 8. Our hero and his friends start for the diggings. The captain's portrait, costumes and scenery and surprises, the ranch by the roadside, strange travelers, they meet with a new friend and adopt him, the hunter's story, Larry offers to fight a Yankee, high prices and empty purses. Ovid never accomplished a metamorphosis more striking or complete than that affected by captain bunting upon his own proper person. We have said elsewhere that the worthy captain was a big broad man with a shaggy head of hair and red whiskers. Moreover, when he landed in San Francisco he wore a blue coat with clear brass buttons, blue vest, blue trousers and a glazed straw hat. But in the course of a week he affected such a change in his outward man that his most intimate friend would have failed to recognize him. No brigand of the Pyrenees ever looked more savage. No robber of the stage ever appeared more outrageously fierce. We do not mean to say that captain bunting got himself up for the purpose of making himself conspicuous. He merely donned the usual habiliments of a minor. But these habiliments were curious and the captain's figure in them was unusually remarkable. In order that the reader may have a satisfactory view of the captain we will change the scene and proceed at once to that part of the road to the gold fields which has now been reached by our adventurers. It is a wide plain or prairie on which the grass waves like the waters of the sea. On one side it meets the horizon. On another it is bounded by the faint and far distant range of the Sierra Nevada. Thousands of millions of beautiful wildflowers spangle and beautify the soft green carpet. Over-rich spreads a cloudless sky, not a witless blue and soft than the wanted sky of Italy. Herds of deer are grazing over the vast plain like tamed cattle. Wild geese and other waterfowl wing their way through the soft atmosphere and little birds twitter joyously among the flowers. Everything is bright and green and beautiful for it is spring and the sun has not yet scorched the grass to a russet brown and parched and cracked the thirsty ground and banished animal and vegetable life away as it will yet do ere the hot summer of those regions is past and gone. There is but one tree in all that vast plain. It is a sturdy oak and near it bubbles a cool refreshing spring over which one could fancy it had been appointed guardian. The spot is hundreds of miles from San Francisco on the road to the gold mines of California. Beneath that solitary oak a party of weary travelers have halted to rest and refresh themselves in their animals or as the diggers have it to take their newning. In the midst of that party sits our captain on the back of a long-legged mule. On his head is or rather was for he has just removed it in order to wipe the perspiration from his forehead a brown felt wide awake very much battered in appearance suggesting the idea that the captain had used it constantly as a nightcap which indeed is the fact. Nothing but a flannel shirt of the brightest possible scarlet close the upper portion of his burly frame while brown corduroy adorn the lower. Boats of the most ponderous dimensions engulf not only his feet but his entire legs leaving only a small part of the corduroy's visible. On his heels or rather just above his heels are strapped a pair of enormous Mexican spurs with the frightful prongs of which he so lacerated the sides of his unfortunate mule during the first part of the journey as to drive that animal frantic and cause it to throw him off at least six times a day. Fire necessity has now however taught the captain that most difficult and rarely accomplished feet of horsemanship to ride with the toes well in and the heels well out. Round captain Bunting's waist is a belt which is of itself quite a study. It is made of tough cow pied full two and a half inches broad and is fastened by a brass buckle that would cause the mouth of a rubber chief to water. Attached to it in various ways and places are the following articles. A buoy knife of the largest size not far short of a small cutlass, a pair of revolving pistols also large and having six barrels each, a stout leather purse and a leather bag of larger dimensions for miscellaneous articles. As the captain has given up shaving for many weeks past little of his face is visible except the nose eyes and forehead. All besides is a rugged mass of red hair which rough travel is rendered an indescribable and irreclaimable waist. But the captain cares not. As long as he can clear a passage through the brush wood to his mouth he says, his mind is easy. Such is captain Bunting and such with but trifling modifications is every member of his party. On Ned Sinton and his almost equally stalwart and handsome friend Tom Collins the picturesque costume of the minor sits well and it gives a truly wild dashing look to the whole party as they stand beneath the shade of that lovely oak preparing to refresh themselves with biscuit and jerked beef and pipes of esteemed tobacco. Besides those we have mentioned Larry O'Neill is there, busy carrying water in a bucket to the horses and as proud of his Mexican spurs as if they were the golden spurs of the days of chivalry. Bill Jones is there with a blue instead of a red flannel shirt and coarse canvas ducks in place of corduroys. Bill affects the sailor in other respects for he scorns heavy boots and wears shoes and a straw hat. But he is compelled to wear the spurs for reasons best known to his intensely obstinate mule. There is also among them a native Californian, a vociero or herd who has been hired to accompany the party to the diggings to look after the pack mules of which there are two and to assist them generally with advice and otherwise. He is a fine athletic fellow Spanish like both in appearance and costume. And in addition to bad Spanish he gives utterance to a few sounds which he calls English. The upper part of his person is covered by the sorope or Mexican cloak which is simply a blanket with a hole in its center through which the head of the wearer is thrust, the rest being left to fall over the shoulders. Our travelers had reached the spot on which we now find them by means of a boat voyage of more than a hundred miles partly over the great bay of San Francisco and partly up the Sacramento River until they reached the city of Sacramento. Here they purchased mules and provisions for the overland journey to the mines, a further distance of about a hundred and fifty miles and also the picks, shovels, axes, pewter plates, spoons, pans and panicans and other implements and utensils that were necessary for a campaign among the golden mountains of the Sierra Nevada. For these the prices demanded were so enormous that when all was ready for a start they had only a few dollars left amongst them. But being on their way to dig for gold they felt little concern on this head. As the Indians of the interior had committed several murders a short time before and had come at various times into collision with the gold diggers it was deemed prudent to expend a considerable sum on arms and ammunition. Each man therefore was armed with a rifle or carbine, a pistol of some sort and a large knife or short sword. Captain Bunting selected a huge old bell-mouthed blunder-bus having as he set a strong partiality for the weapons of his forefathers. Among other things Ned by advice of Tom Collins purchased a few simple medicines. He also laid in a stock of drawing paper, pencils and watercolors for his own special use, for which he paid so large a sum that he was ashamed to tell it to his comrades. But he was resolved not to lose the opportunity of representing life and scenery at the diggings for the sake of old Mr. Shirley as well as for his own satisfaction. Thus equipped they set forth. Before leaving San Francisco the captain and Ned and Tom Collins had paid a final visit to their friend the merchant Mr. Thompson and committed their property to his care, i.e. the whole of the Good Ship Roving Bess, the rent of which he promised to collect monthly, and Ned's curious property, the old boat and the little patch of barren sand on which it stood. The boat itself he made over temporarily to a poor Irishman who had brought out his wife with him and was unable to proceed to the diggings and consequence of the said wife having fallen into a delicate state of health. He gave the man a written paper empowering him to keep possession until his return and refused to accept of any rent where at the poor woman thanked him earnestly with the tears running down her pale cheeks. It was the hottest part of an exceedingly hot day when the travellers found themselves, as we have described, under the grateful shade of what Larry termed the lone oak. Now our course of proceeding is as follows, said Ned at the conclusion of their meal. We shall travel all this afternoon and as far into the night as the mules can be made to go. By that time we shall be pretty well off the level ground and be almost within hail of the diggings. I don't believe it, said Larry O'Neill, knocking the ashes out of his pipe in an emphatic manner. Sure, if there was gold in the country we might have said it by this time. Larry's feelings were a verification of the words, hope deferred, makeeth the heart sick. He had started enthusiastically many days before on this journey to the Gold Regions under the full conviction that on the first or second day he would be, as he expressed it, roiding through fales of gold dust, instead of which day after day passed and night after night, during which he endured all the agonies inseparable from a first journey on horseback, and still not a symptom of gold was to be seen. No more nor an old Ireland itself. But Larry bore his disappointments like an Irishman, and defied, far and up what him out of temper by any means will ever. Patience, said Bill Jones, removing his pipe to make room for the remark, is of virtue. That's what I says. If you can't make things better, what then? Why, let him alone. When there's no wind, crowd all canvas and catch what there is. When there is wind, why then steer your course? Or if you can't, steer as near it as you can. Anyhow, never back your foretop sail without a cause. Thames my sentiments. And very good sentiments they are, Bill, said Tom Collins, jumping up and examining the girth of his horse. I strongly advise you to adopt them, Larry. What a ball of wisdom it is, said O'Neil, with the look of effect that contempted his messmate. Was it your grand mother now or your great one that educated you? Ah, there you go. Oh, mother, you'll break my heart. The latter part of this remark was addressed to his mule, which at that moment broke its lariat and gambled gaily away over the flowering plain. Its owner followed yelling like a madman. He might as well have chased the wind, and it is probable that he would never have mounted his steed again had not the vacchiero come to his aid. This man leaping on his own horse, which was a very fine one, dashed after the runaway, with which he came up in a few minutes. Then, grasping the long coil of line that hung at his saddle-bow, he swung it round once or twice and threw the lasso, or noose, adroitly over the mule's head and brought it up. You're a clever fella, said Larry, as they came up panting. Sharia did it, butchant! The man smiled, and without daining a reply, robed back to the camp, where the party were already in the saddle, and a few minutes they were trotting rapidly over the prairie. Before evening closed, the travelers arrived at one of the roadside ends, or as they were named, ranches, which were beginning at this time to spring up in various parts of the country, for the accommodation of gold-hunters on their way to the mines. This ranch belonged to a man by the name of Dawson, who had made a few hundred dollars by digging, and then set up a grog shop in House of Entertainment, being wise enough to perceive that he could gain twice as much gold by supplying the diggers with the necessaries of life than he could hope to procure by digging. His ranch was a mere hovel, built of sun-dried bricks, and he dealt more in drinks than in edibles. The accommodation and provisions were of the poorest description, but, as there was no other House of Entertainment near, mine host charged the highest possible prices. There was but one apartment in this establishment and little or no furniture. Several kegs and barrels supported two long pine planks which constituted at different periods of the day, the counter, the gaming table, and the tabled oak. A large cooking stove stood in the center of the house, but there were no chairs. Guests were expected to sit on boxes and empty casks or stand. Beds there were none. When the hour for rest arrived, each guest chose the portion of the earthen floor that suited him best, and, spreading out his blankets with his saddle for a pillow, lay down to dream of golden nuggets or perchance of home, while innumerable rats, the bane of California, gambled round and over him. The ranchero, as the owner of such an establishment is named, was said to be an escaped felon. Certainly he might have been, as far as his looks went. He was surly and morose, but men minded this little so long as he supplied there once. There were five or six travelers in the ranch when our party arrived, all of whom were awaiting the preparation of supper. Here we are, cried the captain as they trotted into the yard, ready for supper, I trow, and, if my nose don't deceive me, supper's about ready for us. I hope they've got enough for us all, said Ned, glancing at the party inside as he leaped from the saddle and threw the bridle to his vacciero. Hello, Boniface. Have you room for a large party in there? Come in and see, growled Dawson, whose duties at the cooking stove rendered him indifferent as to other matters. Ah, then you've got a sweet voice, said Larry O'Neill sarcastically as he led his mule towards a post to which Bill Jones was already fastening his steed. I say, Bill, he added, pointing to a little tin bowl which stood on an inverted cask outside the door of the ranch. What can that be for? Dunno, answered Bill. Suppose it's to wash in. At that moment a long, cadaverous minor came out of the hut and rendered further speculation unnecessary by turning up his shirt sleeves to the elbow and commencing his ablutions in the little tin bowl, which was just large enough to admit both his hands at once. Fine, your moth and nose ought to be grateful, said Larry in an undertone as he and Jones stood with their arms crossed admiring the proceedings of the man. This remark had reference to the fact that the washer applied the water to the favoured regions around his nose and mouth, but carefully avoided trespassing on any part of the territory lying beyond. Oh, mother, what next? exclaimed Larry. Well, mighty inquire, for this man, having combed his hair with a public comb, which was attached to the doorpost by a string and examined himself carefully in a bit of glass about two inches in diameter, proceeded to cleanse his teeth with a public toothbrush, which hung beside the comb. All these articles have been similarly used by a minor 10 minutes previously. And while this one was engaged with his toilet, another man stood beside him, awaiting his turn. When you're in difficulties, remarked Bill Jones slowly as he entered the ranch and proceeded to fill his pipe. Get out of him if you can. If you can't, why what then? Circumstances is adverse and it's no use a try on to mend them. Only my sentiments is that I'll delay washing till I comes to a river. You've come from San Francisco, strangers, to the rough looking man in heavy boots and a Guernsey shirt addressing Captain Bunting. Maybe I have, replied the captain, regarding his interrogator through the smoke of his pipe, which he was in the act of lighting. Going to the diggings, I suppose. Yes. Been there before? No. Nor none of your party, I expect. None except one. You'll be going up to the bar at the American Forks now, I calculate. Don't know that I am. Perhaps she'll try the northern diggings. Perhaps. How long this pertinacious questioner might have continued his attack on the captain is uncertain, had he not been suddenly interrupted by the announcement that supper was ready. So he swaggered off to the corner of the hut, where an imposing row of bottles stood, demanded a brandy smash, which he drank, and then seating himself at the table along with the rest of the party proceeded to help himself largely to all that was within his reach. The fair was substantial, but not attractive. It consisted of a large junk of boiled salt beef, a mass of rancid pork, and a tray of broken ship biscuit. But hungry men are not particular, so the vions were demolished in a remarkably short space of time. I'm almost out of supplies, said the host in a sort of apologetic tone, and the cart I sent down to Sacramento some weeks ago for more is not come back. Better than nothing, remarked a bronzed, weather-beaten hunter, as he helped himself to another junk of pork. If you would send out your boy into the hills with a rifle now and again, you'd get lots of grizzly bars. Are grizzly bears eaten here, inquired Ned Sinton, pausing in the act of mastication to ask the question. Eating, exclaimed the hunter in surprise. Of course they is. You're uncommon good eating too, I guess. Many a one I've killed and eaten myself, and I like them better than beef. I do. I shot one up in the hills there two days ago and then sucked off him. But being in a hurry, I left the carcass to the coyotes. Coyotes are small wolves. The men assembled around the rude top of the boat were fifteen in number, including our inventors and represented at least six different nations. English, Koch, Irish, German, Yankee and Chinese. Most of them, however, were Yankees and all were gold diggers. Even the hunter just referred to, although he had not altogether forsaken his former calling, devoted much of his time to searching for gold. Some, like our friends, were on their way to the diggings for the first time. Others were returning with provisions which they had traveled to Sacramento City to purchase, and one or two were successful diggers who had made their piles, in other words, their fortunes, and were returning home with heavy purses of gold dust and nuggets. Good humor was the prevailing characteristic of the party, for each man was either successful or sanguinely hopeful, and all seemed to be affected by a sort of undercurrent of excitement as they listened to or related their adventures at the mines. There was only one serious drawback to the scene, and that was the perpetual and terrible swearing that mingled with the conversation. The Americans excelled in this wicked practice. They seemed to labor to invent oaths, not for the purpose of venting angry feelings, but apparently with the view of giving emphasis to their statements and assertions. The others swore from habit they had evidently ceased to be aware that they were using oaths, so terribly had familiarity with sinful practices, blunted the consciences of men who, in early life, would probably have trembled in this way to break the law of God. Yes, by the way, there was one other drawback to the otherwise picturesque and interesting group, and this was the spitting propensity of the Yankees. All over the floor, that floor to on which other men besides themselves were to repose, they discharged tobacco juice and spittle. The nation cannot be too severely blamed and pitied for this disgusting practice, yet we feel a tendency not to excuse but to deal gently with individuals, most of whom having been trained to spitting from their infancy cannot be expected even to understand the abhorrence with which this practice is regarded by men of other nations. Nevertheless, Brother Jonathan, it is not too much to expect that you ought to respect the universal condemnation of your spitting propensities by travelers from all lands and endeavor to believe that ejecting saliva promiscuously is a dirty practice, even though you cannot feel it. We think that if you had the moral courage to pass a law in Congress to render spitting on floors and carpets a capital offense, you would fill the world with admiration and your own bosoms with self-respect, not to mention the benefit that would accrue to your digestive powers and consequence thereof. All of the supper-party were clad and armed in the rough-and-ready style already referred to, and most of them were men of the lower ranks, but there were one or two who, like Ned Sinton, had left a more polished class of mortals to mingle in the promiscuous crowd. These, in some cases, carried their manners with them and exerted a modifying influence on all around. One young American, in particular, named Maxson, soon attracted general attention by the immense fund of information he possessed and the urbane, gentlemanly manner in which he conveyed it to those around him. He possessed, in an eminent degree, those qualities which attract men at once, an irresistibly good nature, frankness, manliness, considerable knowledge of almost every subject that can be broached in general conversation, united with genuine modesty. When he sat down to table he did not grasp everything within his reach. He began by offering to carve and help others, and when at length he did begin to eat he did not gobble. He guessed a little it is true and calculated occasionally, but when he did so it was in a tone that fell almost as pleasantly on the air as the brogue of old Ireland. Ned happened to be seated beside Maxson and held a good deal of conversation with him. Forgive me if I appear inquisitive, said the former, helping himself to a handful of broken biscuit, but I cannot help expressing a hope that our rocks may light in the same direction. Are you traveling towards Sacramento City or the mines? Towards the mines. And as I observed that your party came from the southward, I suppose you are going in the same direction. If so, I shall be delighted to join you. That's capital, replied Ned. We shall be the better of having our party strengthened, and I am quite certain we could not have a more agreeable addition to it. Thank you for the compliment. As to the advantage of a strong party, I feel a safeguard as well as a privilege to join yours for to say truth the roads are not safe just now. Several lawless scoundrels have been roving about in this part of the country, committing robberies and even murder. The Indians, too, are not so friendly as one could wish. They have been treated badly by some of the unprincipled miners, and their custom is to kill two whites for every red man that falls. They are not particular as to whom they kill. Consequently, the innocent are frequently punished for the guilty. This is sad, replied Ned. Are then all the Indian tribes at enmity with the white men? By no means. Many tribes are friendly, but some have been so severely handled that they have vowed revenge and take it whenever they can with safety. Their only weapons, however, are bows and arrows, so that a few resolute white men with rifles can stand against a hundred of them, and they know this well. I spent the whole of last winter on the Yuba River, and although large bands were in my neighborhood, they never ventured to attack us openly. But they succeeded in murdering one or two miners who strayed into the woods alone. And are these murders passed over without any attempt to bring the murders to justice? Guess they are not, replied Maxston, smiling. But justice is strangely administered in these parts. Judge Lynch usually presides, and he is a stern fellow to deal with. If you listen to what the hunter there is saying just now, you will hear a case in point if I mistake not. As Maxston spoke, a loud laugh burst in the men at the other end of the table. How did it happen, cried several. Out with the yarn, old boy! Eye and don't spin it too tight or fail burst the strands, cried Larry O'Neill, who during the last half hour had been listening open mouth to the marvelous anecdotes of grizzlies and red skins with which the hunter entertained his audience. Well, boys, it happened this ways, began the man tossing off a jinsling and setting down the glass with a violence that nearly smashed it. You see, I was up in the mountains near the headwaters of the Sacramento, looking out for deer and getting a bit of gold now and again. When one day as I was coming down a gully in the hills, I come all of a sudden on two men. One was an engine as ugly a sinner as ever I see. The other was a Yankee lad in a hole digging gold. Before my two eyes were well on him, the red villain let's fly an arrow, and the man fell down with a loud yell into the hole. Up goes my rifle like wink, and the red skin would have gone under in another second, but my piece snapped. Because why? The priman had got damp. And before I could prime again, he was gone. I went up to the poor critter and sure enough, it was all up with him. The air went in at the back of his neck. He never spoke again. So I laid him in the grave he had dug for himself and set off to tell the camp. And a most tremendous row the news made, they got 50 volunteers in no time and went off hot foot to scalp the whole nation. As I had other business to look after and there seemed more than enough of fighting men, I left him and went my way. Two days after I had occasion to go back to the same place and when I come inside of the camp, I guess there was a modest stir. What's to do says I to a minor in a hole who was digging away for gold and caring nothing about it. Only scragging an engine, he said, looking up. Oh, says I, I gon see. So off I sat and there was a crowd of about 200 miners round a tree. And just as I come up, they was putting a rope around the neck of a poor wretch of an old gray haired red skin whose limbs trembled so that they were scarce able to hold him up. Heave away now, bell cried the man as tied the noose. But something was wrong with the hitch of the rope around the branch of the tree and it wouldn't draw. And some time was spent in putting it right. I felt sort of sorry for the old man. For his grave face was bold enough and age more than fair had to do with the trembling on his legs. Before they got it right again, my I fell on a small band of redskins who were looking quietly on and foremost among them was the very black guard that shot the man in the galley. I knew him at once by his ugly face. Without saying a word, I steps forward to the old engine and takes a noose off his neck. Hello, cried a dozen men jumping at me. What's that for? Scrag the hunter cries one, hold your long tongues and everybody's got to say shots nourishment. Keep your minds easy, says I mountain a stump and sees that engine or I have to put a ball into him before he gets off. For you see, I observed the black villain took fright and was sneaking away through the crowd. They had no doubt who I meant for I pined straight at him. And before you could wink, he was gripped and led under the tree with a face paler than ever I saw the face of a red skin before. Now says I what for are you scragging this old man? So they told me how the party that went off to get the murderer met a band of engines coming to deliver him up to be killed. They said for murdering the white man and they gave up this old engine saying he was the murderer. The diggers believed it and returned with the old boy and two or three others that came to see him fixed off. Very good says I you don't seem to remember that I'm the man what saw the murder and told you of it. By good luck, I've come in time to point him out. And this is him. And with that, I put the noose around the villain's neck and draw it tight. At that he made a great start to shake it off and clear away. But before you could wink, he was swinging at the branch of the tree 20 feet in the air. Served him right cried several of the men emphatically as the hunter concluded his antidote. He continued and they strung up his six friends beside him. Served him right to remark the tall man whose partiality for the tin wash hand basin and the toothbrush we have already noticed. If I had my way, I'd shoot them all off the face of the earth. I would right away. I'm sorry to hear they did that remarked Larry O'Neill looking pointedly at the last speaker for it only showed they was greater murderers nor the Indians. The Redskins murdered one man but the diggers murdered six. And who are you that finds fought with the diggers? inquired the tall man turning full round upon the Irishman with a tremendous oath. Be the morsel cried the Irishman starting up like a jack in the box and throwing off his coat. I'm Larry O'Neill at your service. Harrow, come on if you want to be partially worked off. Instantly the man's hand was on the hilt of his revolver but before he could draw it the rest of the company started up and overpowered the belligerents. Come gentlemen said the host of the ranch stepping forward. It's not worthwhile quarreling about a miserable Redskins. Put on your coat Larry and come let's get ready for a start said Ned. You can't afford to fight till you've made your fortune at the diggings. How far is it to the next ranch landlord? This cool attempt to turn the conversation was happily successful. The next ranch he was told was about ten miles distant and the road comparatively easy. So as it was a fine moonlight night and he was desirous of reaching the first diggings on the following day as early as possible the horses and mules were saddled and the bill called for. When the said bill was presented or rather announced to them our travelers opened their eyes pretty wide. They had to open their purses pretty wide too and empty them to such an extent that there was not more than a dollar left among them all. The supper which we have described cost them two and a half dollars about ten shillings and six pence ahead including a glass of bad brandy but not including a bottle of stout which Larry in the ignorance and innocence of his heart had asked for and which cost him three dollars extra and egg also which Ned had obtained cost him a shilling. Oh mother exclaimed Larry why didn't you tell us the price before we took him? Why didn't you ask? retorted the landlord. It's all right remark Maxden. Price is very at the diggings as you shall find air long. When provisions run short the prices become exorbitant. When plentiful they are more moderate but they are never low. However men don't mind much for most diggers have plenty of gold. Captain Bunding and Bill Jones were unable to do more than sigh out their amazement and shake their heads as they left the ranch and mounted their steeds. In doing which the captain accidentally as usual drove both spurs into the sides of his mule which caused it to execute a series of maneuvers and pirouettes that entertained the company for a quarter of an hour after which they rode away over the plain. It was a beautiful country through which they now ambled pleasantly. Undulating and partially wooded with fine stretches of metal in between from which the scent of myriads of wildflowers rose on the cool night air. The moon sailed low in a perfectly cloudless sky casting the shadows of the horsemen far before them as they rode and clothing hill and dale, bush and tree, with a soft light as if a cloud of silver gauze had settled down upon the scene. The incident in the ranch was quickly banished and each traveller committed himself silently to the full enjoyment of the beauties around him. Beauties which appeared less like reality than a vision of the night. Chapter 9 of The Golden Dream This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Golden Dream by R. M. Ballantine Chapter 9 A night ride in the woods, the encampment. Larry's first attempt to dig for gold, an alarm, a suspicious stranger, queer creatures. In less than two hours the travelers reached the second ranch, which was little better in appearance or accommodation than the one they had left. Having no funds, they merely halted to water their animals and then pushed forward. The country became more and more undulating and broken as they advanced, and beyond the second ranch assumed the appearance of a hill country. The valleys were free from trees, though here and there occurred dense thickets of underwood, in which Maxston told them that grizzly bears loved to dwell. A piece of information that induced most of the party to carry their rifles in a handy position and glance suspiciously at every shadow. Large oaks and bay trees covered the lower slopes of the hills, while higher up the white oak and fir pre-dominated. About an hour after midnight the moon began to descend towards the horizon, and Ned Sinton, who had been unanimously elected commander of the little band, called a halt in a neighborhood of a rivulet which flowed round the base of an abrupt cliff whose sides were partially clothed with scrubby bushes. We shall encamp here for the night, comrade, said he, dismounting. Here is water and food for our nags, a fine piece of greenswort to spread our blankets on, and a thick-leaved oak to keep the dew-office. Now, Maxston, you're an old campaigner, let us see how soon you'll have a fire blazing. I'll have it ready before you get the camp-caddles and pans out, answered Maxston, fastening his horse to a tree, seizing an axe and springing into the woods on the margin of the stream. And Captain Bunting continued, Ned, do you water the horses and mules? Our vacura will help you. Jones will unpack the provender. Some Collins and I will see into getting supper ready. And may I ask Commodore, said Larry O'Neill, touching his hat, what on to do? Keep out of everybody's way and do what you please, is Larry. Which means on to make myself generally useful. So here goes. And Larry, springing through the bushes, proceeded to fulfill his duties by seizing a massive log which Maxston had just cut and heaving it on his powerful shoulder, carried it to the camp. Maxch was immediately busied with his respective duties. Bustling activity prevailed for the space of a quarter of an hour, the result of which was that before the moon left them in total darkness, the ruddy glare of a magnificent fire lighted up the scene brilliantly, glanced across the sunburnt faces and vivid red shirts of our adventurers as they clustered round it and threw clouds of sparks in among the leaves of the stout old oak that overspread the camp. Now this is what I call uncommon jolly, said Captain Bumping, sitting down on his saddle before the cheerful blaze, rubbing his hands and gazing round with a smile of the utmost benignity on his broad hairy countenance. It is, replied Maxston with an approving nod. Do you know I have often thought, Captain, that an Indian life must be a very pleasant one. Of course it must, interrupted Larry, who at that moment was luxuriating in the first rich voluminous puffs of a newly filled pipe. Of course it must, if it's always like this. I, continued Maxston, but that's what I was just going to remark upon. It's not always like this. As a general rule I have observed men who are new to backwards life live at first in a species of terrestrial paradise. The novelty and the excitement cause them to revel in all that is enjoyable and to endure within difference all that is disagreeable. Sometimes even to take pleasure in showing how stoically they can put up with discomfort, but after a time the novelty and excitement wear away and then it is usual to hear the praises of Indian life spoken of immediately before and immediately after suffer. Towards midnight, particularly if it should rain or mosquitoes be numerous, men change their mind and begin to dream a home if they can sleep or to wish they were there if they can't. Get out, you horrid philosopher, cried Tom Cullen, as he gazed wistfully into the iron pot whose savory contents, i.e. pork, flour, and beans he was engaged in stirring. Don't try to dash the cup of romance from our lips ere we have tasted it. Believe me, comrades, our friend Maxston is a humbug. I am an old stager myself, have lived the life of an Indian for months and months together, and I declare to you I am as jolly and enthusiastic now as ever I was. That may be quite true, observed Maxston, seeing that it is possible you may have never been jolly or enthusiastic at all, but even taking your words as you mean them to be understood they only tend to enforce what I have said for, you know, the exception proves the rule. Bah! you sophisticated Tom, again inspecting the contents of the pot. Oh! Let him spake and be easy, remarked Larry with a look of extreme satisfaction on his countenance. We're in the novelty and excitement stage of life just now, and I will cape it as long as we can. Hand me a cinder, Bill Jones, and don't look as if you was meditating what to say for you know that you can't say nothing. Bill took no further notice of this remark than to lift a glowing piece of charcoal from the fire with his fingers, as deliberately as if they were made of iron, and hand it to O'Neill, who received it in the same cool manner and relighted his pipe therewith. It strikes me we shall require all our jollity and enthusiasm to keep up our spirits if we don't reach the diggings tomorrow, said Ned Sinton, as he busied himself in polishing the blade of a superb hunting-knife which had been presented to him by a few college friends at parting. You all know that our funds are exhausted and it's awkward to arrive at a ranch without a dollar to pay for a meal. Still more awkward to be compelled to encamp beside a ranch and unpack our own provisions, especially if it should chance to be a wet night. Do you think we shall manage to reach the diggings tomorrow, Maxston? I am certain of it. Twelve miles will bring us to Little Creek, as it is called, where we can begin to take initiative lessons in gold-walshine. In fact, the ground we stand on, I have not a doubt has much gold in it, but we have not the means of washing it yet. Larry O'Neill caught his breath on hearing this statement. They are men to tell me, he said slowly and with emphasis, that I may be sitting at this minute on the top of rail, gold. You may be, answered Maxston, laughing. When you don't know, remarked Bill Jones sententiously, removing the pipe from his lips and looking fixedly at his messmate, when you don't know what's under you, nor the course in nature, which is always more or less a doing things uncommon and out of the way, you should not despeculate on what you know nothing about, until you find out how's our head and which way the land lies. Thames my sentiments. Hello, Larry, cried the captain and Tom Collins simultaneously. Look out for the kid, little boy all over. Larry's feelings have been deeply stirred at that moment, so that the union of a sudden shout with the profundity of Bill's remark had the effect of causing him to clutch at the teakettle with such haste that he upset it into the fire. Ah, bad luck to you, clumsy fellow, ejaculated Ned. Off with you to the creek and refill it. Larry obeyed promptly, but the misschance after all was trifling, for the fire was fierce enough to have boiled a twenty-gallon cauldron in a quarter of an hour. Besides, the contents of the iron pot had to be discussed before the tea was wanted. In a few minutes supper was ready and all were about to begin when it was discovered that O'Neill was missing. Oh, Larry, come to supper, shouted one. Hi, where are you? cried another. But there was no reply until the captain put both hands to his mouth and gave utterance to the nautical hello with which, in days gone by, he was wont to hail the look-out at the main-top. Oi, oi, come on, sir! Floated back in the night-wind, and shortly afterward the Irishman stumbled into camp with his hands, his face, and his clothes plentifully bedopped with mud. Why, what have you been about? inquired Ned. Dig him for gold, sir. I've made a hole in the banks of the creek with me two hands that you might bury a young buffalo in, and, sir, are a bit of gold if I got from me pains. A general laugh greeted the enthusiastic digger as he wiped his hands and sat down to supper. I'm off, sir. If I didn't get gold, I'd dug up a more shall-big appetite anyhow. Hand me the wooden spoon, Mr. Collins. It's more the gauge in me pretty trapped than the pewter-wands. Do you know, comrades, I'm almost sure I seed an engine in the bush. If it wasn't, it was a ghost. What like was he? Look there and judge for yourselves, Criedoneal, jumping suddenly to his feet and pointing towards the wood where a solitary figure was seen dimly against the dark background. Every man leaped up and seized his weapons. Who goes there? shouted Ned, advancing toward the edge of the circle of light. A friend was the reply in English. Relieved to find that he was not the advance guard of a band of savages, Ned invited the stranger to approach and immediately he stepped within the sacred circle of the campfire's light. This unexpected addition to the party was by no means a pleasant one. His complexion was exceedingly dark and he wore a jet-black beard. In manners he was coarse and repulsive, one of those forbidding men who seemed to be born for the purpose of doing evil in whatever position of life or part of the world they happened to be placed. The rude garments of the miner harmonized with the rugged expression of his bearded and bronzed face and the harsh voice in which he addressed the party corresponded therewith. I suppose you'll not object to let me rest by your fire, strangers, he said, advancing and seeding himself without waiting for a reply. You're welcome, answered Ned curtly, for he neither liked the manners nor the aspect of the man. You might have wished just the top of the mornin', I think, suggested Larry. Here. Try and soften your spirits with a sup, he added, pushing a pewter plate of soup and a spoon towards him. The man made no reply but ate ravenously as if he had been starving. When he had finished he lighted his pipe and drew his knees up to his chin as he warmed his hands before the blaze. Little information of any kind could be drawn out of this taciturn wanderer. To Ned's questions he replied that he had been at the diggings on the Yuba River, which he described as being rich, that he had made enough gold to satisfy all his wants and was on his way to San Francisco where he intended to ship for England. His name, he said, was Smith. He carried a short rifle with a peculiarly large bore and a heavy hunting knife, the point of which was broken off. This last Bill Jones observed as the man laid it down after cutting up some tobacco, preparatory to refilling his pipe. A good knife. How did you break it, inquired Bill, taking up the weapon and examining it? Never your mind answered the man snatching it rudely from him and sheathing it. At this O'Neill regarded him with an angry expression. Fie! If you wouldn't live in soda spake in my own house, we'd make a change or tone. I don't mean no offense, said Smith, endeavouring to speak a little less gruffly. The fact is, Jance, I'm out of sorts, because I lost a grizzly bar in the hills an hour or two ago. I shot him dead, as I thought, and went up and drove my knife into his side, but it struck a rib and broke the point, as you see, and almost before I could get up a tree he was close up behind me. He went away after a while, and so I got clear off. To the immense satisfaction of every one, this disagreeable guest arose after finishing his pipe, knocked the ashes out, shouldered his rifle, and bidding his entertainer's good night, re-entered the forest and disappeared. Your well away, remarked Tom Collins looking after him. I couldn't have slept comfortably with such a fellow in camp. Now then, I'm going to turn in. No am I, said Maxden, rolling himself in a blanket and pillowing his head on a saddle without more ado. In a few minutes the camp was as silent as it had previously been noisy. Captain Bunting's plethoric breathing alone told that human beings rested on that wild spot, and this, somewhat incongruously united with the tinkling of the rivulet hard-by and the howling of coyotes, constituted their lullaby. During the night the most of the travellers were awakened once or twice by a strange and very peculiar sensation which led them to fancy the earth on which they reposed was possessed of life. The lazy members of the party lay still and dreamily wondered until they fell asleep. Those who were more active leaped up and lifting their blankets gazed intently at the sword, which darkness prevented them from seeing, and felled it over with their hands. But no cause for the unwanted motion could be discovered, until the light of dawn revealed the fact that they had made their beds directly above the holes of a colony of ground squirrels, which little creatures poking upwards with their noses in vain attempts to gain the upper world had reduced the curious sensations referred to. Rough travelling, however, defies almost all disadvantages in the way of rest. Tired and healthy men will sleep in nearly any position and at any hour, despite all interruptions, so that when our friends rose at daybreak to resume their journey they were well refreshed and eager to push on. CHAPTER 10 Game and Cookery Arrival at the Diggings Little Creek Law and Order in the Minds Nooning at Little Creek Hard up Our adventurers get credit and begin work. A Yankee outwitted. Deer, hares, crows, blackbirds, magpies, and quails were the creatures that bounded, scampered, hopped, and flew before the eyes of the travelers at every step as they wended their way pleasantly beneath a bright morning sun over the hills and through the lesser valleys of the great veil of the Sacramento. And all of these creatures, excepting the crows and magpies, fell before the unerring and unexpectedly useful blunderbuss of Captain Bunting, passed a temporary existence in the maw of the big iron pot, and eventually vanished into the carnivorous jaws of Ned Sinton and his friends. Crows were excluded from their bill of fare because the whole party had an unconquerable antipathy to them, and Larry said he had eaten many pies in his lifetime, but he had never eaten magpies, and he'd be shot if he was going to begin now. The duties of Chief Hunter devolved upon the Captain, first because he was intensely fond of shooting, and secondly because the game was so plentiful and tame that it was difficult to avoid hitting something if one only fired straight before one. For the same reasons the blunderbuss proved to be more effectual than the rifle. The Captain used to load it with an enormous charge of powder and a handful of shot, swan shot, two sizes of duck shot, and sparrow hail, mixed, with an occasional rifle ball dropped into the bargain. The recoil of the piece was tremendous, but the Captain was a stout buffer, if we may be permitted the expression, and stood the shock manfully. Stood squirrels formed one of their favorite dishes. It was frequently prepared by Tom Collins, whose powers in the Culinary Department proved to be so great that he was unanimously voted to the Office of Chef de Cuisine, Bill Jones volunteering and being accepted to assist in doing the dirty work, for it must be borne in mind that the old relations of master and man no longer subsisted amongst any of the travelers now, accepting always the native vacciaro. All were equal at starting for the diggings, and the various appointments were made by, and with, the consent of the whole party. Yellow Creek diggings were situated in a narrow gorge of the mountains, through which flowed a small, though turbulent, strain. The sides of the hills were in some places thickly closed with trees, and others they were destitute not only of vegetation but of earth, the rock on the steeper declivities of the hills having been washed bare by the periodical heavy rains peculiar to those regions. Although wild and somewhat narrow, this little valley was nevertheless a cheerful spot, and consequence of its facing almost in a southerly direction. While towards the east there were several wide and picturesque gaps in the hills which seemed to have been made for the express purpose of letting the sun shine the greater part of the day upon the diggers while they were at work. An advantage, no doubt, when the weather was cool, but rather the reverse when it was hot. The entrance to Little Creek was about two miles wide, undulating and beautifully diversified, resembling pleasure grounds rather than a portion of the great wilderness of the far west. But the veil narrowed abruptly, and about three miles further into the mountains became a mere gap or ravine through which the streamlet leaped and boiled furiously. It was an hour before noon when our travellers came suddenly upon the wide entrance to the valley. How beautiful, exclaimed Ned, as he reigned up to gaze an admiration over the flowering plain with its groups of noble trees. I, said Maxon enthusiastically, you may well say that. There may be perchance as grand, but I am certain there is not a grander country in the world than America. The land of the brave and free. Ned did not ascend at once to the latter part of this proposition. You forget, he said hesitatingly, as if disinclined to hurt the feelings or prejudices of his new friend. You forget that it is the land of slaves. I confess that I did forget that at the moment, answered Maxon, while the blood mounted to his forehead. It is the foulest blot upon my country's honour. But I, at least, am guiltless of upholding the accursed institution, as also are thousands of my countrymen. I feel assured, however, that the time is coming when that blot shall be wiped away. I am glad, my friend, said Ned heartily, to hear you speak thus. To be frank with you, I could not have prevailed upon myself to have held out to you the hand of intimate friendship had you proved to be a defender of slavery. Then you'll form few friendships in this country, said Tom Collins. For many of the Yankees here have been slaveholders in their day, and almost all defend the custom. The conversation was interrupted at this point by Larry O'Neill uttering a peculiarly hiberny and exclamation, which no combination of letters will convey, and pointing in an excited manner to an object a few hundred yards in advance of them. What do you see, lad, inquired Bill Jones, shading his eyes with his hands. The whole party came to a halt and gazed earnlessly before them for a few minutes in silence. Ah! said O'Neill slowly, and with trembling earnestness, have me too oise or spake in truth, it's a gold digger, the first of the gold diggers. Then Larry followed up the discovery with a mingled cheer and war whoop of delight that rang far and wide over the valley. At such an unwanted we might almost say appalling sound, the first of the gold diggers, who was up to his waist in a hole, quietly and methodically excavating the earth on the river's bank with a pickaxe, raised his head, and leaning on the half of his pick scrutinized the new arrivals narrowly. Hooray, my hearty! shouted Larry as he advanced at a gallop followed by his laughing comrades. The top of the mornin' to ya! It's good luck I'm wishin' ya. How are ya gettin' on in the goodway, honey? The rough-looking, dusty and bearded miner smiled good humoredly as he replied in a gentle ton of voice that belied his looks. Pretty well, friend, though not quite so well as some of my neighbors, I presume that you and your friends have just arrived at the mines. Tearin' ages, it's a gentleman I do belive, cried Larry, turning to his companions with a look of surprise. The miner laughed at the remark, and leaping out of the hole did his best to answer the many questions that were put to him in a somewhat excited tone by the party. Where's the gold? inquired Jones gravely, going down on his knees at the side of the excavation and peering into it. I don't see none whatsoever. The dust is very fine here, answered the miner, and not easily detected until washed. Occasionally we come upon nuggets and pockets in the dry parts of the river's bed and the canyons of the hills, but I find it most profitable to work steadily down here where the whole earth below the surface is impregnated with fine particles of gold. Many of the diggers waste their time in prospecting, which word I suppose you know means looking out for new diggings. But according to the proverb of my country I prefer to remain contented with little and canty with meh. Are we far distant from the other miners in this creek, inquired Ned? No, you are quite close. You will come upon the colony after passing that bluff of trees ahead of you, answered the Scotchman, but come, I will show you the way. It's not far from nooning time when I usually cease work for a couple of hours. So saying the miner threw his pickaxe and shovel into the hole and led the way towards the colony of Little Creek. Ain't you afraid some of the bad-looking scoundrels in these parts may take a fancy to your pick and shovel, inquired the captain, as they rode along at a foot pace? Not in the least. Time was when I would have feared to leave them, for at one time neither life nor property was safe here where so many ruffians congregated from all parts of the world. But the evil wrought its own cure at last. Murders and robberies became so numerous that the miners took the lynch-law for mutual protection. Murders and thieves were hanged or whipped almost to death with such promptitude that it struck terror into the hearts of evil doers. And the consequence is that we of this valley are now living in a state of perfect peace and security, while in other districts where the laws of Judge Lynch are not so well administered, murders and thefts are occasionally heard of. Here if a man takes a fancy to go prospecting for a time, he has only to throw his pick and shovel into his claim or upon his heap of dirt. Authors note, dirt is the name given among miners to the soil on which gold is found, and he will be sure to find them there untouched on his return, even though he should be absent several weeks. Our tents too are left unwatched, and our doors unfastened with perfect safety, though it is well known that hundreds and thousands of dollars in gold dust lie within. I do not mean to assert that we have attained to absolute perfection. A murder and a theft do occasionally occur, but such are the exceptions. Security is the rule. Truly, said Ned Sinton, you seem to live in a golden age in all respects. Not in all, answered the Scott, the terrors of the law deter from open violence, but they do not enforce morality, as the language and deportment of miners generally too plainly show. But here we are at the colony of Little Creek. They rounded the projecting spur of one of the hills as he spoke, and the whole extent of the little valley opened up to view. It was indeed a romantic and curious sight. The veil, as we have said, was narrow, but by no means gloomy. The noontide sun shed a flood of light over the glistening rocks and verdant foliage of the hills on the left, and cast the short-rounded shadows of those on the right upon the plain. Through the center of this the Little Creek warbled on its course. Now circling round some wooded knoll until it almost formed an island, the non-dropping in a quiet cascade over the edge of a flat rock, in some places sweeping close under the base of a perpendicular cliff, in others shooting out into a lake-like expanse of shallow water across a bright green meadow as it murmured on over its golden bed towards the Sacramento. Higher up the valley the cliffs were more abrupt. Dark pines and cedars in groups or singly hung on their sides and gave point to the landscape in the background of which the rivulet glittered like a silver thread where the mountains rose in peaks toward the sky. Along the whole course of this rivulet as far as the eye could trace it, searches for gold were at work on both banks, while their white tents and rude wooden shanties were scattered singly or in clusters of various extent upon the wooded slopes in every pleasant and suitable position. From the distance at which our party first beheld the scene, it appeared as if the miners were not men but little animals grubbing in the earth. Little or no sound reached their ears. There was no bustle, no walking tour of row, as if the hundreds there assembled had various and diverse occupations. All were intently engaged in one in the same work. Pickaxe and shovel rose and fell with steady regularity as each individual wrought with ceaseless activity within the narrow limits of his own particular claim or rocked his cradle beside it. Dig, dig, dig, rock, rock, rock, shovel, shovel, shovel was the order of the day as long as day lasted, and then the gold hunters rested until recruited strength and dawning light enabled them again to go down into the mud and dig and rock and shovel as before. Many alas rocked themselves into a fatal sleep and dug and shoveled their own graves among these golden hills. Many too who, although they dug and toiled for the precious metal, had neither made it their god nor their chief good were struck down in the midst of their heavy toils and retired staggering to their tents and there, still clad in their damp garments, laid their fevered heads on their saddles, not unfrequently on their bags of gold dust, to dream of the distant homes and the loved faces they were doomed to see no more, and thus dreaming in solitude or watched mayhap by a rough though warm-hearted mate breathed out their spirits to him who gave them and were laid in their last resting place with wealth untold beneath them and earth impregnated with gold dust for their winding-sheet. Happy thrice-happy, the few who in that hour could truly say to Jesus, Whom have I in heaven but thee? And there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee. Just as our travellers approached the nearest and largest cluster of huts and tents, a sudden change came over the scene. The hour of noon had arrived, and as if with one consent the miners threw down their tools and swarmed like the skirmishers of an invading host up from the stream towards the huts. A few of the more jovial among them singing at the full pitch of their lungs, but most of them too weary to care for ought-save food and repose. One is the universal dinner-hour throughout the gold-minds. An hour which might be adopted with profit in every way we venture to suggest by those who dig for gold in commercial and legal ledgers and cash-books in more civilized lands. When the newcomers reached a moderately-sized long cabin, which was the chief hotel of the colony, they found it in all the bustle of preparation for an immediate and simple though substantial meal. Can we have dinner, inquired Ned entering this house of entertainment, while his companions were unsettling and picketing their horses and mules? To be sure you can, Maharti, answered the smiling landlord, if you pay for it. That's just the reason I asked the question, answered Ned seating himself in a cask. All available chairs, stool, and benches having been already appropriated by mud-be-spattered miners. Because you must know I can't pay for it. Oh! I calculated mine-hosts with a grin. Hard up, eh? Got cleaned out with a trip up and trust to dig him for the future? Well, I'll give you a credit. Come on and stick in. It's every man for himself here and no favor. Thus invited, Ned and his friends squeezed themselves into seats beside the long, tabled oat, which boasted a canvas tablecloth and had casks for legs, and made a hearty meal in the course of which they obtained a great deal of useful information from their friend MacLeod the Scotchman. After dinner, which was eaten hurriedly, most of the miners returned to their work, and Ned, with his friend, under the guidance of MacLeod, went down to the river to be initiated into the mysteries of gold-digging and washing. As they approached several of the claims which their owners were busy working, a Yankee swaggered up to them with a cigar in his mouth, an impudent expression on his face and a pickaxe on his shoulder. Guess you've just come to locating them digging, strangers, he said, addressing the party at large, but looking at Ned, whose superior height and commanding cast of countenance proved him unmistakably to be a leader. We have, replied Ned, who disliked the look of the man. Thought so. I'm just going to quit and make tracks for the coast, bludge to cut stick on business that won't wait, I calculate. It's plaguey and looky, too, for my claims turning out no and dollars, but I must sell it slick off. So I don't mind to let you have it cheap. Is your claim better than the others in the neighborhood, inquired Ned? Well, I just upon it is. Look here, cried the Yankee, jumping into his claim, which was a pit of about eight feet square and three deep, and delving the shovel into the earth, while Ned and his friends, beside several of the other miners, drew near to witness the result. Maxden and Tom Collins, however, winked knowingly at each other, and with the Scotchman, drew back to the rear of the group. The first shovelful of earth thrown up was absolutely full of glittering particles of gold, and the second was even more richly impregnated with the precious metal. Ned and the captain stood aghast with amazement, and Bill Jones opened mouth and eyes to their utmost extent. How rude! Ah, good color! There it is at last, shouted Larry O'Neill, tossing up his arms with delight. Do buy it, Mr. Ned, darling. I needn't turn up more, I guess, said the Yankee, carelessly throwing down his shovel and filling the earth into a tin bowl or pan. I'll just wash it out and show you what it's like. So saying, he dipped the pan into the stream gently and proceeded to wash out the gold. As this was done in the way usually practiced by diggers, we shall describe it. Setting down the tin pan of earth and water, the Yankee dipped both hands into it and stirred its contents about until it became liquid mud, removing the stones in the operation. It was then moved round quickly with a peculiar motion which caused some of the top to escape over the edge of the pan with each revolution. More water was added from time to time, and the process continued until all the earthy matter was washed away and nothing but a kind of black sand in which the gold is usually contained remained at the bottom. There you are, cried the man exultingly, lifting up a handful of the heavy and shining mixture. Fifteen dollars at least and two shovel-folds. I'll sell you the claim if you like for two hundred dollars. I would give it at once, said Ned, feeling at the moment deeply troubled on account of his poverty. But to say truth, I have not a farthing in the world. A peculiar grin rested on the faces of the miners who looked on as he spoke, but before he could inquire the cause, Tom Cullen stepped forward and said, That's a first-rate claim of yours. What did you say was your charge for it? Three hundred dollars down. I'll tell you what, rejoined Tom. I'll give you six hundred dollars for it, if you take out another shovel full of dirt like that. This remark was greeted by a general laugh from the bystanders, which was joined in by the Yankee himself as he leaped out of the hole, and shouldering his shovel went off with his friends, leaving Ned and some others of his party staring at each other in astonishment. What does it all mean, he inquired, turning to Tom Cullen, whose laughing countenance showed that he at least was not involved in mystery. It means simply that we were all taken for greenhorns, which was quite a mistake, and that we were to have been thoroughly cheated, a catastrophe which has happily been prevented. Maxden and I determined to let the rascally fellow go as far as he could, and then step in and turn the laugh against him as we have done. But explain yourself, I do not yet understand, repeated Ned with a puzzled look. Why the fact is that when strangers arrive at the diggings full of excitement and expectation, there are always a set of sharpers on the lookout who offer to sell their claims, as they often say, for a mere song, and in order to prove their worth, take out a little dirt and wash it as you have just seen done. Taking care beforehand, however, to mingle with it a large quantity of gold dust, which of course comes to light, and a bargain is generally struck on the spot when the sharper goes off with the price and boasts of having done a greenhorn, for which he is applauded by his comrades. Should the fraud be detected before the completion of the bargain, as in our case, he laughs with the rest and says probably he weren't so cute as usual. Ugh, the scoundrels, cried Larry, and is there no law for such dunes? None. At least in most diggings men are left to sharpen their own wits by experience. Sometimes, however, the biter is pretty well bitten. There was a poor Chilean once who was deceived in this way, and paid four hundred dollars for a claim that was scarcely worth working. He looked rather put out on discovering the imposter, but was only laughed at by most of those who saw the transaction for his softness. Some there were who frowned on the sharper and even spoke of lynching him, but they were a small minority and had to hold their peace. However, the Chilean plucked apart, and leaping into his claim worked away like a Trojan. After a day or two he hid up on a good layer of blue clay, and from that time he turned out forty dollars a day for two months. Ah, good luck to him, cried Larry. And did the sharper hero of it, inquired the captain. That he did, and tried to bully the poor fellow and get his claim back again. But there was a strong enough sense of justice among the miners to cause such an outcry that the scoundrel was feigned to seek other diggings. CHAPTER XI GOLDWASHING Our adventurers count their gains and are satisfied. The Royal Bank of California begins to prosper, frying gold, night visit to the grave of a murdered man, a murderer caught, the escape, and pursuit. Having escaped from the Yankee Land Shark, as has been related, our adventurers spent the remainder of the day in watching the various processes of digging and washing out gold, in imbibing valuable lessons and in selecting a spot for their future residents. The two processes in Vogue at Little Creek at that time were the pan and the crater washing. The former has been already adverted to him was much practiced because the ground at that time was rich in the precious metal and easily wrought. The extreme simplicity, too, of the operation, which only required that the miners should possess a pick, a shovel, and a tin pan, commended it to men who were anxious to begin at once. An expert man, in favourable ground, could gather and wash a pan full of dirt, as it is called, every ten minutes, and there were few places in Little Creek that did not yield half a dollar or more to the pan full, thus enabling the digger to work out gold dust to the value of about twenty-five dollars, five pounds sterling, every day, while occasionally he came upon a lump or nugget equal perhaps to what he could reduce by the steady labour of a week or more. Many of the more energetic miners, however, worked in companies and used cradles by means of which they washed out a much larger quantity of gold in shorter time, and in places which did not yield a sufficient return by the pan process to render it worthwhile working, the cradle owners obtained ample renumeration for their toil. The cradle is a very simple machine, being a semi-circular trough hollowed out of a log from five to six feet long by sixteen inches in diameter. At one end of this is a perforated copper or iron plate with a rim of wood round it, on which the dirt is thrown, and water poured thereon by one man while the cradle is rocked by another. The gold and gravel are thus separated from the larger stones and washed down the trough, in which at intervals two transverse bars half an inch high are placed. The first of these arrests the gold which from its great weight sinks to the bottom while the gravel and lighter substances are swept away by the current. The lower bar catches any particles of gold that by awkward management may have passed the upper one. Three men usually work together at a rocker, one digging, one carrying the dirt in a bucket, and one rocking the cradle. The black sand, which along with the gold is usually left after all the washing and rocking processes are completed, is too heavy to be separated by means of washing. It has therefore to be blown away from the gold after the mass has been dried over a fire, and in this operation great care is requisite, lest the finer particles of gold should be blown off along with it. The spot fixed on as the future residence of our friends was a level patch of greensword about a stone cast from the banks of the stream and twice that distance from the lowest cabin of the colony which was separated and concealed from them by a group of wide-spreading oaks and other trees. A short distance behind the spot the mountains ascended in steep wooded slopes and just in front the cliffs of the opposite hills rose abruptly from the edge of the stream, but a narrow ravine that split them in a transverse manner afforded a peep into the hills beyond. At evening when the rest of the veil of Little Creek was shrouded in gloom, this ravine permitted the last beams of the setting sun to stream through and flood their encampment with rosy light. Here the tent was pitched and a fire kindled by Tom Collins, he being entrusted with the command of the party whose duty it was to prepare the camp. This party included Bill Jones, Maxden, and the Vacchiero. Ned, the captain, and Larry O'Neill went under the guidance of McLeod to select a claim and take lessons in washing. "'This seems a likely spot,' said the Scotchman as he led his new acquaintances down to the stream, a few yards below their encampment. "'You may claim as much ground as you please, for there is room enough and despair for all at the creek yet. I would recommend a piece of ground of ten or twelve feet square for each to begin with. Here is a level patch that I shall appropriate, then," said Ned, smiling at the idea of becoming so suddenly and easily a land of proprietor, and to such an extent. "'I suppose we don't require to make out title deeds,' remarked the captain. "'There's more title-day,' cried Larry, driving his pick into the earth. "'You were right, Larry,' said McLeod, laughing. "'No other deed is required in this delightfully free country.' "'Oh, then it's quite the more taste. Sure, I never thought to see the sweet spot where I could pick up my property and pick up my fortune so easy.' "'Don't count your chickens quite so fast,' said Ned. "'Maybe it won't be so easy as you think. But let us begin and ascertain the value of our claims. I vote that Larry shall have the honor of washing out the first pan full of gold as a reward for his enthusiasm.' "'A very proper observation,' remarked the Irishman as he commenced work without further delay. In the course of ten minutes part of the layer of surfacer was removed, revealing the bluish-clay soil in which gold was usually found. The pan was filled with this pager, as it was called, in contradistinction to the surfacer, which didn't pay, and was taken down to the stream where Larry washed it out under the eye of McLeod. But he did it clumsily as might be expected and lost a considerable amount of valuable material. Still, for a first attempt it was pretty well done, and his companions watched the result with feelings of excited earnestness that they felt half ashamed to admit even to themselves. There was mingled with this feeling a sort of vague incredulity and a disposition to ridicule the idea that they were actually endeavoring to wash gold out of the ground. But when Larry's panful began to diminish and the black sand appeared, sparkling with unmistakably brilliant particles of reddish-yellow metal, they felt that the golden dream was in truth becoming a sober reality. As the process proceeded and the precious metal began to appear, Larry's feelings found vent in abrupt remarks. "'Ock, have bet you eyes! Oh, so there it is, gold entirely, if it isn't brass. Oh, you party little stars, oh, Larry, it's yourself as a bi-year-old mother-of-pig and a coach to boot. Haru, Mr. Scotchman, I misremember your name. What's that?' Larry started up in excitement and held up between his forefinger and thumb what appeared to be a small stone. "'Ah, friend, you're in luck. That's a small nugget,' replied McLeod, examining the lump of gold. "'It's worth ten dollars at least. I have worked off in two or three weeks at a time without coming on such a chunk as that. Yeah, don't main it. Ah, give it to me. Hooray!' And the Irishman, seizing the little lump with trembling eagerness, rushed off, shouting and yelling towards the camp to make his good fortune known to Bill Jones, leaving the pan of black sand unheeded. This Ned took up and tried his hand at the work of washing. When done, the residue was found to be exceedingly rich, so he and the captain proceeded without loss of time to test their separate claims. Soon after their obliging friend the miner returned to his own claim further down the valley, leaving them hard at work. That night, when the bright stars twinkled down upon the camp at Little Creek, our gold hunters, wet and tired, but hearty and hopeful, assembled around the fire in front of their little tent among the oak trees. The entire party was assembled there, and they were gazing earnestly, as might be expected of hungry men, into the frying pan. But they did not gaze at supper. No, that night the first thing they fried was a mixture of black sand and gold. In fact, they were drying and blowing the result of their first day's work at the diggings, and their friend the Scotch miner was there to instruct them in the various processes of their new profession and to weigh the gold for them in his little pair of scales when it should be finally cleared of all grosser substances. As each panful was dried and blown, the gold was weighed and put into a large white breakfast cup, the bottom of which was soon heaped up with shining particles, varying in size from the smallest visible speck to little lumps like grains of corn. Bravo, exclaimed MacLeod, as he weighed the last pan and added the gold to that already in the cup. I congratulate you gentlemen on your success. The day's work is equal to one hundred and eighty dollars, about thirty dollars per man. Few men are so lucky their first day, I assure you, unless, as has been the case once or twice, they should hit upon a nugget or two. That being the case, we shall have supper, cried Ned Sittin. And while we are about it, do you go, Larry, to mine host of the hotel and pay for the dinner for which he gave us credit. I don't wish to remain an hour in debt if I can avoid it. Mr. MacLeod, slowly said Bill Jones, who during the whole operation of drying and weighing the gold, had remained seated on a log, looking on with an expression of imbecile astonishment and without uttering a word. Mr. MacLeod, if I may make bold to ask. How much is one hundred and eighty dollars? Bill's calculating powers were of the weakest possible character. About thirty-six pounds sterling, replied MacLeod. Bill's eyes were wide open before, but the extent to which he opened them on hearing this was quite alarming and suggested the idea that they would never close again. The same incapacity to calculate figures rendered him unable to grasp correlative facts. He knew that thirty-six pounds in one day was a more enormous and sudden accumulation of wealth than had ever entered into his nautical mind to conceive of. But to connect this with the fact that a voyage and journey of many months had brought him there, that a similar journey and voyage would be required to re-conduct him home, and that in the meantime he would have to pay perhaps five pounds sterling for a flannel shirt and probably four pounds or more for a pair of boots and everything else in proportion, was to his limited intellectual capacity as simple impossibility. He contented himself with remarking in reference to these things that when things in general was more nor ordinarily uncommon, and when incomprehensible was blowing a regular hurricane of starin' so that a man couldn't hold on to the belayin' pins he'd been used to without their brightened short-off and lettin' him go spinnin' into the least guppers, by what then? A wise man's course was to take in on sale, and skud before it under bare poles. Next day all the miners in the colony were up and at work by dawn. Ned and his friends, you may be sure, were not last to leave their beds and commence digging in their separate claims, which they resolved to work out by means of panwashing until they made a little ready cache, after which they purposed constructing two rockers and washing out the gold more systematically and profitably. They commenced by removing a surface soil to the depth of about three feet, a work of no small labor until the subsoil or pager was reached. Of this they dug out a small quantity and washed it, put the produce of black sand and gold into leather and bags, and then digging out another pan full washed it as before. Thus they labored till noon when they rested for an hour and dined. Then they worked on again until night and exhaustion compelled them to desist. When they returned to camp, dried and flew away the sand, weighed the gold which was put carefully into a general purse, named by Larry the Royal Bank of California, after which they supped and retired to rest. The gold was found at various depths, the dirt on the bed rock being the richest as gold naturally, in consequence of its weight, sinks through all other substances until arrested in its downward career by the solid rock. Of course the labor was severe to men unaccustomed to the peculiar and constant stooping posture they were compelled to adopt, and on the second morning more than one of the party felt as if he had been seized with lumbago. But this wore off in the course of a day or two. The result of the second day was about equal to that of the first. The result of the third, a good deal better, and Bill, who was fortunate enough to discover a small nugget, returned to camp with a self-satisfied swagger that indicated elation, though his visage expressed nothing but solidity, slightly tinged with surprise. On the fourth day the cradles were made, and a very large portion of their gains thereby swept away, in consequence of the unconscionable prices charged for every article used in their construction. However this mattered little Maxston said, as the increased profits of their labor would soon repay the outlay. And he was right. On the fifth day their returns were more than troubled, and that evening the directors of the Royal Bank of California found themselves in possession of capital amounting to one thousand one hundred and fifty dollars, or, as Tom Collins carefully explained to Bill, about two hundred thirty pounds. On the sixth day, however, which was Saturday, Larry O'Neill, who was permitted to work with the pan in the meantime instead of assisting with the cradles, came up to dinner with a less hearty aspect than usual, and at supper time he returned with a terribly lugubrious visage and a totally empty bag. In fact, his claim had become suddenly unproductive. Look at that! He cried, swaggering recklessly into camp and throwing down his bag. I haven't got a rep. Fie, that bag's as empty as my interior. What? Have you worked out your claim already, inquired Maxston? Trolls have I, and almost worked out my own body, too. Well, Larry, don't lose heart, said Ned, as he dried the last pan full of sand over the fire. There are plenty more claims besides your present one. We, too, have not been as successful as before. I find the result is only fifty dollars amongst us all. That's a sudden falling off, remarked Tom Collins. I fear the pay-dirt is not deep near us. Nevertheless it pays well enough to keep us going for some time to come. I shall mark off a new space on Monday. By the way, Maxston asked Ned, handing over the frying pan to Collins, who soon filled it with a less valuable but at that time not less needful commodity than gold dust, namely pork and beef. How do the miners spend the Sabbath here? I suppose not much better than in the cities. Here comes MacLeod, who will be better able to answer than I am, replied Maxston. The scots drove into the camp as he spoke, and saluting the party seated himself beside the fire. I've come to tell you a piece of news and to ask advice, he said, but before doing so I may tell you an answer to your question that the Sabbath here is devoted to drinking, gambling, and loafing about. I am not surprised to hear it, said Captain Bunting, but pray what's in the wind? Any new diggings discovered? A new digging certainly has been discovered, replied MacLeod, with a peculiar smile, but not precisely such a digging as one is wont to search for. The fact is that in prospecting along the edge of the woods about a mile from this today, I came upon the body of a murdered man. It was covered with stones and branches of trees which I removed, and I immediately recognized it to be that of a poor man who used to work not far from my own claim. I had missed him for more than a week past, but suppose that he had either gone to other diggings or was away prospecting. Poor fella, said Ned, but how in such a matter can we help you with advice? Well, you see, I'm in difficult circumstances rejoin the scot, for I feel certain that I could point out the murderer, yet I cannot prove him to be such, and I want your advice as to what I should do. Let it be known at once that you have discovered the murdered man at any rate, said Maxon, that I have done already. Who do you think was the murderer, inquired Ned? A man who used to live in the same tent with him at one time, but who quarreled with him frequently, and at last went off in a rage. I know not what was the cause, but I heard him vow that he would be revenged. He was a great coarse fellow, more like a brute than a man, with a black beard, and the most forbidding aspect I think I ever saw. What was his name, inquired Bill Jones, while the party looked at each other as if they knew of such a character? Smith was the name he went by oftenest, but the diggers called him black jim sometimes. Ha! Smith, black beard, forbidding aspect? It strikes me that I too have seen the man, said Ned Sinton, who related to McLeod the visit paid to them in their camp by the surly stranger, while he was speaking Larry O'Neill sat pondering something in his mind. Mr. McLeod, said he when Ned concluded, will you show me the body of this man? Psy, I'm of opinion I can prove the murder. But first of all, how is the black villain to be discovered? No difficulty about that, he is even now in the colony. I saw him in a gambling-house half an hour since. My fear is that now the murder's out he'll bolt before we can secure him. It's little trouble we'd have him prevent in that, suggested Larry. The consequences might be more serious, however, than you imagine. Suppose you were to seize and accuse him and fail to prove the murder. The jury would acquit him and the first thing he would do on being set free would be to shoot you, for which act the morality of the miners would rather applaud him than otherwise. It is only on cold-blooded, unprovoked murder and theft that judge Lynch is severe. It is a recognized rule here that if a man in a row should merely make a motion with his hand towards his pistol, his opponent is entitled to shoot him first if he can. The consequences, the bloody quarrels, are very rare. Never a tight-store care, cried Larry. They may hang me two times over, but I'll prove the murder and nab the murder on Blackguard, too. Have a care, Sid-Ned. You'll get yourself into a scrape. Make sure you are right before you act, added Maxston. Larry O'Neill paid no attention to these warnings. Are you ready to go, Mr. McCloud, said he, impatiently? Quite, replied the other. Then come along. And the two left the camp together armed with their rifles, knives, revolvers, and a shovel. It was a dark night. Heavy clouds obscured the face of the sky through which only one or two stars struggled faintly and rendered darkness visible. The two men passed rapidly along the little footpath that led from the colony to the more open country beyond. This gained, they turned abruptly to the right and entering a narrow defile, proceeded at a more cautious pace into the gloomy recesses of the mountains. Have a care, Larry O'Neill, whispered the Scotchman as they advanced. The road is not so safe here owing to a number of pits which have been made by diggers after gold. They lie close to the edge of the path and are pretty deep. All right, I'm looking out, replied Larry, groping his way after his comrade at the base of a steep precipice. Here is the place, said McCloud, stopping and pushing aside the bushes which lined the path. Keep close to me, there's no road. Are you sure of the spot, inquired Larry, in an undertone, while a feeling of awe crept over him at the thought of being within a few yards of a murdered man in such a dark, wild place? Quite sure. I have marked the trees. See there? He pointed to a white spot on the stem of a tree where a chip had been cut off, and close to which was a mound of earth and stones. This mound the two men proceeded to break up, and in less than ten minutes they disintuned the body from its shallow grave and commenced to examine the fatal wound. It was in an advanced state of decomposition, and they hurried the process by the light of a bright, solitary star whose flickering rays pierced through the over-spreading branches and fell upon the ghastly countenance of the murdered man. While thus occupied they were startled by the sound of breaking twigs as if some were slowly approaching, whispering voices were also heard. It must be hereabouts, said a voice in a low tone. He pointed out the place. Oh! cried McCloud, who with Larry had seized and cocked his rifle. Is that you, Webster? Hello? McCloud, where are you? In another moment a party of miners broke through the underwood, talking loudly, but they dropped their voices to a whisper on beholding the dead body. Whist, boys, said Larry, holding up his hand. You've just got hold of the bullet. It's flattened the least thing, but the size is easy to see. There's a wound over the heart, too, made with a knife. Now that's what I want to get at the bottom of. But I don't like to use my own knife to cut down. As none of the others felt disposed to lend their knives for such a purpose they looked at each other in silence. May Hap, said the rough-looking miner who had been held by McCloud as Webster, may Hap the knife of the corpses lying about. The suggestion was a happy one. After a few minutes' search the rusty knife of the murdered man was discovered, and with this Larry succeeded in extracting from the wound over the heart of the body a piece of steel which had evidently been broken off the point of the knife with which the poor wretch had been slain. Larry held it up with a look of triumph. I'll soon show you who's the murderer now, boys, if y'all help me to fill up the grave. This was speedily accomplished. Then the miners, hurrying in silence from the spot, proceeded to the chief hotel of the place in the gambling saloon of which they found the man Smith, alias Black Jim, surrounded by gamblers and sitting on a corner of the muddy table watching the game. Larry went up to him at once and, seizing him by the collar, exclaimed, I've got you, have I, you murderer, you black villain! Come along with you and get your deserts. Call a court, boys, and set up Judge Lynch. Instantly the saloon was in an uproar. Smith turned pale as death for a moment, but the blood returned with violence to his brazen forehead. He seized Larry by the throat, and a deadly struggle would speedily have taken place between the two powerful men, had not Ned Sinton entered at the moment, and grasping Smith's arms in his Herculean grip rendered him helpless. What? Comrades! cried Black Jim with an oath and, looking fiercely round, will you see a messmate treated like this? I'm no murderer, and I defy anyone to prove it. There was a move among the miners, and a voice was heard to speak of rescuing the prisoner. Men, cried Ned, still holding Smith and looking round upon the crowd. Men! I guess there are no men here, interrupted a Yankee. We're all gentlemen. Being a man does not incapacitate one from being a gentleman, said Ned sharply, with a look of scorn at the speaker, who deemed it advisable to keep silence. After a moment's pause he continued, If this gentleman has done no evil, I and my friends will be answerable to him for what we have done. But my comrade Larry O'Neill denounces him as a murderer and says he can prove it. Surely the law of the mines and fair play demand that he should be tried. Here, here, well said, get up a bonfire and let's have it out, cried several voices approvingly. The miners rushed out, dragging Black Jim along with them to an open-level space in front of the hotel, where stood a solitary oak tree, from one of whose sturdy arms several offenders against the laws of the gold mines had at various times swung an expiation of their crimes. Here an immense fire was kindled and hither nearly all the miners of the neighborhood assembled. Black Jim was placed under the branch, from which depended part of the rope that had hanged the last criminal. His rifle, pistols, and knife were taken from him amid protestations of innocence and implications on the heads of his accusers. Then a speech was made by an orator who was much admired at the place but whose coarse language could scarcely have claimed admiration in any civilized community. After this Larry O'Neill stepped forward with MacLeod and the latter described all he knew of the former life of the culprit and his conduct towards the murdered man. When he had finished Larry produced the bullet which was compared with the rifle in the bullets in Smith's pouch and pronounced similar to the latter. At this several of the miners cried out, Guilty, Guilty, string him up at once. There are other rifles with the same bore, said Smith. I used to think Judge Lynch was just, but he's no better I find than the Landsharks elsewhere. Hang me if you like, but if you do instead of getting rid of one murderer you'll fill the little creek with murderers from end to end. My blood will be on your heads. Save your breath, said Larry, drawing Smith's knife from its scabbard. See here, boys, sure two dovetails never fit in closer than this bit of steel fits the pint of Black Jim's knife. Them men standing beside me can swear they saw me take it out of the breast of the murdered man, and yourselves know that this is the murderer's knife. Almost before Larry had concluded Smith, who felt that his doom was sealed, exerted all his strength, burst from the men who held him, and darted like an arrow towards that part of the living circle which seemed weakest. Most of the miners shrank back. Only one man ventured to oppose the fugitive, but he was driven down with such violence that he lay stunned on the sword, while Smith sprang like a goat up the steep face of the adjacent precipice. A dozen rifles instantly poured forth their contents, and the rocks rang with a leaden hail. But the aim had been hurried, and the light shed by the fire at that distance was uncertain. The murderer, next moment, stood on the verge of the precipice from which he wrenched a massive rock in shouting defiance, hurled it back with a fearful implication at his enemies. The rock fell into the midst of them and fractured the skull of a young man who fell with a groan to the earth. Smith, who paused a moment to witness the result of his throw, uttered a yell of exultation and darted into the mountains, whether for hours after he was hotly pursued by the enraged miners. But one by one they returned to the creek exhausted.