see how it all came about. 

It was in the autumn of 1863 when the mad rush across the Colorado Desert, 
to the newly found gold and copper mines beyond the Colorado, in Arizona, 
was at its height. The heat and dust, and consequent sufferings of the 
poorly outfitted participants in the rush, were terrible. What will not 
man suffer for the 

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sake of gold, always provided that the gold is far enough off, and hard 
enough to get? Nearer at hand and easier won, it is not half so 
attractive. 

Uncle Billy Thompson and myself had taken a "short cut" across the desert 
from San Gorgonio Pass, eastward toward the Colorado, to avoid undesirable 
company; we lost the trail, and wandered on the red hot desert sands, and 
in the sun-baked adobe mountains, without water, until our tongues parched 
in our mouths so that we dared not talk; and before our longing eyes the 
leafless palo verde shrubs turned to lofty palm trees, waving their green 
leaves in tropic breezes; and the mirage changed scattered volcanic rocks 
into great cities, whose long, level streets were lined with rows of 
palaces, such as the good Haroun Al Raschid raised in the city of the 
caliphs. By one of those freaks of fortune which some men call "miracles," 
others "special Providence," others "lucky chances"--and for which we 
thanked God in the silence of our hearts without stopping to call it 
anything--we had found a little deposit of pure water under a rock, left a 
day or two before by a cloud-burst, which had torn a channel like that of 
some great river, for twenty miles through the gravelly sands of the 
desert, and disappeared like a dream, leaving no other trace behind--had 
shared the life-giving element with our famishing horses, taken rest and 
new heart, and traveling on, passing the spot where others less fortunate 
had lain down in despair and died, had reached a hospitable camp, and been 
saved at last. We had journeyed thence in safety at last to the land of 
the accursed 

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Apache, wandered into the red mountains of Arizona, made our "locations," 
and separated-he to toil in the mines and fight the treacherous, prowling 
Indians for years, I to return to home and Civilization. Alone I had made 
the return trip from La Paz to Chucolwalla, and thence to Tabasaca and 
Callon Springs, where the faithful old buckskin steed Muchacho Juan, 
companion and friend in all my wanderings, had fallen down and died in 
terrible agony, after eating the poisonous weed of the desert known as " 
muerto en el campo " (death in the camp), leaving me to finish my journey 
of two hundred miles back to the settlements of California on foot and 
alone. Out of the jaws of death we had ridden exultantly into the Camp at 
Dos Palmas a month before; into the gates of hell I walked with bleeding 
feet as I left Dos Palmas next, in the terrible silence of the desert 
night, on my weary tramp toward San Bernardino. 

It was two A.M. when I wearily climbed the summit of the divide between 
Dos Palmas and the Palma Seca, and looked down into the great plain below. 
When the last man looks down on the wreck of the universe, and sees our 
world going back into chaos, without form and void, he will not behold a 
scene of more utter and savage desolation, or find himself wrapped in a 
silence more truly terrible. The full, round moon flooded the whole 
landscape with mellow light, but naught of life was to be seen; the 
ghastly pallor of death was upon and over everything. Southward to the 
horizon stretched a great plain of snowy salt--the grim and silent ghost 
of a dead sea of the 

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past, which once covered all this accursed land, but being cut off by 
volcanic changes in the country below from the Gulf of California, dried 
up beneath the blazing sun of the south, and passed away forever. Across 
this vast white plain, as across the waters of a placid lake, the moon 
threw a track of shimmering light so bright as to almost dazzle the eyes 
of the beholder. Right in this glowing pathway of light, far out in the 
centre of this ghostly sea, where foot of man hath never trod; lay what 
appeared in the dim distance the wreck of a gallant ship, which may have 
gone down there centuries ago, when the bold Spanish Conquistadores, 
bearing the cross in one hand and the sword in the other, and serving God 
and Mammon, and the Most Catholic King of Spain and the Indias, with 
exemplary zeal, were pushing their way to the northwest, in search of 
souls to save for the love of Christ, and new kingdoms to plunder on 
shares. They sought then in vain for the fountain of youth, El Dorado, and 
the far-famed "Seven Cities of Civola." The fountain of youth lies ever 
just beyond the western horizon; we shall find it, and drink of it, and 
bathe in its waters bye-and-bye; the kingdom of Civola, from whence came 
the gems and treasure of Montezuma, lay even then in ruins in central 
Arizona, as we know to-day; and El Dorado they found, but knew it not, 
leaving it to us, who long years after came in and possessed the land, and 
made it to blossom as the rose, and to our children's children, to shout 
"Eureka!" over its abounding wealth. To the southwestward, beyond the 
western shore of the ancient sea, the Coyotero 

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mountains broke the outline of the horizon. Farther northward, Mount' San 
Jacinto lifted his rugged form in a black mass against the sky; and 
northward, still the desert, in pulseless waves of ashes, minute sea-
shells and yellow sand, stretched away for a hundred miles, like a 
stagnant, tideless sea, to where Mount San Gorgonio and Mount San 
Bernardino towered aloft in awful majesty--twin giants, grim and grand--at 
the gateway of this strange, wild, weird, mysterious land. Upon their 
sides, far above the yellow sands of the desert, belts of dark-hued pinon 
forests stretched upward to their crowns of white, disintegrated granite, 
which gleamed like snow-fields in the clear moonlight, contrasting like 
frosted silver against the sapphire sky, and seeming to be Cut off and 
detached from the earth below--floating like aerial icebergs through the 
starlit sea of the heavens. In vain I looked and listened; sight or sound 
of life, save my own, there was none; the eternal silence of the desert 
rested like a pall on the scene. This stillness is something awful, beyond 
the power of words to describe. In the absence of all other sounds, save 
that of my own hushed breathing, the ticking of the watch in my pocket was 
so distinctly audible as to become painful to hear. The world in ruins lay 
around me, and though in it, I seemed not of it. "Though I walk through 
the Valley of the Shadow of Death," cried the Psalmist: lo, the Valley of 
the Shadow stretched out before my feet! 

As the grey light, creeping sluggishly over the glacier mountains, 
announced the Coming dawn, I limped 

[image caption: CROSSING THE DESERT.]

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into the thicket of rank, bitter-leaved arrow-wood which surrounds the 
bitter and nauseous alkaline springs of the Palma Seca, drank of the slimy 
waters, filled my canteen afresh, and pushed on again down into the plain, 
with a walk of twenty-five miles through alkaline dust, in the hottest 
valley on the surface of the earth--seventy feet below the level of the 
sea at that--before me. About ten o clock, a ranchero from San Bernardino, 
who had been out to the new gold mines of Arizona with a drove of beef 
cattle, came up and joined me. His horse, a noble, fine-haired half-breed, 
far too good an animal to be brought out Into this accursed desert to die 
of heat, thirst and starvation, was so weak that he could no longer bear 
the weight of his master, and jogged mechanically on, with his eyes closed 
and his ears hanging down, like two frost-bitten tobacco-leaves, as his 
late rider limped before him, packing his blankets on his shoulder, and 
pulling sadly at the halter. Noble--such was the name of my friend from 
San Bernardino--had been a jaunty-looking young fellow when I saw him 
starting out for the mines from home six weeks before. When I met him that 
day he was a fit subject for the pencil of Hogarth. His coat had dried up 
and vanished, piece by piece, in the thorny thickets beyond the Colorado, 
and his vest had followed suit; his hat was a wreck, his pants in ruins, 
and the uppers and soles of his boots having parted company, he had, in a 
fit of desperation, parted company with both. To replace his boots, he had 
split his lower nether garment in twain, and bound the sections around his 

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swollen feet, thus in a measure protecting them from the blistering sun 
over the excoriating alkaline dust and ashes. 

Opposite where we met that morning was a broad sheet of dried mud, broken 
from the bed of what in the moment of a cloud-burst had been a roaring 
torrent, capable of sweeping away a whole train in an instant, as one was 
swept away near there in 1866, when men were drowned and their bodies 
Carried miles away into the desert, and set up on end like a grave-stone. 
Some passing miners on the back track had spent an hour or more in Cutting 
an inscription on this monument, as follows: "In memory of the Infernal 
Asses who left home, square meals, and the comforts of civilization behind 
them in San Francisco, and sought their eternal fortunes among the mines 
in the blessed regions beyond the Colorado, of which are we. This monument 
was raised at the joint expense of the merchants of Los Angeles and San 
Bernardino, who drove a thriving trade, and had a grand thing out of it 
while the excitement lasted. And of such is the kingdom of Heaven." 

We looked at each other and at the monument by turns with mournful 
interest. The cork of Noble's canteen flew out with a pop, propelled by 
the force of the sulphur gas generated from the half-boiling, stinking 
water, as it was shaken about as he limped along. "Here, Fly-up-the-Creek--
I've forgotten your other name--take a drink!" said he. "You are another, 
my beauty, and I cannot refuse!" I replied, and swallowed a mouthful of 
the nauseating fluid. 

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There is nothing more picturesque than a caravan on the desert--when seen 
in a picture, when you sit comfortably at home in a civilized country. 
Believe me, beloved of my heart, 'tis indeed distance lends enchantment to 
the view. That expression is, I believe, not wholly original. I have a dim 
recollection of having heard or read something similar once or twice 
before--but it is very neat and very appropriate, and I crib it 
accordingly. 

Higher and higher climbed the sun into the unclouded, copper-hued sky, and 
hotter and hotter grew the motionless desert air, until the point where 
breathing would become an impossibility, and the whole apparatus must 
catch fire and burn up, seemed almost reached. The treeless mountains 
which shut in this desert basin on all sides, keep out at this season 
every breath of life-giving breeze, and the sun pouring into it, as into 
an old-fashioned tin bake-oven, makes everything fairly hiss with the all-
consuming heat. Mile after mile I plodded on, leaving Noble and his 
exhausted horse far behind, the heat and thirst becoming more nearly 
intolerable at every step. 

And now in the distance, along the western edge of the valley, arose great 
pillars of smoke--thin, and straight, and slender--to a vast height; then 
spreading outward into the semblance of wide-limbed trees, whose roots 
were firmly planted in the earth, whose giant trunks rose in the middle 
air, and whose branches filled all the heavens above. Toward these pillars 
of smoke I bent my weary steps; and at last, just as it seemed that my 
bleeding feet would bear me no further, 

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and I must sink down exhausted, I came suddenly upon group of Coahuila 
Indians, gathered around a clump of mezquite trees, the branches of which 
were Crackling in the flames. With parched lips and tongue, swollen from 
the fierce heat, I tottered, almost fainting, into the midst of the group, 
and held out my empty canteen. A young woman seized the canteen and ran 
into a thicket hard by, returning with it in a few minutes filled with 
delicious, cool, clear water, from some hidden well, known only to 
themselves. I sought for it many a time afterwards, but never found it. I 
drank of the cool, life-giving liquid--sweeter than champagne or nectar, 
it seemed to me then (it is but just to the manufacturers of the articles 
named to say that I had no chance of making a fair comparison at the 
moment), and then with my blankets on the dry sand under a spreading-
mezquite, slept the sleep of the just. 

When I awoke the Indians were all gone, save the pitying woman who had 
brought me the water. She was sitting at a little distance off watching 
me, and as she saw me awakening, she ran and brought me another canteen of 
the Cool water. Her language was a sealed book to me, as mine to her, and 
our conversation was necessarily limited to a few words of Spanish which 
pass current everywhere on the southwestern border, and are understood in 
their conventional meaning by all. She was barefooted and bareheaded, and 
marked with the small-pox. Her raiment was of the scantiest, and it was 
painfully evident that the stock of soap and Cologne water in the parental 

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wickiup was running very low, necessitating the putting of the family on 
short allowance. She was, in short, not a bit like the traditional "fair 
Alfaretto" in any respect; nevertheless I would have looked twice at an 
angel from heaven had one been offered in trade for her, unless the angel 
had come with a coach-and four, or on horseback, leading a spare horse, at 
the very least. 

There is a little river, called the Aqua Blancho, issuing out of the San 
Bernardino Mountain, at the San Gorgonio Pass, at the upper end of the 
valley, and sinking in the sands of the desert soon after reaching the 
plain. Its waters are pure and cool, but no tree nor blade of grass grows 
on its desolate banks. From its source in the barren rock-ribbed mountain 
to its sink in the desert sands, through all its course, it is an accursed 
river, flowing ever in silence through a land accursed. But after it sinks 
and is permanently lost to sight, it contributes something to the comfort 
of mankind. It supplies the poor Coahuilas' wells fifty and a hundred 
miles to the southward, and nourishes a growth of the mezquite trees along 
the western side of the valley. In these mezquite groves the Indians have 
what is left of their villages since the small-pox has decimated them; and 
from the trees they gather the long, yellow, sugary beans, which, pounded 
into a paste and baked as bread, form with the pinons, or mountain pine 
nuts, almost their on!y diet the year round. The small-pox was a terrible 
infliction upon them, but a more terrible one followed close upon it. When 
the Indians of the 

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valley of the Mississippi saw the honey-bee coming among them, they said, 
"Lo, the messenger of the white man! He is at hand; it is time for us to 
go!" Following the small-pox came the mistletoe into this desert land, 
and, fastening upon the mezquite trees, soon loaded them down so heavily 
with its parasitic growth, that they ceased to produce beans, and the 
Indians saw starvation before them. "Lo, the curse of the white man is 
upon us!" they cried, and sat down in despair. An old chief told them to 
burn each season the trees worst afflicted with the mistletoe, and perhaps 
the new ones which would spring up in their places might be free from the 
Curse. This is what they were doing on that day when I stumbled among 
them; and a feeling of pity, deep and heartfelt, came over me, as I saw 
them standing around the burning trees, which had represented to them 
life, and hope, and abundance, and gazing with saddened, downcast, 
hopeless faces upon the consuming flames. 

Lying here to-day in the fragrant shade of the blooming madroo, on the 
green-clad heights of the mountains of Napa, watching the smoke curling 
upward from my fragrant cigarrito, something--what it is I cannot tell--
recalls all this to mind and memory; going backward through the years, 
reproduces the picture once again in all its startling, painful vividness 

H-a-l-l-o-o-o-a there! Thank Heaven, an answering call comes back at last, 
and I see the Doctor, with his rifle on his shoulder, coming slowly up the 
mountain--and Bill is with him. Bill is my friend. Sunburned American, 
never shall any man call you black 

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again in my presence! You are a free and enlightened American citizen; 
smoked a trifle, I admit; but what is ham until it is smoked? Who objects 
to smoke? Another widow! First, the Widow of Garcia; then the Widow 
Cliquot! Respect for the widows is one of the most striking 
characteristics of the true gentleman, and I am overflowing with it. 
Here's to them all! 

Not much luck to-day, Doctor? Well, the exercise will do you good, and 
that is a consolation at any rate. You certainly needed it. People in San 
Francisco eat too much and drink too much, take too much sleep and too 
little pedestrian exercise. They don't perspire from one year's end to the 
next. There is all the difference in the world between this climate and 
that of San Francisco; and, if I am not mistaken, there is still more 
between this and what you were used to the season you hibernated up there 
in the Sierra Nevada? 

Yes, there is some difference, and no mistake. Many a night I have curled 
myself up under three pairs of California eight-pound blankets and 
shivered all night long. While you are in motion you do not feel the cold 
so much, but when once you lie down and attempt to sleep, it would take a 
pile of blankets like Mount St Helena over there to keep you from freezing 
to death, unless you had a roaring fire going all the time on one of those 
stormy nights. And a physician has almost a dad certainty of being called 
out on the darkest and wildest nights for his longest rides to attend on 
patients who cannot wait a moment under 

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any circumstances. One night's ride which I had in the Sierra I shall 
certainly never forget. 

It was in the winter of 1868-69, when I had just been placed in charge of 
a division near the summit of the Sierra Nevada, on the then half-finished 
Central Pacific Railroad. After a long day's ride, I came back to the 
boarding-house at ten o'clock in the evening, and was told that a 
messenger had been there from Camp No. 10, with a request that I would 
lose no time in hurrying over there to attend upon John Smith, who was in 
a very critical condition. The messenger had been very urgent, and it was 
evidently a case of life and death--nothing less. I took a few minutes to 
consider. I was tired out, and wanted sleep badly, but could, on a pinch, 
go a little farther without breaking down entirely. The moon would be up 
at eleven o'clock, and the night was still and clear, though the snow had 
only just ceased falling, and was from five to eight feet deep on the 
level, if you can use the expression properly where there is nothing like 
a level to be found, and the roads--or trails, rather-are obliterated by 
the drifts. I inquired about the location of Camp No. 10. It was twelve 
miles away, and directly over a ridge, or spur, of the mountains. My own 
horse could not stand the trip, but a big lubber of a cart-horse, that 
they said was a good saddle-horse, was offered me. I got supper, put on 
dry socks and an extra pair of fur-lined over-boots, and, just before 
midnight, was in the saddle and off. 

A good saddle-horse! The brute belonged to the nightmare family, and his 
mother must have taken 

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special pride in him. Great heavens, what a gait! He had traveled so long 
in the cart that the steady jolt had communicated itself to his spine, and 
become chronic. At every step he jerked his back up, as if expecting to 
feel the girth-strap strike him underneath, and neither curses nor blows--
and I labored conscientiously to earn a reputation for liberality with 
both that night--would induce him for a moment to recognize the fact that 
he was out of the shafts, and abandon his eternal hippytyhop. When I 
started out, there were hard lumps in the saddle, as large as chestnuts; 
before the twelve miles were half completed, the lumps had grown to the 
size of paving-stones, and awfully sharp-edged and rasping. The snow which 
had just fallen filled the trail, but the old snow underneath being hard-
packed, and the trees along the route well blazed, I had no difficulty in 
keeping in the right track most of the time. But when about three miles 
from my place of destination, as nearly as I could guess, clouds obscured 
the moon for a time, and I lost the road. I kept on as well as I knew how, 
guessing at the location of Camp No. 10; and, after rolling down the steep 
side of a ravine, and working half an hour to get old Jerky back upon the 
ridge, filling my overshoes with snow, and fairly exhausting myself in 
floundering through the drifts, I was rewarded with the sight of lights. 
in some cabins half a mile away. Not doubting that this was Camp No. 10, I 
rounded a small caon, worked my way over a point of rocks, Jerky stumbling 
and falling repeatedly, and reached the cabins at half past twelve o' 
clock. 

Page 212

The lights had disappeared. "Halloo the house, there!" No answer. "Halloo 
the house!" louder and longer than before. A panel in the side of the 
nearest cabin opened slowly and cautiously, and after time enough had 
elapsed to allow of a critical examination of the party outside, a voice 
demanded: "Who you, John? What you wantee catchee here?" It was a Chinese 
wood-cutters' camp, and there was not a white man about the place. 

The Johns told me that there was a camp-of white men on the other side of 
the ravine I had just crossed, and perhaps half a mile farther up the 
mountain; they thought it might be "Camp Numble 10." Half an hour's 
floundering through the snow brought me back to the point whence I had 
sighted the lights, and soon after one A.M. I was at the white men's camp. 
I roused the inmates more easily here, as they were indulging in a little 
friendly game of "pitch," or "draw"--that being Saturday night--and had 
not retired to their virtuous bunks. No, that was not Camp No. 10, my 
informer told me; and, what was worse, Camp No. 10 was right over the 
summit of the mountain, a mile and a hall away. I could go around by the 
trail three miles, or ride up to the railroad-track, tie my horse, and 
walk through the snow-sheds, a little more than a mile-it was contrary to 
the rules to take an animal inside the sheds 

I started up toward the track, and reached it at two A. M. The night was 
now clear and still; not the slightest noise could be heard, and the 
silence was something awful and oppressive. The last man and 

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the last horse on earth will not feel more completely alone than Jerky and 
I did at that moment. As I was about to dismount and tie him to a tree, a 
thought struck me. I knew every regular train on the road, and there was 
none due for hours from either direction. I had a time-table in my pocket, 
and I took it out and examined it carefully by the moonlight. The track 
was clear; why might I not venture to save my strength and that of my 
horse, and, by saving time, perhaps save a valuable human life as well? 
Why not, indeed? The more I thought of it, the more satisfied I became 
that it was a safe thing to do. 

The moon, now unobscured, was high in the heavens as I entered the snow-
shed, and it was not very difficult to keep the way, as the light came 
scintillating through a thousand cracks and crevices in the rough timber 
structure. Three or four culverts, to allow the passage of mountain 
streams when the snow is melting, checked my progress for a brief time, 
but there was a plank across one or two, for the convenience of "foot-
passengers,' and as the water was hard frozen, I got old Jerky around the 
others in safety 

The worst was over, and I was already beginning to chuckle over the 
adventure, and pride myself on my forethought and pluck in making the 
venture, I had, undoubtedly, saved at least an hour of hard work wading 
through the snow, and possibly--not improbably, in fact, saved a life. 
Just then I heard a low, tremulous, humming noise running along the frost-
laden rails, and instinctively checked my horse to listen. It had subsided 
for the moment, and I went on in silence. 

Page 214

Suddenly it commenced again, and seemed louder and clearer than before. I 
halted again. God have mercy upon me! I exclaimed involuntarily. It was 
the rumble of the wheels of a coming train, beyond a question. I sprang to 
the ground and placed my ear to the rail. The train was coming from the 
west; it must be a "construction train," laden with materials for the 
road, and possibly with laborers as well. The track occupied the full 
width of the shed, allowing only for the overhang of the cars. A man might 
escape by lying down; but a horse was almost sure of death, and if the 
train struck him, it must go off the track almost inevitably. I was upon 
old Jerky's back before I was even aware of what I was doing, and started 
down the grade, to the eastward, as fast as his stiff and clumsy legs, 
urged by whip and spur, and the attraction of gravitation, could move him. 
Clearer and clearer came the humming noise; and I heard, at length, a 
short, sharp whistle, as the rushing train entered a tunnel, turned a 
sharp curve, or passed out of a tunnel. It could not be more than two 
miles, or three at most, away. Jerky skated over the ice-patches, and 
floundered through the small snow-drifts which had filtered in through the 
crevices in the shed-work, but reckless of danger to limbs alone in 
presence of the greater danger to myself, and perhaps hundreds of my 
fellow-men, I whipped and spurred unceasingly, and drove him on at the 
height of his speed. Nearer and nearer came the train. I could already 
hear the chough, chough, chough of the locomotive behind me. At last I saw 
an opening in 

Page 215

the side of the shed not many rods distant, and, with with a triumphant 
yell, I urged my steed to put forth his utmost effort. Sixty seconds more 
and I would be saved, and the danger to the train avoided. The seconds 
seemed hours in the feverish excitement of the moment, but they were over 
at last, and I sprang off my horse on the instant that he reached the 
openIng, and rushed, with the rein in my hand, through the aperture. Old 
Jerky snorted and sprang backward, throwing me down, and pulling the rein 
from my hand. I saw the trouble at a glance. The opening was not of 
sufficient height to admit of a horse going through it erect, and a heavy 
timber to which the planks were nailed, ran across the top. I sprang 
inside and took a survey of the situation in an instant. The beam would 
have borne ten times the strain that I could have brought to bear upon it, 
as it was a foot thick, sound, and firmly placed. I threw all my strength 
and weight against the planking a little beyond the beam, and fell back 
upon the icy ground; the planks were imbedded in the frozen ground at 
their lower ends, and I could not start them in the slightest degree. I 
sprang up and ran to the other side of the shed, to--try if the planking 
on that side was less firmly secured. Through the crevices I saw a 
precipice running hundreds of feet, sheer down from the side of the shed. 
I could not escape that way, and if the train went off there, no person on 
it would survive to tell the tale. 

I fell on my knees to pray, but, before I had uttered a word, the thought 
passed through my brain that I might throw the horse down, and pull him 
through 

Page 216

the opening by main strength. I had the rope from the saddle in my hands 
in an instant, and throwing it around his fore-legs, I sprang to one side, 
and with my whole strength attempted to trip him. The brute jumped 
backward and refused to fall, while the rope ran through my hands, tearing 
the skin, and searing the flesh as if I had grasped a red-hot iron. I 
remembered at that moment having seen a Mexican vaquero showing off his 
skill in horsemanship, at San Jose, amid an admiring throng, and making 
the sneering remark to a friend, "And he is nothing but a bull-driver, 
after all." In that time of supreme agony, I would have sacrificed every 
advantage of birth, education, talent, and professional skill, and changed 
places with that uneducated, despised, bull-driving Greaser, merely to 
have received in turn the gift of the ability to perform the trick of 
throwing down a horse. My foot struck a stick of wood, such as is used for 
burning on the locomotives, which was lying on the ground, and I instantly 
stooped to get it, determined to beat the brains out of the brute with it, 
or at least stun him into insensibility, and then pull him into the 
opening. It was frozen fast in the ice, and I Could not tear it loose, 
though I put forth strength which seemed herculean, in the frenzy of my 
excitement. It occurred to me that I had a pocket-knife, and I might Cut 
his throat; but the train was almost upon me, and there was no time for 
him to bleed to death; this reflection did not consume a second and a 
half. In my despair, I gave one long-drawn yell-"Help!" No answer came. 

The train rushed on, as it seemed to me, with lightning 

[image caption: NO TIME TO LOSE.]

Page 217

speed, upon the down grade, and the light of the locomotive head-lamp 
already fell upon me. Ten seconds more, and there would be a terrific 
crash, and a pile of broken cars; and crushed, bleeding and dying men 
would burst through the side of the shed, and go rolling down the mountain 
side. Deadly faint, and convinced that all was nearly over, I staggered 
against the side of the shed, closed my eyes, and sank half down to the 
ground. I heard Jerky give a sudden snort of terror, and opened my eyes. 
He had discovered the danger at last, and comprehended it all in an 
instant. The train could not have been more than thirty feet from him, 
when he made one tremendous jump, and went through the opening. The beam 
caught the high Mexican saddle, tore it into fragments, and frightfully 
lacerated his back, but his weight, and the strength which mortal terror 
gave him, carried him through, and he fell in the snow outside. I sprang 
after him, just as the locomotive came abreast of me, and fell, trembling, 
exhausted and fainting beside him. 

I don't think the engineer saw us at all. I did not see him, so far as I 
could remember afterward. It was half an hour before I could gather 
strength enough to regain my feet. When I did so, I got my exhausted and 
bleeding horse upon his legs, and replaced the wreck of the saddle upon 
his lacerated back, securing it, as well as I could, with some thongs cut 
from the edge of the rein, and my pocket-handkerchief, torn into strips, 
and prepared to resume my journey. In a caon, filled with the black shadow 
of the mountain, I saw what appeared to be the dim 

Page 218

outlines of several cabins. That must be Camp No. 10. Pulling my limping 
steed after me by the bridle, I made my way slowly and painfully down to 
the nearest cabin, and knocked at the door. "Git!" was the response which 
came to.the third or fourth knock. I repeated the knocking. "Git! you 
drunken son of a gun! You have been yelling around here long enough! 
Leave--or I'll put a bullet through you!" Came in decided and most 
emphatic tones from within. I called out that I was the doctor from 
Camp---, not the man they mistook me for, and wanted to know if that was 
Camp No. 10, and if John Smith was there--John Smith, who was dying, and 
wanted the doctor so bad. There was a moment's debate in whispers, between 
two or more persons inside; then I heard the scratching of matches and the 
shuffling of heavy slippers over the floor, and at last the door was 
opened, "Be you the doctor? Well, you are a powerful weak-looking young 
chicken for a doctor!" said John Smith--for it proved to be he--after he 
had held the candle to my face, and deliberately scrutinized my person for 
some seconds. 

"You sent for me, I think, Mr. Smith?" 

"Well, yes, I did send for you; but I'm kinder sorry now that I did, for I 
have concluded to go over thar to-morrow on business, anyhow." 

"But the messenger said you were dying, or the next thing to it-- almost 
dead, I think he said." 

"Well, yes, I was pretty considerable scared at the time. You see I had a 
eruption come out right bad on my leg, and I was afraid it might be 
pleurisy, or 

Page 219

new-amonia, or erysifilus, or suthin o' that sort, and if I come over in 
the snow and catched cold in it, I might 'a gone in." 

He sat down on the side of his bunk, and pulled up the drawers from his 
right shin: there was a patch of ringworm there, about the size of a 
silver dollar--and that was all. I made use of some strong expressions. I 
don't often swear, but I felt aggravated, under all the circumstances, and 
considered myself justified. I still so consider. Mr. Smith heard me 
through. Then he arose majestically to his feet, and thus relieved 
himself: 

"Young man! I jest put you up for a derned fool, on first sight-an' I 
wan't sold much! Ef you hain't got no more sense nor to git mad 'bout 
trifles, you'll have many a long day ter wait 'fore you'll be called on 
again to visit this camp--an' it's goin' to be a right lively camp in the 
spring, you bet! I did perpose to ask yer ter take a drink, bein' as how 
it's late, an' you must a' had a purty good ride over the mounting; but 
now, I'd jest see yer blessed first. Thar's the door; git! you derned, 
ornary, wizened, contemptible little scrub, an' don't come foolin' around 
here no more, ef yer don't want ter git hurt! Git!" 

I took his advice, and "got," without another word, just as the gray dawn 
began to streak the sky over beyond the Washoe mountains. 

There they come at last! I can see their horses winding around the ridge 
across the caon yonder. Bill, unpack the basket, and have everything in 
readiness for the lunch. Hunters, fishermen and clergymen generally have 
powerful appetites. 



Page 220

CHAPTER X. AROUND THE MOUNTAIN CAMP FIRE. 
The Fountain of Youth.--Hunting for Trouble.--Mike Durfee's Snake.--The 
Days of '49.--A Tragedy in the Redwoods.--When shall we Three Meet Again?--
Story of the Champion Mule of El Dorado.--How a Green Down Easter Struck 
it Rich.--Result of Misplaced Confidence.--Sensational Reports 
Deprecated.--Out-Door Amusements in Arizona.--An Alarm in Camp.--The 
Mountains by Moonlight.--Parting under the Madroo.--Adios! 

NOWHERE on earth, I think, does one so relish food and drink as around the 
camp-fire. On the treeless plains of the West and Southwest, in the 
rugged, Indian-haunted mountains of Western Texas and Central Arizona, 
even on the bare, hot sands of the deserts of Nevada and Southern 
California, there is always a weird attraction, and a sense of hearty 
enjoyment in the evening around the camp-fire. Some of the happiest hours 
of my life, many of them, I may say, have been spent around the camp-fire, 
and ever and anon the old longing for wild life and dangerous adventure 
comes over me even in the busiest hours of city life, and the desire to 
shake civilization and all its comforts and refinements, and go back to 
the wilderness, becomes almost uncontrolable. The charm of danger is year 
by year being lost to camp life in California, but exciting adventure may 
still be found, and there is nothing equal to a glowing campfire to bring 
out anecdotes of the past and re-awaken 

[image caption: AROUND THE CAMP FIRE.]

the recollections of the wild life of other days; or, as Beranger would 
express it: 

"The brave days when we were twenty-one." 

And of all places on earth for solid comfort in camp there is none like 
California. The pure, dry, mountain air is always so healthful and 
invigorating, and the nice, dry ground is worth all the spring mattresses 
in Christendom for a bed. And then it never rains in California during the 
spring, summer and autumn months. Given a shot-gun, a rifle, fishing-
tackle, blankets to sleep in, a frying-pan, coffee-pot and cups, a little 
flour, salt, pepper and a few sundries, and a bunch of matches, and, with 
two or three jolly companions--it is none the worse if the party is half 
made up of ladies, so that they are possessed of sense and know how to 
rough it and enjoy it-your "outfit" is complete. 

"Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay." 

Better one month of camp life in the California mountains, than years on 
years of life at the fashionable "watering-places" and "summer resorts" of 
the East and Europe. 

Ponce de Leon sought in vain for the Fountain of Youth in the swamps and 
forests of Florida--he was looking in the wrong direction. I found the 
fountain years ago up in a quiet caon, under the madroo trees, in the 
mountains of California; and every time I drink of its waters and camp by 
its side, Time, at my bidding, turns back in his flight, and I am only a 
boy again. 

We lunched with such hearty satisfaction, and found the mountain air and 
scenery so much to our liking, 

Page 222

that we were loth to leave it and return to the city. So we took a vote on 
the proposition, decided to go into camp for the night at least, and, 
having dispatched Bill to Calistoga for blankets and cooking apparatus, 
proceeded to make ourselves at home. 

There are always people who will go poking around hunting for trouble and 
disagreeable things wherever they happen to be. Curse all such people, I 
say! What is the use of it? "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof" 
is the wisest saying between the lids of the bible, and I travel on it. We 
had one of these people in our party, and he knocked around in the bushes 
until he found a rattlesnake. It did not bite anybody, and was not looking 
for anybody to bite, and if it had not been stirred up with a stick and 
set to rattling, no one would have known it was there. As it was, it 
frightened the ladies and destroyed the pleasure of the party for hours. 
More fool the man who found it. 

I can recall one incident in my lifetime, and one only, in which snakes 
had a healthy effect and rendered a service to humanity. Some ten years 
ago the San Francisco bar numbered among its members many jolly, good 
fellows, who were given to free indulgence in the pleasures of the table, 
and not unfrequently passed the limits of prudence, and wrestling too 
ardently with old King Alcohol, were thrown and severely hurt. Among them 
was Mike Durfee, now a strictly temperate man, a successful lawyer and an 
exemplary citizen, after nearly all his old associates have succumbed and 
passed away. When Mike 

Page 223

"went on a tear" it was a long and desperate one, and its result was a 
foregone conclusion, The reporters for the daily press of San Francisco 
were sitting one morning in their special quarter in the Police Court 
room, taking notes of the trials and sentences of the thieves, vagrants, 
burglars, wife-whippers, drunkards, and all other offscourings of humanity 
who attend the daily levees of his honor, when Mike, who, in pursuance of 
his time-honored custom, had been "running all night," and was just on the 
debatable ground between sudden reform and delirium tremens, came in, and 
leaning up against the partition which separates the reporters from that 
of the shysters, fell fast asleep. Seeing him in that position, the writer 
reached over to the chair always occupied by poor old Dick R---- 
(Rattlesnake Dick, as we used to call him by way of affectionate 
endearment, was a special favorite with all the reporters of that day), 
and pulled out a little roll of curled hair from the cushion. This hair 
was rolled into a hard wad, about the size of a large marrowfat pea, and 
dropped quietly inside of Mike's shirt-collar, where it lodged without in 
the least disturbing his slumbers. The morning wore on and the business of 
the day was nearly concluded, and still Mike slept on. At last a case was 
called, in which Mike was interested, or supposed to be, and the bailiff 
in attendance shook him by the shoulder, with the emphatic adjuration, 
"Here Mike, wake up; your case is called!" Mike awoke with a start, and 
stepping out promptly in front of the Judge's desk, threw out his right 
arm in oratorical style, began--"Your 

Page 224

honor, I propose--" At that instant the ball of curled hair, which had 
been confined between his shirt-collar and his neck, set free by the 
change in his position, commenced rolling down his chest upon the 
unprotected cuticle, like a spider with ten thousand sharp, clawed feet, 
going after his prey in a hurry. Mike felt it, and every nerve in his 
system thrilled in response, as if struck by the shock from a galvanic 
battery. Springing about four feet clear of the floor, he yelled in wild 
despair, "WHOOP! HELL'S BLAZES! SNAKES!" and came down with a jar which 
shook the whole room, with hair on end, eyes in frenzy rolling, and face 
of the hue of death; fairly gasping for breath, he snatched at his collar 
convulsively, tore it open, and following the descending serpent with 
desperate haste, tore every button off his shirt bosom in succession, 
grasping the dread monster at last as it paused in its career at its 
waist, where his pants were cinched so tightly that it could go no 
further, drew it forth, with hand trembling so that he could scarcely hold 
it, and sank faint, sick and helpless into a chair. Meantime the commotion 
in the Court room was something indescribable. The Judge sprang to his 
feet in astonishment and ill-concealed apprehension; the spectators and 
members of the bar, under the impression that Mike had gone suddenly 
crazy, or been violently attacked with the delirium tremens, were seized 
with a panic, and upsetting chairs,. benches and each other in their haste 
to get out of his reach, fled from the room, as the demon fled from the 
chamber where the fish of Tobit lay--probably 

Page 225

holding his nose as he did so--while to crown the uproar and confusion, a 
tail policeman who had been sitting with his feet braced against the large 
upright stove, and his chair tipped back, straightening himself out in his 
effort to rise and join in the flight, sent the stove end over end on the 
floor, the long pipe following suit, and coming down on the affrighted 
crowd joint by joint, flinging clouds of sticky coal-soot and smoke in all 
directions. When the stampede was over at last, and Mike had so far 
recovered from his attack of snakes as to be able to comprehend the 
situation, he arose, tottered over to the reporters' desk, and thus freed 
his mind: "By--, if I murdered the man who put that centipede in my bosom, 
any jury in Christendom would render a verdict of justifiable homicide! 
But, boys, it's my next deal, and I'll be--if you ever get a chance to 
play that on me again! If it had got down into my boots I'd never have 
drawn another sane breath so long as I lived. As it is, I'll never draw 
another drunken one, damn you!" 

And Mike kept his word like a man, stopped drinking entirely, devoted 
himself to the practice of his profession industriously, rose step by step 
in public estimation, and now holds an important office, to which he was 
elected by the votes of his life-long friends and acquaintances, many of 
whom to this day tell with infinite gusto and roars of laughter the story 
of Mike Durfee's snake. 

We built a glorious camp-fire in the little opening like an artificial 
clearing in front of the great madroo, and with the remnants of our lunch 
and the spoils of 

Page 226

the forest and mountain streams, got up a supper that a prince might envy. 
Did you ever roll a mountain trout in wet paper or green leaves and roast 
him like a potato in the hot ashes? If not, you have yet to learn the 
first lesson in gastronomic enjoyment. Soyer was a fool! I will match a 
California mountain trout so cooked against all the "made dishes" he ever 
produced, and trust to any jury on earth for a verdict in my favor; no, in 
favor of the trout, I mean. After supper, when we had made up our quarters 
for the night and gathered ourselves comfortably around the blazing camp-
fire, the fun commenced. Few of the stories brought out on such occasions 
will bear the test of repetition in print. It wants the mountain air, the 
wild, romantic surroundings, the jolly companionship and good fellowship 
to give them the hearty zest which makes them so enjoyable at the moment. 
How quickly the "forty-niners" go back to the mining-camps and the wild 
scenes of those early days, and live over again the life of the pioneer 
gold-hunters, who poured in a torrent over the Sierra, and, in an almost 
incredible space of time, searched every caon, nook and crevice of the 
mountains for the precious metal, tore up the soil of every hillside from 
Siskiyou to Fresno, marring and disfiguring the whole face of nature for 
all time, and then leaving their cities and villages, which had sprung up 
like Jonah's gourd in a single night, to fall to decay and slowly 
disappear from sight, and almost from memory even, scattered far and wide 
over the whole earth, little dreaming of the true wealth of El Dorado 

Page 227

which they left, untouched and undeveloped, for a priceless heritage to 
those less adventurous souls who should come slowly plodding after them in 
other years. Of all that mighty host, not more than one in a hundred 
remains in California to-day. In neglected graves, in the red earth of the 
Sierra, in the shadow of the cross of Calvary, under the laurel and 
willows of Lone Mountain, in the great depths of the sea, in the trenches 
of innumerable battlefields, in far-off Australia or Southern Africa, in 
Alaska, in Arizona, in Mexico, in Nicaragua, they sleep their last sleep. 
Wherever gold was to be sought for, wildernesses to be reclaimed, 
suffering to be endured, blood to be shed, they wandered, and fought, and 
died by thousands. They were a rough set--ready with the knife and the 
revolver, free-handed and liberal withal to the last degree--rich to-day, 
poor to-morrow, hopeful always, and game to the last. When the placers of 
California are exhausted, and the orchard and vineyard cover every 
hillside, the stories of their reckless adventures and wild career will be 
repeated again and again, and listened to with interest by every class in 
the community. "The days of '49," will ever be memorable as marking the 
most striking and wonderful epoch in the history of the Pacific coast. 
After them everything will seem stale, and flat, and tame to the youthful 
reader of history. 

As the hours of evening wore on, one and another took up the story of 
pioneer life, and many an anecdote, new to me and hitherto unprinted, was 

Page 228

related by eye-witnesses. Among them was the following: 

After the first rush to the placers, and when the building of permanent 
towns had fairly commenced, lumber fit for building purposes became in 
great demand, and in the forest near the sea coast, where transportation 
was readily obtainable, immense camps sprung up, and the scenes of the 
flush times in the mines were repeated. Lumber was worth hundreds of 
dollars per thousand feet, and money was gained and lost with a lavishness 
and rapidity almost incredible in these days. In one camp in the redwood 
forests of Humboldt, not far from the present town of Eureka, there were 
some six hundred men at work, and business was lively, in every sense of 
the word. There were two "stores" at which articles for miners' and 
lumbermen's use-heavy clothing, groceries, provisions, and notably whisky 
and cards-were dispensed at round prices. Every store in those days was a 
saloon, and a gambling-house as well; and poker, monte, faro and fights 
were the order of the day and night. It was no uncommon thing for a 
prosperous gambler on a Sunday morning to knock the head out of a barrel 
of whisky, put a tin cup in it, and set it in the middle of the store, for 
all comers to help themselves free of charge. And it was the dearest 
whisky man ever drank at that, for nine out of every ten who partook of it 
left from ten to a thousand times its nominal value at the gambler's bank 
before he went home that night. The feast of Belshazzar was nothing to the 
wild carousals which took place sometimes in 

Page 229

that camp. There were six of us in our cabin-no two from the same State, I 
think--and a pretty good crowd we were generally. But whisky and gambling 
will tell in the end, and they.did on us. Among the party was one tall, 
finely-built, athletic man, of some twenty-eight or thirty years of age, 
who went by the name of "Kanoffsky." The name would indicate a Polish Jew, 
but he was evidently nothing of the sort, and the name was like that of 
half the others in camp, merely assumed through caprice or the desire to 
conceal identity while the possessor was laboring to retrieve a broken 
fortune or a ruined character. I always thought that he was a collegian, 
probably a graduate of Harvard or Yale, and he was undoubtedly a New 
Englander of good family. Curiously enough, his boon companion was a 
rough, uncouth, uneducated Missourian, who went by the common nickname of 
"Pike," about the last man in the world one would think to attract the 
sympathy and secure the confidence of an educated gentleman, such as 
"Kanoffsky" evidently was. But misfortune and mining excitements make 
strange bed-fellows. Their intimacy was casually remarked upon by 
everybody in camp, but in those days we thought little of any social 
phenomena--we had little time or inclination to think long and seriously 
about anything--and for a long time nothing important seemed to come of 
it. But at last an event occurred which startled and excited the whole 
camp. One dark, stormy Sunday night in the mid-winter season, when the 
wind roared through the forest in broken, savage blasts, and the 

Page 230

rain fell in torrents, at brief intervals snatches of star-light 
intervening, Kanoffsky and Pike were absent until far past midnight, and 
we had all retired to our bunks with a certain undefined feeling of 
impending trouble, which every one has felt at times, but which no one can 
ever fully explain and account for. At last Pike, with an uncertain step, 
was heard coming in alone. He seated himself before the huge log fire, 
which had burned well down, but still gave off a ruddy glow from its great 
heap of fresh coals, partially lighting up the entire cabin, and drawing 
off his wet boots, remained toasting his feet for some time in moody 
silence. To inquiries as to the whereabouts of Kanoffsky, he replied 
somewhat testily that he did not know: that he had left him down at the 
stores half drunk early in the evening, and knew nothing more about it. 
His manner was peculiar, and produced the impression on myself and 
companions that he had been in difficulty with some one, probably over 
some gambling affair, and was "out of sorts," as well as a little drunk. 
While he sat there over the fire, one of our party got up, went outside 
and brought in another back log, which he threw upon the fire to prevent 
its burning out entirely before morning, and compelling us to rekindle it 
with matches and wet wood--a task of some difficulty. As he turned back 
from the fire, he remarked, "I stumbled over something outside there which 
I cannot make out! It felt like a bag of shot!" Pike looked up uneasily 
but said nothing. The man who had been out took a brand from the fire and 
stepping back to the door, 

Page 231

stooped down and examined the object over which he had stumbled. With a 
puzzled air he lifted it up and brought it inside. It was, as he had said, 
like a bag of shot, and proved to be a shot-bag filled with gold-dust. 
There was blood in great blotches on the bag. We all sat up in our bunks 
to look at it, and the inquiry broke from each in succession as to whom it 
belonged. 

"Well, damn you, if you all must know, it's mine!" growled out Pike at 
last. 

"Where the mischief did you get such a bag of dust as that?" said one. 

Pike, who now seemed now to be half drunk and half crazy, replied, "Well, 
it's none of your damned business anyhow; but if you must know, I got on a 
little spree down at the camp, and some of us cleaned out that Jew store." 

Starting from my bunk, I exclaimed: "Boys, there has been murder here, 
sure as heaven. That old Jew and his son never submitted to be robbed 
while they had the breath of life!eft! Pike, you must consider yourself a 
prisoner." 

The words were hardly out of my mouth, when Pike sprang up, and grasping 
me by the throat hurled me back upon the bunk with a savage imprecation, 
swearing that he would kill me on the instant if I did not take them back. 
All three of my companions were on him at once, and though he struggled 
like a madman, as he was, we got him down at last and tied him. Then he 
suddenly changed his tune, and tried to laugh it off. It was only a joke, 
he said, and 

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nobody had been hurt. Untie him, and he would go back at once with the 
dust. 

We were more convinced than ever that there had been murder, and one of 
the party volunteered to ride over to the main camp, some mile and a half 
distant, and find out what had occurred, while the other three kept guard 
over Pike. He started off and was gone about two hours. Just after 
daybreak he returned with a crowd of companions, all deeply excited. They 
had gone to the Jew's store, found it closed but not locked up, and on 
entering with lights, had beheld a spectacle frightful beyond the power of 
words to describe. The store was kept by a Jew of some fifty-five or sixty 
years of age, and his son, a boy of eighteen or nineteen, both of whom 
usually slept in the place. The old man lay on the floor of the main-store-
room, horribly chopped and mutilated with a hatchet, his skull fractured, 
jaw broken, one ear chopped off, and a great number of cuts on his head, 
face and breast, but still breathing. The floor was covered with blood, 
like that of a slaughter-house, and the marks of a desperate struggle for 
life were everywhere visible. In the back room they found the boy 
literally hacked to pieces and cold in death. The drawers had been forced 
open and rifled, and a trunk, kept under the counter and used for storing 
gold dust, coin and valuables, for want of a safe, stood smashed open and 
empty on the floor near the body of the old man, who lead evidently fallen 
in attempting to defend it from the robbers, who had entered by the front 
window and rear door simultaneously. The news spread like 

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wildfire through the camp, and in a short time Kanoffsky, who had been out 
in the woods, undoubtedly hiding his share of the plunder, was arrested on 
his way back to our cabin. The party arrived at our place, provided with a 
rope, and fully prepared to make Pike open his mouth, and tell the whole 
story, or "swing for it" instanter. At the sight of the rope he weakened, 
and related how it was all done. 

The party, consisting of four persons--himself, Kanoffsky and two others 
who had escaped on horseback to the mountains and were never arrested-had 
planned the robbery some weeks before, and waited patiently for a dark 
night to carry it into execution. After the robbery and murder, Pike, in a 
spirit of recklessness or insanity--he could never give any reason for his 
conduct-started directly for our cabin, intending to hide the bag of gold-
dust in a hollow stump, or some similar receptacle convenient to the 
place, until he could get it safely inside the house; but finding none in 
the darkness, brought it on until he reached the door, then laid it down 
where it was found, and went in to think the matter over and decide how he 
should dispose of it. Had one of our party not gone out to get the log to 
replenish the fire, it is probable that he might have succeeded in getting 
it hidden after all, and possibly escaped suspicion of being connected 
with the murder, as the two of his companions who escaped would naturally 
have been credited with the entire transaction. 

A Lynch Court was organized immediately, Kanoffsky and Pike tried, found 
guilty, and sentenced to 

Page 234

be hanged. All business was suspended for the day in the camp, and nothing 
else was thought or talked of 

Kanoffsky denied all connection with the affair from first to last, and 
the place where he had hidden his share of the plunder was never found, 
though search was made for it for years. 

A similar murder was committed in Tuolumne county in 1851, and the money, 
amounting to several thousand dollars in coin, buried by the murderers 
near the cabin. It was sought after for years; but it was not until twenty 
years later, in the summer of 1871, that a party of miners sluicing away 
the hillside where the cabin had stood, unearthed it and shared the spoil 
between them, all the original actors in the tragedy having passed away 
meantime. The plunder hidden by Kanoffsky may possibly be unearthed in 
some such manner years, or centuries even, hence. When the execution took 
place a minister was sent for, and he labored earnestly for hours with the 
murderers Pike and Kanoffsky, but all in vain--not a sign of repentance or 
contrition did either give. Led out at last to the tree on which they were 
to die, the halters were placed around their necks, and they 'were asked 
if they had anything more to say. Pike said he had told the whole story 
and had nothing more to say. Kanoffsky called me to him, and, holding out 
his hand, said, "Well, good by, old fellow; I can't blame you! When it's 
all over, write to my ----" He stopped there, thought a moment, and then 
said, "No, you needn't though; it is better as it is! Here, 

[image caption: WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN?]

Page 235

take this handkerchief out of my breast-pocket, and do me the favor to tie 
my hands securely behind me. I might go up after the rope and make the 
entertainment too lengthy. It is getting late, and the audience will want 
to adjourn as soon as possible. Please slip the knot a little further 
around in front so that it will come just under my ear. All ready; now go 
on with the performance!" The cart started off on the instant--down went 
both the men, their bodies swayed convulsively in the air for a few 
moments, and all was over. 

Who or what Kanoffsky was we never learned, the secret of his real name 
and history dying with him. That night all hands in camp went on a general 
spree, and the carousal was kept up until far towards daybreak. The keeper 
of the other store furnished the liquor, and got blind drunk on it himself 
before the spree was over. Everybody admitted that he kept very mean 
liquor. Among the crowd were two young fellows, less intoxicated than the 
rest, and they finished up the performance by going out and cutting down 
the bodies of Kanoffsky and Pike, bringing them into the store, and 
setting them them up against the wall. They then took the storekeeper, 
propped him up between them, and left him alone with the dead. When he 
awoke from his stupor next morning and looked around him, the face of a 
ghastly corpse, with the rope still around its neck, grinned at him from 
either side; and on the floor at his feet were scrawled with chalk the 
familiar words: "WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN!" He went out of that 
place on the 

Page 236

dead jump, yelling "murder" at the top of his lungs, and it was days 
before his nerves became quiet enough to enable him to mix a cocktail with 
anything like his accustomed skill and neatness. 

Practical jokes were common in those days, and the jokers were by means 
fastidious as to the manner of playing them or their result. If life and 
limb were endangered, so much the better. I remember a man in Placerville, 
then called "Hangtown," from numerous little episodes in its history, 
which had resulted disastrously to parties involved in them, who owned a 
mule, which was admitted to be the champion animal for pure, unadulterated 
viciousness on the Pacific coast. He would start on the slightest hint. 
The rattle of a tin pan was poison to him; and in running away, he always 
made it a point to knock down and injure somebody. If he stampeded, and 
did not get a chance to kill or maim some one, he felt he had to account 
for a day wasted, and would stand for hours in deep dejection, his ears 
hanging down limp and lifeless: then suddenly rush across the street, 
whirl around and kick with all his might at a child or woman, by way of 
getting even and making up for lost time. It was a standing joke with the 
jolly boys of Hangtown to lend him to a party of newly arrived miners, to 
pack their traps to some placer mining-camp, and at the hour for starting 
gather in front of the express office to see him go off like a rocket, 
scatter everything right and left, and break for the chaparral, leaving 
the astonished gold-hunters to gather their traps and 

Page 237

lament over the blasting of their prospects at their leisure. It was as 
much as a man's life was worth to go within reach of his heels; and it was 
necessary to muzzle him to keep him from eating everybody who came within 
reach of his jaws. One day a remarkably green specimen of the veritable 
"down-east Yank" came into Hangtown from the plains, and inquired for the 
nearest and best place to make a fortune in the diggings He was kindly 
directed to a promising gulch, and, as he was hard up, the use of the 
champion mule to pack his grub, tools, blankets and traps was generously 
tendered him. He proposed to start at eight o'clock next morning, and all 
the jokers in town, comprising the larger share of the male population of 
the place', were on hand at the appointed time to see him off. Promptly at 
the time, the greenhorn from the land of steady habits made his 
appearance, and commenced to pack the mule. The heavy aparejo was placed 
on his back and securely cinched; flour, beef, bacon, etc., etc., strapped 
on that, and then a miscellaneous collection of pans, kettles; shovels, 
picks, etc., etc., corded on top of all, and the load was completed. Up to 
this time the mule had stood there as quiet as a lamb, but the fun, as all 
save the greenhorn in that goodly company well knew, was about to 
commence. The owner of the mule invited all hands to take a drink, at two 
bits a glass, and the invitation was cheerfully accepted. They all shook 
hands with the victim, and bid him God speed on his journey as he came out 
of the saloon and made ready to start. The piazza and sidewalk were 
crowded, and 

Page 238

everybody was ready to yell at the moment the signal was given. Judge of 
the Surprise, indignation and disgust which took possession of the crowd, 
when they saw that infamous mule walk off like a pet lamb with that 
confiding victim of their pleasantry, and disappear in the distance 
without so much as giving a snort, a kick, or even a parting look behind 
him at the friends and companions of his youth! The owner of the mule 
watched him until he disappeared over the hill, then invited all hands in 
to take another drink. He was dead beat, dumbfounded and nonplussed. What 
influence could have been at work on the brute to induce him to thus 
suddenly go back upon every tradition of his race, and forfeit his long 
and well-earned reputation, he could not for the life of him imagine, and 
he got blind drunk while puzzling his mind over the problem. 

It was noon when the greenhorn reached the gulch to which he had been 
directed, and presented a note from the owner of the mule to his partner, 
who was mining there in a claim, which had formerly paid handsomely, but 
was then nearly worked out, The wink went around the mining party when the 
letter of introduction was read, and on the innocent victim inquiring for 
a "first-rate spot to dig out the gold in big chunks," he was directed to 
a tree up on the side hill, some two hundred feet above the level of the 
gulch, as a first-rate point at which to stick up the usual notice and 
commence. The victim meant business. He did not propose to waste any time 
in looking around, and at his request one of the party wrote 

[image caption: AN UNEXPECTED FIND.]

Page 239

him out a mining-claim notice, which he at once posted on the tree as 
directed. There was not the trace of a "color" anywhere near that tree. In 
fact, it was evident to the eye of a professional miner at a glance that 
gold would never be found there. But the green-horn, in blissful 
ignorance, pulled off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and went in at once 
to dig a prospecting hole. The party in the gulch below saw him gradually 
sink down into the earth and disappear, as hour after hour he plied the 
pick and shovel with sturdy arm and determined will, and many were the 
"winks and nods, and wreathed smiles," to say nothing of broad grins and 
hearty guffaws which went around at his expense. About four p.m. they 
heard a shout from the prospecting hole in which he had disappeared, and a 
moment later he came out with a bound like a deer, and yelling like a 
madman, came down the face of the hill twenty feet at a jump, holding high 
above his head a nugget, or "chispa," of pure gold, weighing over $900. 
All was-excitement in the camp in a minute. The chispa was examined and 
its character decided at once. Then they examined the hole, and decided 
that he had struck upon a pocket, or seam, of decayed quartz, where the 
gold set free had not been washed, and had remained undisturbed in its 
place. Such pockets often paid enormously. A lucky Irishman once found one 
near where the Catholic Orphan Asylum now stands, on the hill above the 
town of Grass Valley, took out a wheelbarrow-load of gold in a few hours, 
went raving mad over his suddenly acquired wealth, and died in the State 
Insane Asylum. 

Page 240

Even as late as October, 1871, such a pocket was struck by a drunken 
Swede, near Georgetown, El Dorado county, and he took out $ 100,000 in a 
single day, then went on a drunk, which he has not yet got over. 

Such pockets are good things to have. The company in the gulch, in which 
the owner of the mule was a large stockholder, after some bargaining, 
bought the claim for $10,000, paid him down in gold-dust and orders on 
their partners, and hurried him off for Placerville early next morning, 
lest he should repent of his bargain and want to back out. Next morning 
they were at work there bright and early, while he was collecting his 
money in Placerville, and getting ready to "go down to the Bay"-- i.e., to 
visit San Francisco. This was on Wednesday. The mule was delivered to his 
delighted owner, and, in consideration of his good services, enjoyed tall 
feed in a livery-stable for the rest of the week. His proprietor, anxious 
to inspect his new source of untold wealth, hired a horse and started at 
once for the gulch. 

On Saturday he returned with a face as long as the moral law, and black as 
a thunder-cloud. The party who purchased the victim's claim, himself 
included, had worked it for three days in succession, and given the whole 
side hill a thorough prospecting. They found two small nuggets, 
aggregating about $12, the first day; nothing on the second; and the third 
day was even as the one before it. They were sold, bilked, swindled, 
wronged, out and injured to the tune of $1 What became of the greenhorn 
they could 

Page 214

never discover, and to this day they have the impression very strong in 
their minds that he was a "fraud from the word go," never saw 
Massachusetts in his life, and had put up the whole job on an unsuspecting 
and confiding community. If he had ever visited Hangtown again, the place 
would have earned an additional claim to its popular designation. But that 
guilty mule received his reward. On the morning following the return of 
his affectionate proprietor from the gulch, he was found in his stall with 
his back broken. It was suggested that he had dislocated his vertebrae in 
the vain effort to kick a fly off the end of his nose with his hind feet, 
or in attempting to reach the roof of the stable with his heels, there 
being nothing else in reach for him to exercise his strength upon in a 
playful manner; but his heart-broken owner knew better, and wisely kept 
his own counsel. As an expert and a life-long advocate of the decencies 
and amenities of life, I give my unqualified professional opinion that it 
was done with a club--and served him right. A few such examples as that 
unworthy mule afforded would utterly dissipate and destroy all one's 
confidence and trust in human nature 

Rough practical jokers though these old miners and frontiersmen always 
are, they are proverbially sensitive to newspaper criticism, and ready at 
all times to resent any liberty taken with their names or reputations. In 
an earlier chapter I have related how the man who fell from the roof of a 
three-story building on the corner of Montgomery and California streets, 
in San Francisco, compelled me to retract the assertion 

Page 242

that, as he fell past the second story window, he, seeing a party inside 
playing seven up, and noticing that the dealer was turnIng the Jack from 
the bottom of the deck, called out "None of that!" It is ten to one that 
if the owner of that black-hearted mule is still living, and ever reads 
the above truthful account of his adventure, he will sue me for damages 
for libel on account of the insinuation as to the manner of the death of 
the animal. 

It is only two or three years since an old and valued friend, a kind-
hearted, energetic and determined frontiersman, to whom I am indebted for 
many an act of true politeness and hospitality in a country where such 
words have something more than a conventional meaning, wrote to me as 
follows: 

WICKENBURG, Arizona, -----, 186-. 

DEAR COL.:--We have had a very unpleasant affair here this week. Dick 
Snelling, whom you will remember, got on a spree, and being told that a 
Chileno, or a Portuguese, had threatened his life, got a shotgun and 
started hunting him on the street. He unfortunately met a man who looked 
like the man he was hunting for, and shot him dad, and in the excitement 
of the moment scalped him. Now, you know that I never favored scalping 
white men, but Dick is as good a fellow as ever lived. and if he had not 
been drunk he would not have done it. He has got a nice family, and for 
his sake and for theirs I would not like to see an exaggerated account of 
the affair get into the papers. Will you oblige by seeing that no 
sensational account of it is given in San Francisco? Your 
friend, ----- ----- 

Page 243

Willing to oblige a friend at all times, I gave merely the simple facts, 
without displayed headings as comments, and all was lovely The camp at 
last is quiet; the last story has been told, and the tellers, one by one, 
all save myself, have dropped off into the arms of sleep. All is silence 
in the mountains. Not a breath of breeze disturbs the foliage of the 
trees, and outside the camp not a living object is to be seen. The moon, 
which had risen over the eastern mountains, floods valley and hill, forest 
and mountain, with golden light, beautifying and glorifying the whole 
landscape with its touch. The glassy green leaves of the great madroo 
overhead glow and glisten in the moonlight like a cascade of molten 
silver, and the dark laurels beyond the caon are transformed into a golden-
foliaged grove, such as glitter, rank on rank, by the banks of the rivers 
of Paradise 

A dog which accompanied us on the expedition raises his head from time to 
time, and peers furtively into the dense chaparral, uttering a low, uneasy 
whine. His ears are sharper than ours, and he is conscious of the presence 
of an enemy unknown to us. Suddenly he springs to his feet, and, darting 
past the dying fire to the edge of the chaparral, utters a wild, angry 
bark, and in an instant a heavy body goes crashing away through the 
bushes, with a long sharp "Yap-yap-yap-yah-hoo-ooo! From the hillside 
above, from the caon in the shadow below, from rock and glen, and glade 
and chaparral, comes a quick response; and for 

Page 244

five minutes it seems that there are half a thousand instead of half a 
dozen angry, prowling coyotes howling around us. The infernal chorus dies 
away at last, and once more all is silent in camp and on the mountain. 

The grey dawn creeps slowly over the eastern mountains; the horizon takes 
on the roseate hues of the inner surface of the sea-shell, then glows with 
gold and royal purple; and, as the forest air is filled with the song of 
birds, and all nature rejoices in the glory of the springtime, the sun 
rises grandly over St. Helena, and the whole landscape glows like molton 
gold at his touch. On the bank of the grand canal, between Lakes Chalco 
and Tezcuco, in the valley of Mexico, stands a fonda, upon whose wall is 
painted the inscription, "A LA SOL DE CALIFORNIA." Who can stand here and 
behold such a scene as this, and not sympathize in his inmost heart with 
the author of that inscription? 

And here, companions in my wanderings, friends of my heart, I leave you, 
one and all, and reluctantly say good bye! 

Together we have galloped through the valleys and climbed the mountains in 
search of health, curious adventure, strange sights and scenes, and the 
beautiful in nature, in the glorious land of the madroo. Perchance we have 
not accomplished all we anticipated when we started out; have missed 
something for which we sought; failed in something which we desired. But 
we have seen much to remember, something that was new and strange, and 
cheated care 

Page 245

and toil out of some right pleasant hours. I trust that you have been 
repaid for your trouble, and enjoyed yourselves as I have. If so, I am 
glad, and we may at no distant day renew our acquaintance, and In broader 
fields and other lands seek for grander and more stirring adventure. But, 
in any event, let us still be as we have been, good friends; and as we 
part this morning here beneath the madroo tree, let us shake hands all 
round, as is the goodly custom of the country, and say with reverent 
sincerity, each to each--ADIOS!