We fell into sanity as respects our hours of work and the way we went at it. Often we took as much as an hour and a half off at noon; or quit work early in the day. Then it was pleasant to sit with other miners under the trees or in the shade by the stream swapping yarns, doing our mending or washing, and generally getting acquainted. As each man's product was his own, no one cared how much or how little the others worked. Simply when he quit, his share ceased. This does not mean that we shirked our work, however; we merely grew to be a little sensible.

Some of our discussions were amusing, and several of them most illuminating. Thus, one day, John Semple summed up a long talk in which the conversation had swung wildly among the ideas of what each would do when he had dug "enough" gold. That had led us to consider what amount we thought would be "enough" for each of us. John settled it.

"Enough," said he, "is always a little more than a man has."

The political situation was fruitful of much idle discussion also. California had not been formally placed on any footing whatever by the United States Congress. Whatever any community did in the way of legislation or regulation was extra-legal and subject to ratification. I have heard grave discussions as to whether even murder could be considered a crime, since in this no-man's land there was no real law forbidding it!

A good many Chinese drifted in about this time, and established a camp of their own a short distance downstream. We took some pride in them as curiosities, with their queer, thatchlike hats, their loose blue clothing, their pigtails wound tight around their heads, and their queer yellow faces. They were an unobtrusive people, scratching away patiently, though spasmodically, on the surface of the ground. We sometimes strolled down to see them. They were very hospitable, and pleased at the interest they excited.

We made from fourteen to seventeen ounces of gold dust a day for some weeks, working our two cradles something like eight hours a day. With gold at the then current rate of fourteen dollars an ounce this was a good return, and we were quite happy. Besides, we were always hoping for a big strike. One day, as I was in the very act of turning my shovelful of dirt into the cradle, my eye caught a dull gleam. I instantly deflected the motion to dump the dirt on the stones alongside, fished about, and dug out a nugget that weighed three and three-quarter ounces. This was by far the largest single nugget found in these diggings—for most of the gold here came in flakes—and it attracted much attention. It belonged to me, individually, because I had not yet dumped it into the cradle.

About this time we had to come to some sort of a decision, for our provisions were about exhausted. We had no desire to replenish our stock from that of the local storekeeper. We were doing pretty well in the diggings, but we had also fairly healthy appetites, and I am convinced that at the prices that man charged we should have no more than kept even. Williams, the storekeeper, was levying double profits, one from us, and one from the overland immigrants. Don Gaspar proposed we send out Vasquez with all the horses to restock at Sutter's Fort. We were a trifle doubtful as to whether Vasquez would ever come back, but Don Gaspar seemed to have confidence in his man. Finally, though a little doubtfully, we came to the plan. Don Gaspar sent out also to McClellan for safekeeping his accumulations of gold dust; but we did not go quite that far. In view of probable high prices we entrusted him with eighteen ounces for the purchase of goods.

While he was away we came to another decision. It had been for some weeks preparing. The diggings were becoming overcrowded. Almost every foot of the bar was occupied, and more men were coming in every day. No longer could the newcomer be sure of his colour the afternoon of his arrival; but was forced to prospect here and there up and down the river until he found a patch of the pay dirt. Most trusted simply to luck, but some had systems on which they worked. I have seen divining rods used. The believers in chance seemed to do as well as any one else.

But, also, our own yield was decreasing. The last week we had gained only nineteen ounces all told. This might be merely a lean bit of misfortune, or it might mean that we had taken the best from our ten claims. Since the human mind is prone to changes, we inclined to the latter theory. We were getting restless. No miner ever came to California who did not believe firmly that he would have done much better had he come out one voyage earlier; and no miner ever found diggings so rich that he had not a sneaking suspicion that he could do even better "a little farther on."

Our restlessness was further increased by the fact that we were now seeing a good deal of Sam Bagsby, the hunter. He and Yank had found much in common, and forgathered of evenings before our campfire.

Bagsby was a man of over fifty, tall and straight as a youngster, with a short white beard, a gray eye, and hard, tanned flesh. He was a typical Rocky Mountain man, wearing even in the hottest weather his fur cap with the tail hanging behind, his deerskin moccasins, and his fringed buckskin hunting shirt. Mining possessed no interest for him whatever. He was by profession a trapper, and he had crossed the plains a half-dozen times.

"No mining for me!" he stated emphatically. "I paddled around after the stuff for a while, till my hands swelled up like p'ison, and my back creaked like a frozen pine tree in the wind. Then I quit, and I stayed quit. I'm a hunter; and I'm makin' a good livin', because I ain't very particular on how I live."

He and Yank smoked interminable pipes, and swapped yarns. Johnny and I liked nothing better than to keep quiet and listen to them. Bagsby had come out with Captain Sutter; and told of that doughty soldier's early skirmishes with the Indians. His tales of the mountains, the plains, and the game and Indians were so much romance to us; and we both wished heartily that fate could have allowed us a chance at such adventures.

"But why don't you fellows branch out?" Bagsby always ended. "What do you want to stick here for like a lot of groundhogs? There's rivers back in the hills a heap better than this one, and nobody thar. You'd have the place plumb to yoreselves. Git in where the mountains is really mountainous."

Then he would detail at length and slowly his account of the great mountains, deep canons, the shadows of forests, ridges high up above the world, and gorges far within the bowels of the earth through which dashed white torrents. We gathered and pieced together ideas of great ice and snow mountains, and sun-warmed bars below them, and bears and deer, and a high clear air breathing through a vast, beautiful and solitary wilderness. The picture itself was enough to set bounding the pulses of any young man, with a drop of adventure in his veins. But also Bagsby was convinced that there we should find richer diggings than any yet discovered.

"It stands to reason," he argued, "that the farther up you git, the more gold there is. All this loose stuff yere is just what washed down from the main supply. If you boys reely wants rich diggings, then you want to push up into the Porcupine River country."

But with this glowing and vivid impression we gathered another: that of a trackless wilderness, fearful abysses down which to find a way, labyrinthine defiles, great forests. None of us knew how to cope with these things. Yank, the best woodsman of us all, had had no experience in mountains. None of us knew anything of Indian warfare. None of us had the least idea that we could find Porcupine River, even if we were to be given accurate directions on how to get there.

Nevertheless the idea with us had been growing. Some of the bolder spirits among our acquaintances used to talk it over with us at odd times—McNally, Buck Barry, and his partner, Missouri Jones. We did not discuss it as a plan, hardly as a possibility, merely as a pleasant theme. We found, and advanced any amount of objections—the uncertainty of finding any gold at all, the expense of such a journey, the danger from Indians, the fact that we could find other proved diggings much nearer, and a half hundred others. The moment one of us had advanced one of these objections he was at once himself the most eager to demolish it. Thus we gradually worked ourselves toward enthusiasm.

"If Sam Bagsby would join us, it might be worth trying," we came to at last.

But Sam Bagsby scouted any such idea.

"I ain't that kind of a tom-fool," said he. "If I want to paddle my hands blue I'd do it yere. I couldn't make more'n a living anyway. I tell you I ain't got no use for yore pra'rie dog grubbing!"

Then McNally had an inspiration.

"Will you go, Sam, if we pay you for going?" he asked.

"Sure," replied the trapper at once. "I'm a labouring man, I'll go anywhar I'm paid to go."

It came out that Bagsby's ideas of proper compensation were his supplies, fifteen dollars a week in gold, and a drink of whiskey twice a day! In all this gold country he was the only man I met who genuinely despised money. I really think we were hurried to our decision by this unexpected reasonableness on his part. At any rate we decided definitely to go.



CHAPTER XXI

WE LEAVE THE DIGGINGS

There were nine of us—Bagsby, Yank, Johnny Fairfax, myself, Don Gaspar, Vasquez, McNally, Buck Barry, and Missouri Jones. We possessed, in all, just nine horses. Yank, Vasquez, Bagsby, and Jones drove eight of them out again to Sutter's Fort for provisions—Don Gaspar's beautiful chestnut refused to be a pack-horse on any terms. We took the opportunity of sending our accumulations of gold dust to Talbot for safekeeping. I do not know just how much my companions forwarded. Of course I could compute their shares; but had no means of telling just what deductions to allow for the delights of Hangman's Gulch. For Talbot I laid aside as his share of our entire product of four hundred and eighty-six ounces a total of one hundred and ten ounces. This included the half of my own share, as agreed. Roughly speaking, the value of a partnership third, after Don Gaspar's portion had been deducted, was a trifle over a thousand dollars for six weeks' work. There seemed to us also an excellent chance to realize something on the two cradles. I went about among the miners, and without trouble got bids for a hundred dollars each. Johnny was by no means satisfied with this. He insisted that late in the afternoon we drag the formidable engines up the trail to the town, where he deposited them in the middle of the street. There he proceeded to auction them; attracting the crowd by the simple expedient of firing his Colt's revolver. The bidding was sluggish at first, but Johnny's facetious oratory warmed it. The first cradle was knocked down at one hundred and sixty dollars. The second was about to go for approximately the same amount, when Johnny held up his hand.

"Gentlemen," said he impressively, "I do not think you quite realize that for what you are bidding. This is no ordinary cradle, like the other. This is the very identical warranted genuine cradle into which that enormous lump of gold, weighing three and three-quarter ounces—the finest nugget ever unearthed at Hangman's Gulch—was about to be shovelled by that largest and most enormous lump of a lad, the gentleman at my right, when seized upon and claimed as private property in accordance with the laws of these diggings. This is the very identical historical cradle! Now, how much am I bid!"

The crowd laughed—but it bid! We got two hundred and forty dollars for it.

Our purveyors returned the second day after. They reported prices very high at Sutter's Fort, and a great congestion of people there; both of those ascending the river from San Francisco, and of overlanders. Prices had consequently gone up. Indeed, so high were all provisions that our hard-headed partners had contented themselves with buying only some coffee, dried beef, and flour. They had purchased also a further supply of powder and balls, and a rifle apiece for such of us as already had none. The weapons were very expensive; and we found that our savings had been much eaten into. We collected our effects, packed them, as many of them as we were able, and sunk to sleep in a pleasing tingle of excitement.

Bagsby got us up long before daylight. The air was chilly, in contrast to the terrific heats to be expected later in the day, so we hastened to finish our packing, and at dawn were off.

Bagsby struck immediately away from the main road toward the north. The country we traversed was one of wide, woody bottoms separated by rocky hills. The trapper proved to be an excellent guide. Seemingly by a sort of instinct he was able to judge where a way would prove practicable for our animals down into or up out of the numerous canons and ravines. It was borne in on me very forcibly how much hampered we should have been by our inexperience had we tried it alone. The country mounted gradually. From some of the higher points we could see out over the lowlands lost in a brown heat-haze. Deer were numerous, and a species of hare, and the helmeted quail. The sun was very hot; but the air was curiously streaked with coolness and with a fierce dry heat as though from an opened furnace door. All the grass was brown and crisp. Darker and more abrupt mountains showed themselves in the distance, with an occasional peak of white and glittering snow.

Until about three o'clock we journeyed through a complete solitude. Then we came upon some men digging in a dry wash. They had piled up a great heap of dirt from a hole. We stopped and talked to them; and discovered that they were working what they called "dry diggings." The pay dirt they excavated from wherever they found it piled it in a convenient place, and there left it until the rains should permit its washing. They claimed their dirt would prove to be very rich; but I thought myself that they were labouring in great faith. Also we learned what Bagsby had known right along, but which he had not bothered to tell us; that we were now about to cross the main Overland Trail.

We stopped that night near the road, and at a wayside inn or road house of logs kept by a most interesting man. He served us an excellent meal, including real eggs, and afterward joined us around the fire. He was an Italian, short, strongly built, with close curly hair, a rollicking, good-natured face, and with tiny gold rings in his ears. Johnny and he did most of the talking, while we listened. No part of the civilized world seemed to have been unvisited by this pair. Johnny mentioned Paris, our host added an intimate detail as to some little street; London appeared to be known to them from one end to the other; Berlin, Edinburgh, St. Petersburg even; and a host of other little fellows whose names I never knew before and cannot remember now. They swapped reminiscences of the streets; the restaurants, and the waiters and proprietors thereof; the alleys and by-ways, the parks and little places. I knew, in a general way, that Johnny had done the grand tour; but the Italian with his gold earrings and his strong, brown, good-humoured peasant face puzzled me completely. How came he to be so travelled? so intimately travelled? He was no sailor; that I soon determined.

The two of them became thoroughly interested; but after a time the native courtesy of the Italian asserted itself. He evidently thought we might feel left out of it; though I think the others were, like myself, quite fascinated.

"You lika music?" he smiled at us engagingly. "I getta my Italian fiddle? No?"

He arose at our eager assent, pushed aside a blanket that screened off one end of the log cabin, and produced his "Italian fiddle"—a hand-organ!

At once the solution of the wide wandering among the many cities, the intimate knowledge of streets and of public places burst upon my comprehension. I could see our host looking upward, his strong white teeth flashing in an ingratiating fascinating smile, his right arm revolving with the crank of his organ, his little brown monkey with the red coat and the anxious face clambering——

Next morning we crossed the Overland Trail, and plunged into a new country of pines, of high hills, of deep canons, and bold, rocky ridges. The open spaces we had left behind, and the great heats. Water flowed in almost every ravine, and along its courses grew green grass and wild flowers. Every little while we would come upon openings in the forest, clear meadows spangled with blossoms; or occasionally we would skirt high bald knobs of rock around which was stiff brush. For some miles we could journey at ease through clear woods, then would encounter a gash in the earth into which, at some expense of trial, we would have to find a way. At first every stream bed was dotted with the red shirts of miners. They became fewer as we advanced, until finally the last pair had been left behind. We camped that night at the edge of one of the meadows, beneath pine trees. The air turned very chilly. We built ourselves a fire of dried branches from the trees. In the meadow the horses cropped eagerly at the lush green feed, their bells tinkling pleasantly.

Nothing more remote could be imagined. Nevertheless Bagsby, Don Gaspar, and Vasquez were not satisfied. They consulted at length and apart; then Bagsby announced that sentries must stand watches. We grumbled at this, but Bagsby was firm, and as we had agreed to obey his commands we did so now. Don Gaspar explained to us later that the Mexican thieves would trail a party like ours for days, awaiting the chance to make off with the horses. Bagsby also chose the sentinels, selecting himself, Yank, Vasquez, and Missouri Jones. Once wrapped in my warm blanket I found myself selfishly glad that my experience had not been considered worth trusting.

The third day we occupied in surmounting a tremendous ridge of mountains. We climbed for hours, working our way up by zigzag and long slants through the pines, the rocky outcrops, the ledges, and the stiff brush that made up the slope. It was hard work; and it seemed to have no end. We arrived at last on a knife-edge summit. Here the trees were fewer. We looked abroad over the country we had traversed, and that which lay before us—a succession of dark, dim, undulating ridges with canons and valleys between, slanting from the great ranges at the right to brown rolling hills and the heat-covered, half-guessed plains. Immediately below us, very far down, was a toy-like valley, with low hills, and flat places, and groves of elfin trees, and a twisting bottle green river with white rapids.

"Thar's the Porcupine," Bagsby told us briefly.

We took a look, then plunged into the tangles and difficulties of the descent. Just at sundown, our knees bending under us, we came off that terrific slant to a grateful wide flat, grown with scattered oaks, and covered with fine brown grass. A little spring stream wandered through the meadow toward the river on the other side of the valley.

We camped right there, dumping the packs from the horses almost anyhow. After a hearty meal, we rolled ourselves immediately into our blankets and fell into a grateful sleep to the tune of the distant river murmuring over the shingle.



CHAPTER XXII

THE STRIKE

We awoke next morning to a bright day. The helmeted quail were calling; the bees were just beginning a sun-warmed hum among the bushes; a languorous warmth hung in the air, and a Sunday stillness. It was as though we awakened to a new world, untrodden by men; which was, indeed, a good deal the case.

While we ate breakfast we discussed our plans. The first necessity, of course, was to find out about gold. To that end we agreed to separate for the day, prospecting far and wide. Bagsby kept camp, and an eye on the horses. He displayed little interest in the gold proposition; but insisted strongly that we should carry both our rifles and revolvers.

It would be difficult to describe the thrill of anticipation with which I set off up the valley. The place was so new, so untouched, so absolutely unknown. The high ridges on either side frowned down austerely on the little meadows that smiled back quite unabashed. As I crossed the brown dry meadow toward the river a covey of quail whirred away before me, lit, and paced off at a great rate. Two big grouse roared from a thicket.

The river was a beautiful, clear stream, with green wavery water whirling darkly in pools, or breaking white among the stones. As my shadow fell upon it, I caught a glimpse of a big trout scurrying into the darkness beneath a boulder. Picking my way among the loose stones I selected a likely place on the bar and struck home my pick.

I have since repeated the sensations of that day—on a smaller scale of course—in whipping untried trout waters; same early excitement and enthusiasm, same eager sustained persistence in face of failure, same incredulous slowing down, same ultimate discouragement, disbelief and disgust. All that day I shovelled and panned. The early morning freshness soon dissipated. Between the high mountain walls the heat reflected. All the quail stood beneath the shade of bushes, their beaks half open as though panting. The birds that had sung so sweetly in the early morning had somewhere sought repose. I could occasionally catch glimpses of our horses dozing under trees. Even the chirping insects were still. As far as I could make out I was the only living thing foolish enough to stay abroad and awake in that suffocating heat. The sweat dripped from me in streams; my eyes ached from the glare of the sun on the rocks and the bleached grasses. Toward the close of the afternoon I confessed sneakingly to myself that I was just a little glad I had found no gold and that I hoped the others had been equally unfortunate. The thought of working day after day in that furnace heat was too much for me.

My hopes were fulfilled. All came in that night tired, hot, dirty, and discouraged. Not one of the eight of us had raised a sign of colour.

"Well," said Bagsby philosophically, "that's all right. We've just got to go higher. To-morrow we'll move upstream."

Accordingly next day we turned at right angles to our former route and followed up the bed of the canon ten or twelve miles toward the distant main ranges. It was, in general, rather hard scrabbling for the horses, though we footmen did well enough. Sometimes we crossed wide flats, resembling the one we had just left; again, where the canon narrowed, we had actually to stumble in the rocks of the stream bed. Twice we forded, and twice we had to make great climbs up and down again in order to get by points that came boldly down to the river. It was curious to see the nature of the country change. The pines on the mountains to our right and left seemed to push down nearer to our level; the grass turned green; the stream narrowed and became swifter; the sky seemed to turn bluer; and from the ranges breathed a cool, refreshing wind.

About four o'clock we camped. The flat was green; little clumps of cedar pushed out across it; the oaks had given place to cottonwoods; we had now to make acquaintance with new birds. But what particularly interested us was the fact that at this point the high canon walls at either side broke into rounder hills that opened out widely, and that from among them descended many ravines, barrancas, and dry washes.

The following morning we went prospecting again. My instructions were for the dry washes in the sides of the hills. Accordingly I scrambled up among the boulders in the nearest V-shaped ravine. I had hardly to look at all. Behind a large boulder lay a little cuplike depression of stones in which evidently had stood a recently evaporated pool of water, and which, in consequence, was free from the usual dusty rubble. In the interstices between the stones my eye caught a dull glitter. I fell on my knees, dug about with the point of my bowie knife, and so unearthed small nuggets aggregating probably a half ounce in weight.

Although mightily tempted to stay for more, I minded our agreement to report promptly the first discovery, and started back to camp. Why I did not come a header in that fearful, boulder-strewn wash I cannot tell you. Certainly I took no care of my going, but leaped recklessly from rock to rock like a goat. When I reached the flat, I ran, whooping like an Indian. From the river I could see Johnny and Buck Barry running, too, and had sense enough to laugh as it occurred to me they must think us attacked by Indians. Far down the stream I could just make out figures I knew to be Yank and McNally. They too seemed to be coming to camp, though I could not imagine that my shouts had carried so far.

I burst in on Bagsby, who was smoking his pipe and leisurely washing the breakfast dishes, with a whoop, lifted him bodily by the shoulders, whirled him around in a clumsy dance. He aimed a swipe at me with the wet dish cloth that caught me across the eyes.

"You tarnation young grizzly b'ar!" said he.

I wiped the water from my eyes. Johnny and Buck Barry ran up. Somehow they did not seem to be anticipating an Indian attack after all. Johnny ran up to thump me on the back.

"Isn't it great!" he cried. "Right off the reel! First pop! Bagsby, old sport, you're a wonder!" He started for Bagsby, who promptly rushed for his long rifle.

"I'm going to kill the first lunatic I see," he announced.

Johnny laughed excitedly, and turned back to thump me again.

"How did you guess what it was?" I asked.

"Didn't. Just blundered on it."

"What!" I yelled. "Have you struck it, too?"

"First shovel," said Johnny. "But you don't mean——"

I thrust my three nuggets under his eyes.

"Say," broke in Buck Barry, "if you fellows know where the whiskey is, hide it, and hide it quick. If I see it, I'll get drunk!"

Yank and McNally at this moment strolled from around the bushes. We all burst out on them.

"See your fool nuggets and 'colour,' and raise you this," drawled Yank, and he hauled from his pocket the very largest chunk of virgin gold it has ever been my good fortune to behold. It was irregular in shape, pitted and scored, shaped a good deal like an egg, and nearly its size. One pound and a tiny fraction that great nugget balanced—when we got around to weighing it. And then to crown the glorious day which the gods were brimming for us, came Don Gaspar and Vasquez, trailed by that long and saturnine individual, Missouri Jones. The Spaniards were outwardly calm, but their eyes snapped. As soon as they saw us they waved their hats.

"Ah! also you have found the gold!" cried Don Gaspar, sensing immediately the significance of our presence. "We, too. It is of good colour; there above by the bend." His eye widened as he saw what Yank held. "Madre de dios!" he murmured.

McNally, who had said and done nothing, suddenly uttered a resounding whoop and stood on his hands. Missouri Jones, taking aim, spat carefully into the centre of the fire, missing the dishpan by a calculated and accurate inch.

"The country is just lousy with gold," he pronounced.

Then we blew up. We hugged each other, we pounded each other's backs, we emulated McNally's wild Irish whoops, finally we joined hands and danced around and around the remains of the fire, kicking up our heels absurdly. Bagsby, a leathery grin on his face, stood off one side. He still held his long-barrelled rifle, which he presented at whoever neared him.

"I tell you, look out!" he kept saying over and over. "I'm shootin' lunatics to-day; and apparently there's plenty game to choose from."



CHAPTER XXIII

THE CAMP ON THE PORCUPINE

We should all have liked to start right in digging, but Bagsby strenuously opposed this.

"You-all have a rich diggings yere," said he; "and you want to stay a while and git the most there is out of them. And if you're going to do that, you've got to get a good ready. You've got make a decent camp, and a stockade for the hosses at night; and if you want yore grub to last you more than a month there's got to be some reg'lar hunting and fishing done."

"That'll take a week!" cried Johnny impatiently.

"Or more," agreed Bagsby with entire complacence. "You can bull at it and go to t'aring up the scenery if you want to; but you won't last long."

Unpalatable as this advice seemed, with all the loose gold lying about, we ended by adopting it. Indeed, we added slightly to our self-imposed tasks by determining on the construction of cradles. Yank had figured out a scheme having to do with hollowed logs and canvas with cleats that would obviate the need of lumber. We deputed Johnny to help him. Bagsby and Vasquez were to hunt and fish for the general benefit, while the rest of us put up a stockade, or corral, and erected a cabin.

I must confess the labour was pleasant. We had plenty of axes, and four of us were skilled in their use. Personally I like nothing better than the exercise of swinging a keen blade, the feeling of skillful accuracy and of nicely adjusted effort. We felled dozens, hundreds, of tall young pines eight inches to a foot in diameter, and planted them upright in a trench to form a stockade. Then we ran up a rough sort of cabin of two rooms. Yank, somewhat hampered by Johnny, finished his cradles, and turned in to help us. Bagsby and Vasquez brought in several deer and an elk, and trapped many quail and hares. We fared royally, worked healthfully in the shade of our trees, and enjoyed huge smokes and powwows around our fire of an evening. Every night we drove the horses within the enclosure; and slept heavily.

Always in the background of consciousness lay the gold, the incredibly abundant gold. It coloured our dreams, it gilded our labour. As we drew to the end of our construction work, I really believe we experienced a slight, a very slight, feeling of regret that this fine flavour of anticipation was so nearly at an end. However, I noticed that though we completed the house at three of the afternoon, we none of us showed any disposition to wait for the morrow. We promptly lugged one of Yank's log cradles to the border of the stream and put in two hours washing.

The results were most encouraging, for we gained in that short time nearly two ounces of flake gold.

That evening we reviewed our situation carefully. The older heads of the party—Yank, Bagsby, Don Gaspar, and Missouri Jones—overruled our young desire to jump into things headlong.

"If this camp is going to get on right," said Yank, "we got to make some provision for working right. Somebody's got to be in camp all the time, that's sure—to cook some decent meals, do the odd chores, and keep an eye on the stock." Bagsby nodded emphatically at this. "And somebody's got to rustle game and fish. Yere's nine husky men to eat. If we leave one man in camp and two to hunt, we have six left for gold washing. That's three to a cradle, and that's just right."

We came to that, too; and so settled into our routine. Bagsby was the only permanent office-holder among us. He was unanimously elected the official hunter. The rest of us agreed to take turn about at the other jobs. It was further agreed to increase our chances by utilizing the cradles at two totally different kinds of diggings. One we located on the bar to wash out the shingle. The other we carried to a point opposite the dry ravine in which I had found my three little nuggets.

Don Gaspar had worked like a nailer at the construction although he was utterly unskilled. Now at the end of the week he was worn out, although he stoutly maintained he was as good as ever. This high-bred, energetic gentleman we had all come to admire, both for his unfailing courtesy and his uncomplaining acceptance of hardships to which evidently he had never been accustomed. Exactly why he underwent the terrible exertions incidental to gold finding I have never quite fathomed. I do not believe he needed money; and I never saw one of his race fond of hard physical work. Indeed, he was the only member of his class I ever met who would work. The truth of the matter probably lies somewhere between an outcropping of the old adventurous conquistadore spirit and the fascination of the golden metal itself, quite apart from its dollars-and-cents value. Unanimously we voted in Don Gaspar as camp keeper for the first week. We wanted to give him a rest; but I do not think we pleased him. However, he bowed to our decision with his usual gracious courtesy. As hunting companion for Bagsby we appointed Missouri Jones, with the understanding that every two days that office was to have a new incumbent. Johnny, McNally, and I took charge of the dry wash, and the rest of the party tackled the bar. Of course we all—except Bagsby—were to share equally.

Unless the wash should prove very productive we would have the worst end of it, for we had to carry the pay dirt down to the stream's edge. For the purpose we used the pack-sacks—or alforjas, as the Spaniards call them. Each held about sixty or seventy pounds of dirt. We found this a sweaty and stumbly task—to stagger over the water-smoothed boulders of the wash, out across the shingle to the edge of the stream. There one of us dumped his burden into the cradle; and we proceeded to wash it out. We got the "colour" at once in the residuary black sand.

All morning we laboured manfully, and discovered a brand new set of muscles. By comparison our former toil of mere digging and washing seemed light and pleasurable exercise.

"If this stuff don't run pretty high," grunted McNally, wiping the sweat from his eyes, "it's me voting for the bar. We can't stand all day of this."

He heaved the contents of his pack-sack into the cradle, and shook it disgustedly. Suddenly his jaw dropped and his eye widened with so poignant an expression that we both begged him, in alarm, to tell us what was the matter.

"Now, will you look at that!" he cried.

We followed the direction of his gaze, but saw only the meadow, and the horses feeding in it, and the thin smoke beyond, where Don Gaspar was bending his proud Castilian spirit to attend to fried steak and flapjacks.

"Look at those horses!" cried McNally with growing indignation.

"What's the matter with them?" cried Johnny and I in a breath.

"Matter with them! Nothing!" cried McNally with comical disgust. "The matter's with us." He rapped his knuckles on his head. "Solid, all the way through!" said he. "Why, save from nat'ral born human imbelicity, should horses be living like gentlemen while gentlemen are working like horses!"

We took the hint. That afternoon we saddled the pack-horses and led them, laden with the dirt, back and forth between the ravine and the cradle.

All of us worked until rather later in the day than usual.... The hunters, too, did not return until dark. We weighed the results of our labour with eager interest. From our cradle we had taken eleven ounces, while those working the bar had gained just over nine. That was a good day's work, and we were much elated.

"And most any time," exulted Johnny, "we'll run into a big pocket with thousands."



CHAPTER XXIV

THE INDIANS

Although we did not immediately run into the expected thousands, nor did the promise of that first glorious day of discovery quite fulfil itself, nevertheless our new diggings turned out to be very rich. We fell into routine; and the days and weeks slipped by. Bagsby and one companion went out every day to hunt or to fish. We took turns at a vacation in camp. Every night we "blew" our day's collection of sand, weighed the gold, and packed it away. Our accumulations were getting to be very valuable.

For a month we lived this idyllic life quite unmolested, and had gradually come to feel that we were so far out of the world that nothing would ever disturb us. The days seemed all alike, clear, sparkling, cloudless. It was my first experience with the California climate, and these things were a perpetual wonder to my New England mind.

Then one day when I was camp keeper, at the upper end of our long meadow, a number of men emerged from the willows and hesitated uncertainly. They were too far away to be plainly distinguishable, but I believed in taking no chances, so I fired my revolver to attract the attention of my companions. They looked up from their labour, saw the men, and promptly came into camp.

The group still hesitated at the edge of the thicket. Then one of them waved something white. We waved in return; whereupon they advanced slowly in our direction.

As they neared we saw them to be Indians. Their leader held before him a stick to which had been tied a number of white feathers. As they approached us they began to leap and dance to the accompaniment of a weird rising and falling chant. They certainly did not look very formidable, with their heterogeneous mixture of clothing, their round, black, stupid faces and their straight hair. Most of them were armed simply with bows and arrows, but three carried specimens of the long Spanish musket.

Buck Barry promptly sallied out to meet them, and shook hands with the foremost. They then advanced to where we were gathered and squatted on the ground. They were certainly a villainous and dirty looking lot of savages, short, thickset, round faced, heavy featured, with coarse, black, matted hair and little twinkling eyes. A more brutish lot of human beings I had never seen; and I was almost deceived into thinking them too stupid to be dangerous. The leaders had on remnants of civilized clothing, but the rank and file were content with scraps of blanket, old ragged coats, single shirts, and the like. The oldest man produced a long pipe from beneath his blanket, filled it with a few grains of coarse tobacco, lighted it by means of a coal from our fire, puffed twice on it, and passed it to me. I perforce had to whiff at it also, though the necessity nearly turned my stomach. I might next have given it to one of our own party, but I did not want to deprive him of my own first hand sensation, so I handed it back to another of the visitors for fresh inoculation, as it were. Evidently I had by accident hit on acceptable etiquette, as deep grunts of satisfaction testified. After we had had a whiff all around, the chief opened negotiations in Spanish. Most of us by now had learned enough of it from our intercourse with Don Gaspar and Vasquez to understand without interpretation.

The Indians said they wanted to trade.

We replied that we saw nothing they might trade with us.

In return they produced some roots and several small bags of pine nuts.

We then explained that we were reduced in ammunition, and had little food.

Don Gaspar here interpolated hastily, saying that in his judgment it would be absolutely necessary that we made some sort of a present to avoid the appearance of intending an affront. Buck Barry and Jones seemed instantly to accept this necessity.

"Give them two or three of the saddle blankets," suggested Barry, after a moment's thought. "We will have several light hosses going out; and if we have to pad the saddles we can git along with skins or something."

We gave our visitors the blankets, therefore. They seemed well pleased, arose, and shortly made a primitive sort of a camp a short distance outside our stockade. We did no more washing that day. About five o'clock our hunters came in with the best meat of a blacktail deer. Bagsby listened attentively to our account of the interview. Then he took a hindquarter of the newly killed buck and departed for the Indians' camp, where he stayed for an hour.

"I don't think they are out for meanness," he announced when he returned. "They tell me this yere is on a sort of short cut from some of the Truckee lakes down to their villages. But we got to keep a sharp eye on our horses; and we got to stand guard to-night."

Very early in the morning, when we were just up, several of the elders came over to tell us that some of the young men would stay to work for us, if we so desired. We replied that we had no goods with which to pay for work. Shortly after, the whole tribe vanished down river.

For two nights Bagsby insisted on standing guard, and on having some of us take turns at it. Then we declined flatly to do so any longer. The Indians had gone far downstream, as their trail indicated to our hunters, and had shown no signs of even hesitating on the way. We fell into our old routine, and laughed at Bagsby when he shook his head.

About this time Johnny and McNally, scrambling of a Sunday for the sake of a view, stumbled on a small ravine that came nearer realizing our hoped-for strike than anything we had yet seen. After "puddling out" a few potfuls of the pay dirt, we decided to move the cradles. It was not over a half mile from camp, but was out of sight of the stockade. The move was the occasion for a hot discussion. Bagsby wanted to reorganize, and we were reluctant.

"Thar ought to be two men in camp," said he, "and thar ought never to be less'n three together out hunting. And that's my idee—that ye're paying me money for."

"That leaves us only four men to work the cradles," I objected. "Four men out of nine working."

"Well, thar won't be no men out of nine a-workin' if you don't watch out," predicted Bagsby. "You-all forgit this is a self-supportin' community. We got to work for our living, as well as for gold."

"The hunters might go out less," suggested McNally.

"The miners might eat less, then," replied Bagsby grimly. "This ain't what you'd call the best sort of a game country."

We came to it, of course, though with much grumbling. It seemed an almost excuseless waste of good energy; a heavy price in economic efficiency to pay for insurance against what seemed a very remote peril. But we did not know, and our uncertainty gave way.

"But hang it!" cried Johnny, "here's more gold than a hundred men could begin to handle, and we're wasting more than half our resources."

"It do seem so," agreed Yank with his accustomed slow philosophy. "But we can put in longer hours because we rest oftener."

A week passed, and we had almost forgotten our chance visitors. One day the two Spaniards, Buck Barry and I were at the cradle; Bagsby, Yank, and McNally were the hunters for the day. Johnny and Missouri Jones kept camp.

We had had a most successful morning, and were just stacking our tools preparatory to returning to camp for dinner. Buck Barry was standing near some small sage bushes at the upper end of the diggings. He was just in the act of lighting a freshly filled pipe, when he stopped as though petrified, the burning match suspended above the bowl of his pipe. Then he turned quickly toward the sage brush; and as he did so a bow twanged and an arrow sang past his head so close as actually to draw blood from the lobe of his ear. With a roar of anger Buck Barry raised his pickaxe and charged into the bush. We saw a figure rise from the ground, dash away, stumble flat. Before the man could get up again Buck Barry was upon him, and the pickaxe descended. At the same instant we heard a series of whoops and two shots in rapid succession from the direction of camp. Buck Barry came bounding out of the sage brush, and seized his rifle from under the bush where we had kept them.

"Come on!" he panted. "Let's get out of this!"

We ran as hard as we could go for a hundred yards, or until we had reached the flat of the river bottom. Then we paused, uncertain as to just what next to do.

"Wait a minute," said I. "I'll just take a look," and hurried up a little spur-knoll to the right. From that elevation I instantly caught sight of a crowd of Indians coming up the valley at full speed. Most of them were on horseback, but a number loped along on foot, keeping up with the animals. One look was enough. I raced down to my companions again; and we hastily took refuge in the only cover near enough to conceal us—a little clump of willows in a small, damp watercourse. There we crouched, rifles ready.

I was terribly excited. The patter of the horses was now plainly audible, though, owing to the inequalities of the ground, they could not become visible farther than a hundred yards away. I trembled violently, and cursed myself for a coward, though I really do not think I was frightened. At any rate, I became deadly cool the moment the first savage appeared; and I drew a steady bead and toppled him off his horse before any one else had got in action. The shot brought them to a stand. They had, I think, expected to find us in our ravine, and were surprised. Immediately I dropped the butt of my rifle to the ground and began reloading. A shower of arrows flew toward us, but were deflected by the criss-cross of the willows. In fact, this lacework of stout branches seemed to be an excellent sort of armour against arrows. In the meantime my companions had each dropped his man; though Vasquez had better luck than skill, as his savage was only clipped in the leg. I fired once more, and elicited a howl. There could be no missing at the distance, unless a man quite lost his head; and personally I was too scared for that. Another shower of arrows rattled in the willows; then the band broke to right and left and raced away up the hills like mad. They had no courage, and lost stomach for the fight at once when they found us prepared.

We were astonished and delighted, for we had fully expected to be ridden down. As soon as we were quite certain this sudden retreat was not a ruse, we came out from our shelter. How many wounded had made off—if any—we could not tell. Three dead bodies lay on the ground. To them we paid no attention, but, with many forebodings, hurried back to camp.

When we appeared in sight Missouri Jones ran out to meet us, his rifle over his arm.

"Where's Johnny?" I cried.

"He was down at the river a-getting water," said Jones, "and I ain't seen him since."

We all ran down to the edge of the river pool whence we drew our supply. For a moment our hearts stood still, for no Johnny was in sight. Then he arose dripping from the middle of the pool.

"This water's cold," he remarked conversationally. "I think I'll come out. Anybody hurt?"

He waded ashore, and shook himself like a dog.

"I didn't hear 'em until they were right on top of me; and I couldn't get away without being seen," said he; "so I just waded out and imitated a rock with my head."

We roared with laughter by way of relief.

"It isn't the first time, Johnny," said I.

"That's all right," put in Missouri Jones. "This is no joke. They got three of our hosses."

Then he told us his experience.

"I was just a-browning of the venison," he explained, "when I happened to look up, and thar was three of our hosses running off, tails up, and a half dozen Injuns a hoss-back driving 'em. I let drive with old Betsey and Johnny's gun, but they was about out of range. While I was looking after them about forty Injuns went past sky-hootin'. I suppose they thought the first lot had all the hosses, and so they didn't stop. The rest of the hosses, luckily, was asleep behind the cottonwoods. You bet I didn't call their attention to myself."

He exhibited the greatest satisfaction when he learned that we had accounted for four.

"That's something like Injun fighting," he observed, "though these are a pore, spiritless lot. The whole bag ain't worth more than one of them good hosses."

We did no more gold washing that day, but remained close in camp, consumed with anxiety for our companions. From time to time we fired a rifle, with the idea of warning them that something was amiss. The remaining half-dozen horses we ran into the corral.

Night fell and still the hunters did not return. We were greatly alarmed and distressed, but we could not think of anything to do, for we had not the least idea in what direction to look.

"Bagsby and Yank are old hands," speculated Missouri Jones consolingly. "And the fact that Injuns is abroad would make them slow and careful."

None of us felt like turning in. We all sat outside on the ground around a little fire.

Toward midnight we heard voices; and a moment later Yank and Bagsby strode in out of the darkness.

"Where's McNally?" Yank instantly demanded. "Hasn't he come in yet?"

We told him we had seen nothing of the missing man.

"Well, he'll drift in pretty soon," said Bagsby. "We lost him in the darkness not two hours back."

They set to frying some venison steak. Excitedly and in antiphony Johnny and I detailed the day's adventure. Both the backwoodsmen listened in silence, but without suspending their cooking.

"They didn't bother McNally," Bagsby decided. "They'd drive those hosses away five or six miles before they'd stop; and McNally was with us just a little piece back. He'll be in by the time the venison is cooked."

But he was not; nor by an hour later. Then we decided that we must go out to look for him.

"We can't see nothin' till daylight," said Bagsby, "but we can get started back for the last place we saw him."

It was now about one o'clock in the morning. Bagsby appointed Vasquez, Missouri Jones, Buck Barry, Yank and myself to accompany him. Don Gaspar was suffering from a slight attack of malarial fever; and Johnny, to his vast disgust, was left to hold him company. We took each a horse, which we had to ride bareback and with a twisted rope "war halter."

Bagsby led the way, and we followed closely nose to tail. It was an interesting and wonderful experience, had I had more attention to give it, for we rode mysteriously neck deep in velvet darkness over strange hills, and awful shapes rose mysteriously, and the sky silvered with stars like the glittering of little waves. But my mind was filled with dread and foreboding, and a great anxiety for our merry, blue-eyed companion, and a very considerable wonder as to how our guide managed to find his way.

He did not hesitate, however, as to direction; only occasionally he had to stop and cast back and around for a way through. Often, at a low command from him, we dismounted and led our animals.

We proceeded thus for a long time—five or six miles, I should think. By the undefined feeling of dark space at either hand I judged we must be atop a ridge. Bagsby halted.

"It was somewhere on this ridge we left him," said he. "I reckon now we'd just better set down and wait for dawn."

Accordingly we dismounted and drew together in a little group. Over the top of the great ranges a gibbous moon rose slowly. By her dim light I could make out the plunge on either side our ridge, and the other dark ridges across the way. Behind us our horses occasionally stamped a hoof or blew softly through their noses.

I lay flat on my back, and idly counted the stars. Happening to glance sidewise, I caught the flicker of a distant light.

"Bagsby," I whispered, "there's a fire not more than a half mile away."

He too lay down in order to get my angle of view.

"It's not McNally," he pronounced after a moment's careful inspection, "for it's too big a fire, and it's a lot more than half a mile away. That's a good big fire. I think it's Injuns."

"Probably the same gang that lifted our hosses!" cried Buck.

"Probably," agreed Bagsby. He sat upright and peered at us through the dim moonlight. "Want to get after them?" he inquired.

"You bet!" said Buck emphatically, "They may have McNally, and if they haven't, they've got our horses."

"There's six of us and we can shore make it interesting for that lot," agreed Yank. "Can we get to where they are?"

"I think so," said Bagsby.

We rode for another hour, slanting down the mountainside toward the flickering fire. Every time a horse rolled a rock or broke a dried branch it seemed to me that the mountains reverberated from end to end. I don't believe I allowed myself to weigh over six ounces all told. Finally we left the slope for the bottom of the valley.

"I'd rather be below their camp than above it. It's going to be hard to get out this way," complained Bagsby, "but it's the best we can do." He dismounted us, and we crept forward another half mile, leading our animals.

"This is as close as I dare take the hosses," whispered Bagsby. "Vasquez, you stay here with them," he said in Spanish, "and when I yell twice quick and sharp, you answer so we'll know where to find you. Come on!"

We stole forward slowly. The fire leaped and flared beneath the widespread branches of a tree. Around it lay a half dozen or so recumbent shapes wrapped in blankets. How many more might be lying beyond the light circle we could not tell. Beyond them we saw dimly the forms of dozing horses. Obeying a signal from the old trapper, we circled the camp until we were on the same side as the animals. They raised their heads and blew softly at us; but we lay still, and shortly they quieted down.

"Now," breathed Bagsby, "when I give the word, fire. And each man grab a horse by the picket rope, stampede the rest, and hustle back to Vasquez. Ready!"

We raised our pieces, but before the command to fire was given, one of the sleepers threw aside his blanket, stretched himself and arose. It was a white man!

I confess that for a moment I turned physically sick.

"Hello!" called Bagsby, quite unmoved.

The white man seized his rifle, and the recumbent forms leaped to life.

"Who are you?" he demanded sharply. "Speak quick!"

"Keep yore ha'r on!" drawled the trapper, advancing into the light. "We're perfectly respectable miners, out looking for a lost man; and we saw yore fire."

The rest of us uttered a yell of joy and relief. One of the men who had been sleeping around the fire was McNally himself.

We drew together, explaining, congratulating. The strangers, six in number, turned out to be travellers from the eastern side of the ranges. They listened with interest and attention to our account of the Indian attack. McNally explained that he had been uncertain of his route in the dark; so that when he had caught sight of the fire he had made his way to it. We were still engaged in this mutual explanation when we were struck dumb by a long-drawn-out yell from the direction of our own horses.

"It is Vasquez," explained Barry. "He wants to let us know where he is," and he answered the yell.

But at that moment one of our own horses dashed up to the bunch of picketed animals and wheeled, trembling. Its rope bridle dangled broken from its head. Sam Bagsby darted forward to seize the hanging cord.

"It's cut!" he cried. "Quick! Out across the valley, boys!"

We followed him into the moonlight, grasping our rifles. A moment later a compact band swept toward us at full speed, our horses in the lead, their rope halters dangling, a dozen Indians on horseback following close at their heels and urging them on.

"Shoot, boys!" yelled Bagsby, discharging his own piece.

Our rifles cracked. It was impossible to take aim; and I am sure we hit nothing. But the horses swerved aside from the long fiery flashes, and so ran into the picketed lot and stopped. The Indians flew on through our scattered line without stopping, pursued by a sputter of shots from our Colt's revolvers.

"A while ago I was sorry we had to stop above camp," said Bagsby with satisfaction; "but it was a lucky thing for us. They had to come by us to git out."

"And Vasquez?" Yank struck across our exultation.



CHAPTER XXV

BATTLE

We had a good deal of trouble finding the exact spot where we had left him, for we could get no answer to our calls. He was down in a heap, covered with blood, and quite dead. The savages had scalped him. In our long companionship we had grown very fond of him, for he was a merry, good-natured, willing soul.

"God!" cried Bagsby, deeply moved. "I'll put a ball through the next one of those devils I meet!"

We returned slowly to the fire, carrying the body, which we laid reverently one side and covered with a blanket. In all our hearts burned a fierce, bitter anger. Sullenly we turned to prepare ourselves a meal from the supplies our hosts offered us.

The latter were the father and five sons of a backwoods family from the northwest—Pine, by name. They were all tall, heavily built men, slow moving, slow speaking, with clear, steady eyes, a drawling way of talking, and the appearance always of keeping a mental reservation as to those with whom they conversed. I suppose they were ignorant enough men, as far as education goes, but they always impressed me as being somehow a superior type. Possibly it was because of the fact that they perfectly corresponded to their environment, which was the wilderness.

In detail, the old man was upward of sixty, his beard long and grizzled, his hair about his shoulders. The oldest son would count about thirty, and the others went down in stepladder fashion to the youngster, a fine, big, smooth-faced boy of sixteen. They were named after old Pine's favourite heroes, evidently. There was David Crockett Pine, and Governor Boggs Pine, and President Tyler Pine, and Daniel Boone Pine, and Old Hickory Pine, the youngest, an apparent contradiction in terms. They were called by their odd first names—Governor, President, Old—without the least humour.

Just now they stood tall and grim behind us as we ate; and the gray dawn and the rose dawn grew into day. Nobody said anything until we had finished. Then Yank rose to his full height and faced the attentive men.

"I want vengeance," he announced in an even voice, stretching forth his long, lean arm. "Those devils have harried our stock and killed our pardner; and I'm not going to set quiet and let them do it." He turned to us: "Boys," said he, "I know you're with me thar. But I'm going to git our friends yere to go with us. Old man," he said to Pine, "you and yore sons help us with this job, and we'll locate you on the purtiest diggings in these hills."

"You bet!" agreed McNally.

"You don't need to make my boys no offer," replied Pine slowly. "Those divils were after our hosses too; and they'd have got them if you hadn't come along. We'd been told by a man we believe that there wan't no Injuns in this country, or you wouldn't have seen us sleeping es close to our fire. Whar do you-all reckon to come up with them?"

Our old trapper interposed.

"Their rancheree is down the valley somewhars," said Bagsby, "and we'll have to scout for it. We must go back to camp first and get a ready."

McNally and I murmured against this check to immediate action, but saw the point after a moment. The Pines packed their slender outfit; we bound the body of our poor friend across his horse, and mournfully retraced our steps.

We arrived in camp about ten o'clock, to find Johnny and Don Gaspar anxiously on the alert. When we had imparted our news, their faces, too, darkened with anger. Of us all Vasquez had been the only man who never lost his temper, who had always a flash of a smile for the hardest days. Hastily we threw together provisions for several days, and arranged our affairs as well as we could. We all wanted to go; and Don Gaspar, in spite of the remains of his malarial fever, fairly insisted on accompanying the expedition.

"Senores," he said with dignity, "this was my own man from my own people."

Nevertheless somebody had to stay in camp, although at first some of us were inclined to slur over that necessity.

"There's a strong chance that Injuns will drift by and take all our supplies," Bagsby pointed out.

"Chances are slim—in only a day or so; you must admit that," argued Johnny. "Let's risk it. We can scratch along if they do take our stuff."

"And the gold?"

That nonplussed us for a moment.

"Why not bury it?" I suggested.

Bagsby and Pine snorted.

"Any Injun would find it in a minute," said Pine.

"And they know gold's worth something, too," put in Yank.

"This is a scout, not a house-moving expedition," said Bagsby decidedly, "and somebody's got to keep camp."

"I'll stay, fer one," offered old man Pine, his eyes twinkling from beneath his fierce brows. "I've fit enough Injuns in my time."

After some further wrangling we came to drawing lots. A number of small white pebbles and one darker were shaken up in a hat. I drew in the fourth turn, and got the black!

"Hard luck, son!" murmured old man Pine.

The rest were eager to be off. They leaped upon their horses, brandishing their long rifles, and rode off down the meadow. Old man Pine leaned on the muzzle of his gun, his eyes gleaming, uttering commands and admonitions to his five sons.

"You Old," he warned his youngest, "you mind and behave; and don't come back yere without'n you bring a skelp!"

We spent the next two days strictly in defence, for we dared not stay long from the stockade. I was so thoroughly downcast at missing the fight that I paid little attention to Pine's well-meant talk. My depression was enhanced by the performance of the duty the others had left to our leisure. I mean the interment of poor Vasquez. We buried him in a grassy little flat; and I occupied my time hewing and fashioning into the shape of a cross two pine logs, on the smoothed surface of which I carved our friend's name. Then I returned to the stockade, where old man Pine, a picturesque, tall figure in his fringed hunter's buckskin, sat motionless before the cabin door. From that point of vantage one could see a mile down the valley, and some distance upstream; and one or the other of us occupied it constantly.

About three o'clock of the second day Pine remarked quietly:

"Thar they come!"

I was instantly by his side, and we strained our eyesight in an attempt to count the shifting figures. Pine's vision was better and more practised than mine.

"They are all thar," said he, "and they're driving extry hosses."

Ten minutes later the cavalcade stopped and the men dismounted wearily. They were, as the old man had said, driving before them a half dozen ponies, which Governor Boggs herded into the corral. Nobody said a word. One or two stretched themselves. Johnny seized the cup and took a long drink. Yank leaned his rifle against the wall. Old man Pine's keen, fierce eye had been roving over every detail, though he, too, had kept silent.

"Well, Old," he remarked, "I see you obeyed orders like a good sojer."

The boy grinned.

"Yes, dad," said he.

And then I saw what I had not noticed before: that at the belt of each of the tall, silent young backwoodsmen hung one or more wet, heavy, red and black soggy strips. The scalping had been no mere figure of speech! Thank heaven! none of our own people were similarly decorated!

So horrified and revolted was I at this discovery that I hardly roused myself to greet the men. I looked with aversion, and yet with a certain fascination on the serene, clear features of these scalp takers. Yet, since, in the days following, this aversion could not but wear away in face of the simplicity and straightforwardness of the frontiersmen, I had to acknowledge that the atrocious deed was more a product of custom than of natural barbarity.

Old Pine, of course not at all affected, bustled about in the more practical matter of getting coffee and cutting meat; and after a moment I aroused myself to help him. The men lay about on the ground exhausted. They drank the coffee and ate the meat, and so revived, little by little, arrived at the point of narration.

"It's sure one hell of a ride down there," remarked McNally with a sigh.

"Good deal like the foothills of th' Snake Range, pop," put in President Tyler Pine.

"We been riding purty nigh every minute sence we left here," agreed Bagsby. "That rancheree was hard to find."

Little by little the tale developed. No one man, in the presence of all the others, felt like telling us the whole story. We gathered that they had ridden the canon for several hours, past our first camping grounds, and finally out into the lower ranges. Here they lost the trail left by the Indians when they had first visited our camp; but in casting in circles for it had come on fresher pony tracks. These they had followed persistently for many miles.

"I couldn't see the sign of a track for a mile at a time, on that hard ground," interpolated Johnny.

At length the tracks had struck into a beaten trail.

"And then we knew we were on the way to the rancheree," said Bagsby.

The village they found located in a flat by the side of a stream, and they halted to determine just what to do. It was finally decided that while an attack on horseback would undoubtedly strike more instant terror, yet the difficulty of shooting accurately from a gallop would more than offset this effect. Therefore nine of the party crept up afoot, leaving three to lead forward the horses some distance in the rear.

"I was one of them," said Johnny. "They evidently have seen me shoot. I seem to be always out of it."

The men had wormed their way to within a hundred yards of the flimsy huts, or tepees, when they were discovered by the dogs. The Indians immediately rushed out pell-mell, in a crowd, and were met by a deadly volley from the white men's rifles. Caught absolutely by surprise, they turned and fled. Some few loosed random arrows. Their horses coming up at a run in convoy of the rear guard, each man threw himself into his saddle and started in pursuit, shooting right and left with the Colt's revolvers whenever they caught up with the fugitives. Johnny told admiringly how the backwoodsmen had reloaded their rifles while galloping.

"All I could do to shoot mine off, let alone loading!" he confessed.

There was no resistance, and little mortality after the first volley. The Indians bolted like rabbits into the brush. The white men then returned leisurely to the village, which they proceeded to burn to the ground.

"It made a grand bonfire," interrupted Johnny. "Went up like gunpowder. And the Indians yelled and howled at us from the sidehills all the time."

The raiders had fired a few defiant and random shots in the direction of the howling, and then, after collecting the ponies that had not stampeded, rode slowly back the way they had come.

"Didn't see anything of our three horses?" I asked.

"Nary hoss," said Buck Barry. "I figger they jest nat'rally stampeded off when the row started."

"Are you sure those were the same Indians?" I asked.

A long silence fell.

"Well, what if they wasn't—and that's by no means sure," demanded Buck Barry at last, a little defiantly. "The whole lot is thieves and murderers; and if they'd had a chance at us, you bet they'd have taken it. And we showed the red devils they can't monkey with us!"

I looked toward the cross over Vasquez, murdered as wantonly as ever man was murdered for plunder, and could find nothing to say. Whatever the eternal equities of the case may be—and long since I have given up trying to guess what they are—the cold, practical fact remains, that never during our stay on the Porcupine did any Indian come near us again. And I am convinced that if the initial stealing of horses and murder had gone without reprisal, we should have been a second time and more boldly attacked. But if that was the wrong village, what a train of reprisals and reprisals again in turn we may have laid!

"Only we didn't start it, and never would have!" persisted Johnny stoutly.



CHAPTER XXVI

WE SEND OUT OUR TREASURE

Though these Indian troubles had nothing to do with it, nevertheless they marked the beginning of our change of luck. We suffered no definite misfortunes; but things did not go well. The slight malarial attack of Don Gaspar was the first of an annoying series. I suppose we had all been inoculated on the marshes of the Sacramento, and the disease had remained latent in our systems. The hard work in the open air had kept us healthy; but the fever only awaited the favourable moment of depression or of overwork. The combination of ice cold water around our legs and burning sun on our heads was not the best in the world. Fortunately Yank, who came from an ague country, had had foresight enough to bring a supply of quinine. For two months one or the other of us was ailing; and once for a few days five of us were down!

Then, too, I think the zest of the game was palling on us a little, strange as it may seem. We could dig gold from the soil almost at will. It would seem that this single fact would keep normally acquisitive men keyed to a high pitch of endeavour all the time; but it was not so. I suppose we needed a vacation. We began to discuss what we would do when we should see the city again. No one for a moment dreamed that we should quit these rich diggings. We were here to make our fortunes; and the fortunes seemed to be ready for the making. Only the novelty having passed, it had become hard work, just like the making of any other kind of a fortune.

The Pine family camped below us, used our corral, at our invitation, and set placidly to work. They were typical frontiersmen, and settled down in the well-built cabin which they quickly ran up as though they meant to make of it a permanent home. For two months, which brought us up to the end of July, they lived a regular and leisurely life. Then one morning, without any warning at all, they rode over to our cabin, leading their horses, fully packed. Old man Pine explained, while his five tall, steady-eyed sons sat their horses quite immobile in the background, that they had dug enough gold for their necessities, and that they were now going down to the lower country to pick out some good land. These men were the very first I happened to meet who had come into the country with a definite idea of settling.

After the departure of this strong force, began our discussions as to the safeguarding of our gold. It had now reached a very considerable sum—somewhere near thirty-five thousand dollars, as I remember it. Bagsby was very uneasy at its presence in camp.

"The Injuns are beginning to know it's wuth something," he pointed out. "They don't know yet how much, but they know it will buy beads and buttons and paint and whiskey and everything else an Injun wants. And they know that's what we're yere for; and that we must have a lot of it. I don't calc'late that lot we licked will bother us ag'in; but they'll spread the news we're yere. And there's lots of bandits and scoundrels glad to take a chance at us. And while we come out all right before, they'll git us in the long run if we keep at it. I'd like to git rid of the stuff."

Don Gaspar agreed with him, as did also Yank, Buck Barry, and Missouri Jones. McNally, Johnny, and I inclined to the belief that we would do better to keep our wealth by us until we finally left the diggings, maintaining always a proper guard. We could not quite see how the sending out of the gold would much reduce the likelihood of attack; but the others seemed to think the gold would then be safe anyhow, and that the news of its delivery at Sutter's Fort would soon spread abroad.

About this time the discussion took a more practical turn from the fact that our provisions had run so low that we had put ourselves on half rations. As we did not believe it desirable nor healthy to drop down to an exclusively game diet, it would soon become necessary to go for more flour and coffee.

Buck Barry now brought up again strongly the advisability of sending our treasure out to a safe place. His argument was given point by the arrival in camp one evening of three evil-looking Mexicans, shabbily clothed, but well-armed, and mounted on beautiful horses. We fed them well, but saw to the caps of our revolvers and the security of our corral before turning in for the night. In the morning they departed before we were stirring, without so much as a word of thanks. These mysterious visitors had given us no faintest inkling of their business or destination. Don Gaspar stated flatly that they had come to spy us out, having heard of our presence in the valley from the Indians.

"And I told them," said he triumphantly, "that essoon we would be sen' out for the food."

He went on to argue that thus he had prepared their minds for the fact that pack-horses would soon be going out. By distributing the gold its presence would be unsuspected.

I suggested a strong guard, but both Bagsby and Don Gaspar opposed me.

"There's enough of these yere robbers to git us anyhow, even if we all went," said Bagsby, "and that's why I want to send the stuff out now. The place they'll tackle will be right yere, if they tackle anything at all——"

I will not weary you with the pros and cons. At the time I thought, and I still think, the whole arrangement most ill advised; but against me was the united opinion of nearly the whole camp, including the most level-headed members of my own party. It was finally agreed that Yank, Buck Barry, and Don Gaspar should take out the gold.

They started very early in the morning, carrying the treasure in saddle-bags and across the horns of the saddle. I argued that Yank rode much the lightest and had the strongest horse, and managed to get the others to confide to him a full half of the metal. At the last moment we had modified the original plan to suit everybody. The horsemen encumbered by pack-animals were to push on as rapidly as possible in order to reach by nightfall the settlement where dwelt the Italian friend. Once there they could feel themselves reasonably safe. Johnny, Missouri Jones and I would ride with them until noon as a sort of escort for the uninhabited portion of the journey. By that hour we figured we should have reached the outskirts of the regular diggings, where, our experience told us, our companions would be safe.

Accordingly we pushed our mounts hard. Unhampered by pack-animals, and aided by knowledge of the route, we made great progress. By noon we had passed the meadow of our night's camp. After a hasty lunch we accompanied our men a few miles farther, then said farewell and godspeed, and hurried back in order to reach home before sunset.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE ROBBERY

We cooked ourselves a meal, and built ourselves a fire. About midnight we heard the sounds of horses rapidly approaching. Immediately we leaped from our bunks and seized our rifles, peering anxiously into the darkness. A moment later, however, we were reassured by a shrill whistle peculiar to Buck Barry, and a moment later he and Don Gaspar rode into camp.

We assailed them with a storm of questions—why had they returned? what had happened? where was Yank? had there been an accident?

Don Gaspar, who appeared very weary and depressed, shook his head sadly. Barry looked at us savagely from beneath his brows.

"The gold is gone; and that's an end of it!" he growled.

At these words a careful, dead silence fell on us all. The situation had suddenly become too serious for hasty treatment. We felt instinctively that a wrong word might do irreparable damage. But in our hearts suspicion and anger and dull hatred leaped to life full grown. We tightened our belts, as it were, and clamped our elbows to our sides, and became wary, watching with unfriendly eyes. Johnny alone opened his lips.

"Lost? I don't believe it!" he cried.

Barry cast an ugly look at him, but said nothing. We all saw that look.

"Where's Yank?" I asked.

"Dead by now, I suppose," flung back Barry.

"Good God!" I cried; and under my breath, "Then you've murdered him!"

I don't know whether Barry heard me or not, and at the time I did not much care. His sullen eye was resting on one after the other of us as we stood there in the firelight. Every face was angry and suspicious. Barry flung himself from his horse, tore the pad from its back, slapped it on the flank, and turned away, reckless of where it went. He cut himself a steak and set to cooking his food, an uncompromising shoulder turned in our direction; nor did he open his mouth to utter another word until the general discussion later in the evening. Don Gaspar, who owned the only riding saddle, unharnessed his horse, led it to water, knee haltered it, and turned it loose to graze. While he was gone no one spoke, but we glanced at each other darkly. He returned, sat down by the fire, rolled himself a cigarette, and volunteered his story.

"My fren'," said he, with a directness and succinctness utterly foreign to his everyday speech, "you want to know what happen'. Ver' well; it was like this."

He told us that, after we had left them, they hurried on as fast as possible in order to reach the settled country. Owing to the excellence of his animal he was generally some distance in advance. At one point, stopping on a slight elevation to allow them to catch up, he looked back in time to see two men on horseback emerge from the chaparral just behind his companions. Don Gaspar shouted and leaped from his saddle; but before the warning had reached the others, a riata from the hand of one of the men had fallen with deadly accuracy around Yank's arms and body, jerking him violently from the saddle. The thrower whirled his horse to drag his victim, Don Gaspar fired, and by great good luck shot the animal through the brain. It fell in a heap, pinning its rider beneath it. In the meantime Barry had leaped to the ground, and from behind the shelter of his horse had shot the first robber through the body. Our two companions now drew together, and took refuge behind some large rocks, preparing to receive the charge of a band of half dozen who now appeared. The situation looked desperate. Don Gaspar fired and missed. He was never anything of a marksman, and his first shot must have been a great piece of luck. Barry held his fire. The robbers each discharged his rifle, but harmlessly. Then just as they seemed about to charge in, they whirled their horses and made off into the brush.

"We could not tell the why," observed Don Gaspar.

The two men did not speculate, but ran out to where Yank lay, apparently dead, his arms still bound close to his body by the noose of the riata. Barry cut the rope with his bowie knife, and they rolled him over. They found he still breathed, but that, beside the shock of his violent fall, he had been badly trampled by the horses. After a moment he came to consciousness, but when they attempted to lift him upright, they found that his leg was broken.

At this moment they heard the sound of voices, and, looking up, saw coming from the other direction a band of a dozen men, half of whom were on horseback, and all of whom were armed. This looked serious.

"We got behind the rock," said Don Gaspar, "but we think to ourself our goose is cook."

The newcomers, however, proved to be miners, who had heard the shots, and who now came hurrying up. Evidently the robbers had caught sight or sound of their approach. They were much interested in the state of affairs, examined the horse Don Gaspar had killed, searched for and found the body of the robber Barry had shot. It proved to be a Mexican, well known to them all, and suspected to be a member of Andreas Aijo's celebrated band. They inquired for the dead horse's rider.

"And then, for the first time," said Don Gaspar, "we think of him. He went down with his horse. But now he was gone; and also the horse of Senor Yank. But I think he crawl off in the chaparral; and that the horse of Senor Yank run away with the other horse of the dead man."

And then, I must confess, to our disbelief in the tale, Don Gaspar told us that the miners, their curiosity satisfied, calmly prepared to return to their diggings, quite deaf to all appeals for further help.

"They say to us," narrated Don Gaspar evenly, "that they wash much gold, and that they cannot take the time; and when I tell them our friend is dying, they laugh, and essay that we ought to be glad they come and essave our lives; and that we get along all right."

We did not believe this, though we could see no object in Don Gaspar's deceiving us on the point. Three months had passed while we had been isolated in the valley of the Porcupine; and we had not yet been taught what a difference three months can make in a young country. In that time thousands had landed, and the diggings had filled. All the world had turned to California; its riffraff and offscourings as well as its true men. Australia had unloaded its ex-convicts, so that the term "Sydney duck" had become only too well known. The idyllic time of order and honesty and pleasant living with one's fellow-men was over. But we were unaware of that; and, knowing the average generous-hearted miner, we listened to Don Gaspar with a certain surprised skepticism.

"But I follow them," said Don Gaspar, "and I offer them to pay; and after a while two of them come back with me, and we make a litter of branches with many blanket; and we carry Senor Yank down to the town. There is a town there now. And by good chance," concluded Don Gaspar with a little show of quiet racial pride, "we find a California man and his wife, and they do their bes' for Senor Yank, who is very essick, and I think he is now dead from the tramp of the horses. And we borrow the fresh horse and come back."

It was indeed, as I think of it, a wonderful ride in the darkness; but at the time my mind was full of our poor friend. The others, however, thought only of the gold.

"We have left," replied Don Gaspar to the rudely expressed shower of questions, "just the one half. It is well known to all that Senor Yank carried the most of the gold."

"Yes, and we have Munroe to thank for that," snarled Missouri Jones.

"As far at that is concerned, I was against sending out the gold from the very start," I retorted. "If you'd listened to me, it would have all been safe right here."

"If we'd had a decently strong guard, we'd have been all right," growled McNally.

We all saw the futility of our first instinctive flare of suspicion. It was obvious that if Don Gaspar and Buck Barry had intended treachery they would never have returned to us. I think that, curiously enough, we were unreasonably a little sorry for this. It would have been satisfactory to have had something definite to antagonize. As it was, we sat humped around our fire until morning. For a long period we remained sullenly silent; then we would break into recriminations or into expressions of bitter or sarcastic dissatisfaction with the way things had been planned and carried out. Bagsby alone had the sense to turn in. We chewed the cud of bitter disappointment. Our work had been hard and continuous; we were, as I have pointed out, just ready for a reaction; and now this catastrophe arrived in the exact moment to throw us into the depths of genuine revulsion. We hated each other, and the work, and the valley of the Porcupine, and gold diggings, and California with a fine impartiality. The gray morning light found us sitting haggard, dejected, disgusted, and vindictive around the dying embers of our fire.



CHAPTER XXVIII

THE BULLY

With daylight we began to get a grip on ourselves a little. I felt strongly that I should see to Yank, and so announced. Johnny at once offered to accompany me. While we were talking over the future prospects, McNally came over to us, saying:

"The boys are pretty well agreed that we ought to divide up what gold is left, and let each man take care of his own share. Are you agreeable?"

We instantly assented. The scales were brought out, and the division began. It consumed most of the morning, and was productive of much squabbling, in which, however, we took no part. Our share, including Yank's—with which we were intrusted—came to about thirty-one pounds: a value of about seven thousand dollars. We were impatient to be off, and now wanted nothing so much as to be done with the whole affair. Yank had ridden one of our horses; the other had been stolen in the Indian raid. We approached Don Gaspar, who had his own saddle horse and that of Vasquez, not to speak of the remaining pack-animals. To our surprise and delight he offered to accompany us; and Bagsby, too, decided to leave. McNally, Buck Barry, and Missouri Jones, however, could not be persuaded out of their intention of remaining to dig fresh gold; nor, I am afraid, were we very cordial in our insistence. We considered them foolhardy; but in our then mood we did not greatly care.

By noon we had packed our goods, and by night we had broken the back of our return journey.

We found a full-grown town where we had left a few tents and miners' cabins. Its main street ran either side the deep dust of the immigrant trail, and consisted of the usual shanties, canvas shacks, and log structures, with rather more than the customary allowance of tin cans, old clothes, worn-out boots, and empty barrels kicking around. The diggings were in the gulch below the road; but the streets of the town, and especially the shady sides of the buildings, were numerously furnished with lounging men. Some of these were employees or owners of the gambling halls, saloons, and boarding-houses; but most were plain "loafers"—a class never wholly absent from any mining camp, men who washed just enough gold to keep themselves fed and pickled in drink. Many of them were evil-looking customers, in fact about as tough a lot as a man would care to see, unshaven generally, but not always, dirty, truculent and rough, insolent in manner. In our passage of the main street I saw just three decent looking people—one was evidently a gambler, one a beefy, red-faced individual who had something to do with one of the hotels, and the third was a tall man, past middle age, with a clean shaven, hawk face, a piercing, haughty, black eye, and iron gray hair. He was carefully and flawlessly dressed in a gray furred "plug" hat, tailed blue coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat, trousers of the same shade, and a frilled shirt front. Immaculate down to within six inches or so of the ground, his nether garments and boots were coated thickly with the inevitable red dust. He strode slowly down the street, looking neither to right nor left.

Don Gaspar led the way for a short distance along the wagon road. On the outskirts of the settlement he turned aside to a small log cabin supplemented by a brush lean-to. A long string of bright red peppers hung down the face of it. To our knock came a very fat, rather dirty, but exceedingly pleasant-faced woman with glossy black hair, parted smoothly, and soft black eyes. She opened the door only the fraction of an inch at first, but instantly recognized Don Gaspar, and threw it wide.

To our great relief we found Yank very much alive. He greeted us rather feebly, but with satisfaction. We found that he had been kindly cared for, and that the surface wounds and bruises from the horses' hoofs had been treated with some skill.

"But I reckon I'm hurt some inside," he whispered with difficulty, "for I can't breathe easy; and I can't eat nothin' but soup. And my leg is hell."

The broken leg too had been bound up after a fashion, but it was badly swollen above and below the bandages.

"He ought to have a doctor," said I positively. "There's no doubt of that. There must be some among the miners—there generally is. I'm going to see if I can find one."

I returned to town, and hunted up the beefy, red-faced hotel keeper, who had impressed me as being an honest man.

"Yes, there's a doctor," said he, "a mighty good one. He went by here a little while ago. Name's Dr. Rankin. I'll rustle him out for you. Oh, you Pete!" he shouted into the interior of the building.

A moment's shuffling about preceded the appearance of a negro boy of twelve or fourteen.

"Yes, sah."

"Go find Dr. Rankin and bring him here right away. Tell him a gentleman wants him."

"You've got a mighty sudden sort of camp here," said I, as we settled ourselves to wait. "Three months ago I went through here, and there was practically nothing."

"Looks to be a thousand years, though," agreed the hotel man. "Where you been?"

"Oh, just prospecting," I replied vaguely.

"Strike it?"

"Just fair," I evaded; "not rich enough to keep me from coming back, you see. Any finds here?"

"The diggings are rich as mud," replied the hotel man dispassionately. "It's a prosperous camp all right."

"You don't 'wash' yourself?" I asked.

"Not I! I make more than my 'ounce a day' right here." He jerked his thumb at his hotel.

"A good many 'loafers,'" I suggested.

He looked at me steadily, hesitated for a moment, then evidently changed his mind.

"Quite a few," he agreed.

At this moment the negro boy appeared, closely followed by the man with the blue coat and white beaver hat whom I had taken for an eccentric gambler. This man walked slowly up to face me.

"Well, sir?" he demanded. "I am told I can be of service. In what way?"

His piercing black eye held mine with a certain high arrogance.

"Professionally, doctor," I replied. "A friend of mine is lying badly hurt in a nearby hut."

For a barely appreciable instant his eye held mine after I had ceased speaking, as though he was appraising me. Then he bowed with old-fashioned courtesy.

"At your service, sir," said he. "Pete, you black rascal, get my bag, and get it quick."

The little negro, who had stood by obviously worshipping, broke into a grin and darted into the hotel, almost instantly reappearing with a regulation professional satchel.

"At your service, sir," repeated Dr. Rankin.

We took our stately progress up the street, through the deep red dust. The hot sun glared down upon us, reflecting from the surface of the earth in suffocating heat. Hard as I was, I flushed and perspired. The doctor never turned a hair. As we passed one of the saloons a huge, hairy man lurched out, nearly colliding with us. He was not drunk, but he was well flushed with drink. His mood was evidently ugly, for he dropped his hand to the butt of his revolver, and growled something truculent at me, glaring through bloodshot eyes. Dr. Rankin, who had stepped back to avoid collision, spoke up:

"Malone," said he, "I told you a week ago that you have to stop drinking or come to me. I repeat it."

He turned his keen black eyes upon the big man, and stepped forward. The big man muttered something and moved aside.

Arrived at the hut of the Morenas, for that it seemed was the name of our host and hostess, Dr. Rankin laid aside his furry beaver hat, walked directly to the side of the bunk on which Yank lay, and began his examination, without vouchsafing anything or anybody else the slightest glance. Nor did he seem to pay more attention to Yank as a human being, but prodded and pulled and hauled and manipulated him from top to toe, his gray, hawk face intent and absorbed. Occasionally, as he repeated some prod, he looked up keenly into Yank's face, probably for some slight symptom of pain that escaped us, for Yank remained stoical. But he asked no questions. At the end of ten minutes he threw the blanket over our friend's form and stood erect, carefully dusting the ends of his fingers against one another.

"Broken leg, badly set," said he; "two broken ribs; severe surface bruises; and possibility of internal bruises in the region of the spleen. Neglected too long. Why wasn't I sent for before?"

I explained. Dr. Rankin listened attentively, but made no comment. His eyes travelled slowly over us all—the fat, pleasant, brown California woman, her bearded husband, who had come in from the diggings, Bagsby's tall, wiry old form, the worn remains of Don Gaspar's finery, and lingered a moment on Johnny's undisguisable air of high spirit and breeding.

"How many of you belong here?" he demanded. "I can't waste time on the rest of you. Those who are not directly concerned, kindly step outside."

"Johnny and I will take care of this," I told the others hastily, before they had time to say anything.

"Now," cried Dr. Rankin, removing his blue coat, and turning back the frills of his shirt, "hot water!"

We assisted at the rather dreadful process of resetting a broken leg three days old. At the end of the operation we were all pretty limp.

"How long?" gasped Yank, opening his eyes.

"Three months; not a day less if you want that leg to be as good as ever," stated Dr. Rankin uncompromisingly.

Yank closed his eyes and groaned.

The doctor resumed his coat and picked up his beaver hat.

"What treatment?" I ventured to ask.

"I will inform the woman," replied the doctor. "These Californians are the best nurses in the world, once things are on a proper footing."

"Your fee, sir?" asked Johnny very formally, for the doctor's brusque manner had rubbed.

"One ounce," stated Dr. Rankin. "I shall direct the woman, and I shall return one week from to-day unless conditions change. In that case, summon me."

He pouched the gold dust that Johnny shook into the palm of his hand at a guess, bowed formally to each of us in turn, picked up his bag and departed, rigidly erect, the fine red dust crawling and eddying at his feet.

Then we held a council of war, all of us. Don Gaspar announced his intention of returning to his rancho in the south.

"I have found the gold, and I have made fren's, and I have now enough," said he.

Bagsby, too, said he thought he would just ride down as far as Sutter's Fort, there to lay in a supply of powder and ball for a trip in the mountains.

"I kind of want to git up another b'ar fight," said he. "If I thought there was a ghost of a show to git them robbers for you boys, I'd stay and help you scout for them; but there ain't a show in the world. They've had a good three days' start."

After shaking hands with us again and again, and obtaining promises that we should all surely meet in San Francisco or Monterey, they mounted and took their departure in order to get well clear of the settlement before nightfall.