"Ah! good luck to him," cried Larry.

"And did the sharper hear of it?" inquired the captain.

"That he did, and tried to bully the poor fellow, and get his claim back again; but there was a strong enough sense of justice among the miners to cause such an outcry that the scoundrel was fain to seek other diggings."

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Note 1. "Dirt" is the name given among miners, to the soil in which gold is found.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

GOLD-WASHING—OUR ADVENTURERS COUNT THEIR GAINS, AND ARE SATISFIED—THE "R'YAL BANK O' CALYFORNY" BEGINS TO PROSPER—FRYING GOLD—NIGHT VISIT TO THE GRAVE OF A MURDERED MAN—A MURDERER CAUGHT—THE ESCAPE AND PURSUIT.

Having escaped from the Yankee land-shark, as has been related, our adventurers spent the remainder of the day in watching the various processes of digging and washing out gold, in imbibing valuable lessons, and in selecting a spot for their future residence.

The two processes in vogue at Little Creek at that time were the pan and the cradle washing. The former has been already adverted to, and was much practised because the ground at that time was rich in the precious metal and easily wrought; the extreme simplicity, too, of the operation, which only required that the miner should possess a pick, a shovel, and a tin pan, commended it to men who were anxious to begin at once. An expert man, in favourable ground, could gather and wash a panful of "dirt," as it is called, every ten minutes; and there were few places in Little Creek that did not yield half-a-dollar or more to the panful, thus enabling the digger to work out gold-dust to the value of about twenty-five dollars, (five pounds sterling), every day, while occasionally he came upon a lump or nugget, equal, perhaps, to what he could produce by the steady labour of a week or more.

Many of the more energetic miners, however, worked in companies and used cradles, by means of which they washed out a much larger quantity of gold in shorter time; and in places which did not yield a sufficient return by the pan process to render it worth while working, the cradle-owners obtained ample remuneration for their toil.

The cradle is a very simple machine, being a semicircular trough, hollowed out of a log, from five to six feet long by sixteen inches in diameter. At one end of this is a perforated copper or iron plate, with a rim of wood round it, on which the "dirt" is thrown, and water poured thereon by one man, while the cradle is rocked by another. The gold and gravel are thus separated from the larger stones, and washed down the trough, in which, at intervals, two transverse bars, half-an-inch high, are placed; the first of these arrests the gold, which, from its great weight, sinks to the bottom, while the gravel and lighter substances are swept away by the current. The lower bar catches any particles of gold that, by awkward management, may have passed the upper one. Three men usually worked together at a rocker, one digging, one carrying the "dirt" in a bucket, and one rocking the cradle.

The black sand, which, along with the gold, is usually left after all the washing and rocking processes are completed, is too heavy to be separated by means of washing. It has therefore to be blown away from the gold after the mass has been dried over a fire, and in this operation great care is requisite lest the finer particles of gold should be blown off along with it.

The spot fixed on as the future residence of our friends was a level patch of greensward about a stone-cast from the banks of the stream, and twice that distance from the lowest cabin of the colony, which was separated and concealed from them by a group of wide-spreading oaks and other trees. A short distance behind the spot the mountains ascended in steep wooded slopes, and, just in front, the cliffs of the opposite hills rose abruptly from the edge of the stream, but a narrow ravine, that split them in a transverse manner, afforded a peep into the hills beyond. At evening, when the rest of the vale of Little Creek was shrouded in gloom, this ravine permitted the last beams of the setting sun to stream through and flood their encampment with rosy light.

Here the tent was pitched, and a fire kindled by Tom Collins, he being intrusted with the command of the party, whose duty it was to prepare the camp. This party included Bill Jones, Maxton, and the vaquero. Ned, the captain, and Larry O'Neil went, under the guidance of McLeod, to select a claim, and take lessons in washing.

"This seems a likely spot," said the Scotchman, as he led his new acquaintances down to the stream, a few yards below their encampment. "You may claim as much ground as you please, for there is room enough and to spare for all at the Creek yet. I would recommend a piece of ground of ten or twelve feet square for each to begin with."

"Here is a level patch that I shall appropriate, then," said Ned, smiling at the idea of becoming so suddenly and easily a landed proprietor—and to such an extent.

"I suppose we don't require to make out title-deeds!" remarked the captain.

"There's my title dade," cried Larry, driving his pick into the earth.

"You are right, Larry," said McLeod, laughing, "no other deed is required in this delightfully-free country."

"Ah! thin, it's quite to my taste; sure I niver thought to see the swate spot where I could pick out me property an' pick up me fortin' so aisy."

"Don't count your chickens quite so fast," said Ned, "may be it won't be so easy as you think. But let us begin and ascertain the value of our claims; I vote that Larry shall have the honour of washing out the first panful of gold, as a reward for his enthusiasm."

"A very proper obsarvation," remarked the Irishman, as he commenced work without further delay.

In the course of ten minutes part of the layer of surface-earth was removed, revealing the bluish-clay soil in which gold was usually found; the pan was filled with this "pay-dirt," as it was called, in contradistinction to the "surface-dirt," which didn't "pay," and was taken down to the stream, where Larry washed it out under the eye of McLeod; but he did it clumsily, as might be expected, and lost a considerable amount of valuable material. Still, for a first attempt, it was pretty well done, and his companions watched the result with feelings of excited earnestness, that they felt half-ashamed to admit even to themselves. There was mingled with this feeling a sort of vague incredulity, and a disposition to ridicule the idea that they were actually endeavouring to wash gold out of the ground; but when Larry's panful began to diminish, and the black sand appeared, sparkling with unmistakeably-brilliant particles of reddish-yellow metal, they felt that the golden dream was in truth becoming a sober reality.

As the process proceeded, and the precious metal began to appear, Larry's feelings found vent in abrupt remarks.

"Och! av me tshoo eyes—musha! there it is—goold intirely—av it isn't brass. Ah ye purty little stars!—O Larry, it's yerself as'll buy yer owld mother a pig, an' a coach to boot. Hooroo! Mr Scotchman, I misremimber yer name, wot's that?"

Larry started up in excitement, and held up between his fore-finger and thumb what appeared to be a small stone.

"Ha! friend, you're in luck. That's a small nugget," replied McLeod, examining the lump of gold. "It's worth ten dollars at least. I have worked often two or three weeks at a time without coming on such a chunk as that."

"Ye don't mane it! eh! Och! give it me. Hooray!" and the Irishman, seizing the little lump with trembling eagerness, rushed off, shouting and yelling, towards the camp to make his good fortune known to Bill Jones, leaving the pan of black sand unheeded. This Ned took up, and tried his hand at the work of washing. When done, the residue was found to be exceedingly rich, so he and the captain proceeded without loss of time to test their separate claims. Soon after, their obliging friend, the miner, returned to his own claim further down the valley, leaving them hard at work.

That night, when the bright stars twinkled down upon the camp at Little Creek, our gold-hunters, wet and tired, but hearty and hopeful, assembled round the fire in front of their little tent among the oak-trees.

The entire party was assembled there, and they were gazing earnestly, as might be expected of hungry men, into the frying-pan. But they did not gaze at supper. No, that night the first thing they fried was a mixture of black sand and gold. In fact, they were drying and blowing the result of their first day's work at the diggings, and their friend the Scotch miner was there to instruct them in the various processes of their new profession, and to weigh the gold for them, in his little pair of scales, when it should be finally cleared of all grosser substances.

As each panful was dried and blown, the gold was weighed, and put into a large white breakfast cup, the bottom of which was soon heaped up with shining particles, varying in size from the smallest visible speck, to little lumps like grains of corn.

"Bravo!" exclaimed McLeod, as he weighed the last pan, and added the gold to that already in the cup. "I congratulate you, gentlemen, on your success. The day's work is equal to one hundred and eighty dollars—about thirty dollars per man. Few men are so lucky their first day, I assure you, unless, as has been the case once or twice they should hit upon a nugget or two."

"That being the case, we shall have supper," cried Ned Sinton; "and while we are about it, do you go, Larry, to mine host of the hotel, and pay for the dinner for which he gave us credit. I don't wish to remain an hour in debt, if I can avoid it."

"Mister McLeod," slowly said Bill Jones—who, during the whole operation of drying and weighing the gold, had remained seated on a log, looking on with an expression of imbecile astonishment, and without uttering a word—"Mister McLeod, if I may make bold to ax, how much is one hundred and eighty dollars?"

Bill's calculating powers were of the weakest possible character.

"About thirty-six pounds sterling," replied McLeod. Bill's eyes were wide open before, but the extent to which he opened them on hearing this was quite alarming, and suggested the idea that they would never close again. The same incapacity to calculate figures rendered him unable to grasp correlative facts. He knew that thirty-six pounds in one day was a more enormous and sudden accumulation of wealth than had ever entered into his nautical mind to conceive of. But to connect this with the fact that a voyage and journey of many months had brought him there; that a similar journey and voyage would be required to reconduct him home; and that in the meantime he would have to pay perhaps five pounds sterling for a flannel shirt, and probably four pounds or more for a pair of boots, and everything else in proportion, was to his limited intellectual capacity a simple impossibility. He contented himself with remarking, in reference to these things, that "w'en things in gin'ral wos more nor ord'nar'ly oncommon, an' w'en incomprehensibles was blowin' a reg'lar hurricane astarn, so that a man couldn't hold on to the belayin'-pins he'd bin used to, without their breakin' short off an' lettin' him go spin into the lee-scuppers,—why wot then? a wise man's course wos to take in all sail, an' scud before it under bare poles."

Next day all the miners in the colony were up and at work by dawn. Ned and his friends, you may be sure, were not last to leave their beds and commence digging in their separate claims, which they resolved to work out by means of pan-washing, until they made a little ready cash, after which they purposed constructing two rockers, and washing out the gold more systematically and profitably.

They commenced by removing the surface-soil to the depth of about three feet, a work of no small labour, until the subsoil, or "pay-dirt," was reached. Of this they dug out a small quantity, and washed it; put the produce of black sand and gold into leathern bags, and then, digging out another panful, washed it as before. Thus they laboured till noon, when they rested for an hour and dined. Then they worked on again until night and exhaustion compelled them to desist; when they returned to camp, dried and blew away the sand, weighed the gold, which was put carefully into a general purse—named by Larry the "R'yal Bank o' Calyforny"—after which they supped, and retired to rest.

The gold was found at various depths, the "dirt" on the bed-rock being the richest, as gold naturally, in consequence of its weight, sinks through all other substances, until arrested in its downward career by the solid rock.

Of course, the labour was severe to men unaccustomed to the peculiar and constant stooping posture they were compelled to adopt, and on the second morning more than one of the party felt as if he had been seized with lumbago, but this wore off in the course of a day or two.

The result of the second day was about equal to that of the first; the result of the third a good deal better, and Bill, who was fortunate enough to discover a small nugget, returned to camp with a self-satisfied swagger that indicated elation, though his visage expressed nothing but stolidity, slightly tinged with surprise. On the fourth day the cradles were made, and a very large portion of their gains thereby swept away in consequence of the unconscionable prices charged for every article used in their construction. However, this mattered little, Maxton said, as the increased profits of their labour would soon repay the outlay. And he was right. On the fifth day their returns were more than trebled, and that evening the directors of the "R'yal Bank o' Calyforny" found themselves in possession of capital amounting to one thousand one hundred and fifty dollars, or, as Tom Collins carefully explained to Bill, about 230 pounds.

On the sixth day, however, which was Saturday, Larry O'Neil, who was permitted to work with the pan in the meantime, instead of assisting with the cradles, came up to dinner with a less hearty aspect than usual, and at suppertime he returned with a terribly lugubrious visage and a totally empty bag. In fact his claim had become suddenly unproductive.

"Look at that," he cried, swaggering recklessly into camp, and throwing down his bag; "I haven't got a rap; faix the bag's as empty as my intarior."

"What! have you worked out your claim already!" inquired Maxton.

"Troth have I, and almost worked out me own body too."

"Well, Larry, don't lose heart," said Ned, as he dried the last panful of sand over the fire, "there are plenty more claims beside your present one. We, too, have not been as successful as before. I find the result is only fifty dollars amongst us all."

"That's a sudden falling off," remarked Tom Collins; "I fear the 'pay-dirt' is not deep near us, nevertheless it pays well enough to keep us going for some time to come. I shall mark off a new space on Monday."

"By the way, Maxton," asked Ned, handing over the frying-pan to Collins, who soon filled it with a less valuable, but at that time not less needful commodity than gold-dust—namely, pork and beef—"how do the miners spend the Sabbath here? I suppose not much better than in the cities."

"Here comes McLeod, who will be better able to answer than I am," replied Maxton.

The Scot strode into the camp as he spoke, and, saluting the party, seated himself beside the fire.

"I've come to tell you a piece of news, and to ask advice," he said; "but before doing so, I may tell you, in answer to your question, that the Sabbath here is devoted to drinking, gambling, and loafing about."

"I am not surprised to hear it," said Captain Bunting; "but pray what's i' the wind? Any new diggin's discovered?"

"A new digging certainly has been discovered," replied McLeod, with a peculiar smile, "but not precisely such a digging as one is wont to search for. The fact is, that in prospecting along the edge of the woods about a mile from this to-day, I came upon the body of a murdered man. It was covered with stones and branches of trees, which I removed, and I immediately recognised it to be that of a poor man who used to work not far from my own claim. I had missed him for more than a week past, but supposed that he had either gone to other diggings, or was away prospecting."

"Poor fellow!" said Ned; "but how, in such a matter, can we help you with advice?"

"Well, you see I'm in difficult circumstances," rejoined the Scot, "for I feel certain that I could point out the murderer, yet I cannot prove him to be such, and I want your advice as to what I should do."

"Let it be known at once that you have discovered the murdered man at any rate," said Maxton.

"That I have done already."

"Who do you think was the murderer?" inquired Ned.

"A man who used to live in the same tent with him at one time, but who quarrelled with him frequently, and at last went off in a rage. I know not what was the cause, but I heard him vow that he would be revenged. He was a great coarse fellow, more like a brute than a man, with a black beard, and the most forbidding aspect I think I ever saw."

"Wot wos his name?" inquired Bill Jones, while the party looked at each other as if they knew of such a character.

"Smith was the name he went by oftenest, but the diggers called him Black Jim sometimes."

"Ha! Smith—black beard—forbidding aspect! It strikes me that I too have seen the man," said Ned Sinton, who related to McLeod the visit paid to them in their camp by the surly stranger. While he was speaking, Larry O'Neil sat pondering something in his mind.

"Mister McLeod," said he, when Ned concluded, "will ye shew me the body o' this man? faix, I'm of opinion I can prove the murder; but, first of all, how is the black villain to be diskivered?"

"No difficulty about that. He is even now in the colony. I saw him in a gambling-house half-an-hour since. My fear is that, now the murder's out, he'll bolt before we can secure him."

"It's little trouble we'd have in preventin' that," suggested Larry.

"The consequences might be more serious, however, than you imagine. Suppose you were to seize and accuse him, and fail to prove the murder, the jury would acquit him, and the first thing he would do, on being set free, would be to shoot you, for which act the morality of the miners would rather applaud him than otherwise. It is only on cold-blooded, unprovoked murder and theft that Judge Lynch is severe. It is a recognised rule here, that if a man, in a row, should merely make a motion with his hand towards his pistol, his opponent is entitled to shoot him first if he can. The consequence is, that bloody quarrels are very rare."

"Niver a taste do I care," cried Larry; "they may hang me tshoo times over, but I'll prove the murder, an' nab the murderin' blackguard too."

"Have a care," said Ned; "you'll get yourself into a scrape."

"Make sure you are right before you act," added Maxton. Larry O'Neil paid no attention to these warnings. "Are ye ready to go, Mister McLeod?" said he, impatiently.

"Quite," replied the other.

"Then come along." And the two left the camp together, armed with their rifles, knives, revolvers, and a shovel.

It was a dark night. Heavy clouds obscured the face of the sky, through which only one or two stars struggled faintly, and rendered darkness visible. The two men passed rapidly along the little footpath that led from the colony to the more open country beyond. This gained, they turned abruptly to the right, and, entering a narrow defile, proceeded at a more cautious pace into the gloomy recesses of the mountains.

"Have a care, Larry O'Neil," whispered the Scotchman, as they advanced; "the road is not so safe here, owing to a number of pits which have been made by diggers after gold—they lie close to the edge of the path, and are pretty deep."

"All right; I'm lookin' out," replied Larry, groping his way after his comrade, at the base of a steep precipice.

"Here is the place," said McLeod, stopping and pushing aside the bushes which lined the path. "Keep close to me—there is no road."

"Are ye sure o' the spot?" inquired Larry, in an undertone, while a feeling of awe crept over him at the thought of being within a few yards of a murdered man in such a dark, wild place.

"Quite sure. I have marked the trees. See there!" He pointed to a white spot on the stem of a tree, where a chip had been cut off, and close to which was a mound of earth and stones. This mound the two men proceeded to break up, and in less than ten minutes they disentombed the body from its shallow grave, and commenced to examine the fatal wound. It was in an advanced state of decomposition, and they hurried the process by the light of a bright solitary star, whose flickering rays pierced through the overspreading branches and fell upon the ghastly countenance of the murdered man.

While thus occupied, they were startled by the sound of breaking twigs, as if some one were slowly approaching; whispering voices were also heard.

"It must be hereabouts," said a voice in a low tone; "he pointed out the place."

"Ho!" cried McLeod, who, with Larry, had seized and cocked his rifle, "is that you, Webster?"

"Halloo! McLeod, where are you?"

In another moment a party of miners broke through the underwood, talking loudly, but they dropped their voices to a whisper on beholding the dead body.

"Whist, boys," said Larry, holding up his hand. "We've jist got hold o' the bullet. It's flattened the least thing, but the size is easy to see. There's a wound over the heart, too, made with a knife; now that's wot I want to get at the bottom of, but I don't like to use me own knife to cut down."

As none of the others felt disposed to lend their knives for such a purpose, they looked at each other in silence.

"Mayhap," said the rough-looking miner who had been hailed by McLeod as Webster—"mayhap the knife o' the corpse is lyin' about."

The suggestion was a happy one. After a few minutes' search the rusty knife of the murdered man was discovered, and with this Larry succeeded in extracting from the wound over the heart of the body a piece of steel, which had evidently been broken off the point of the knife, with which the poor wretch had been slain. Larry held it up with a look of triumph.

"I'll soon shew ye who's the murderer now, boys, av ye'll help me to fill up the grave."

This was speedily accomplished; then the miners, hurrying in silence from the spot, proceeded to the chief hotel of the place, in the gambling-saloon of which they found the man Smith, alias Black Jim, surrounded by gamblers, and sitting on a corner of the monte table watching the game. Larry went up to him at once, and, seizing him by the collar, exclaimed—"I've got ye, have I, ye murderer, ye black villain! Come along wid ye, and git yer desarts—call a coort, boys, an' sot up Judge Lynch."

Instantly the saloon was in an uproar. Smith turned pale as death for a moment, but the blood returned with violence to his brazen forehead; he seized Larry by the throat, and a deadly struggle would speedily have taken place between the two powerful men had not Ned Sinton entered at the moment, and, grasping Smith's arms in his Herculean gripe, rendered him helpless.

"What, comrades," cried Black Jim, with an oath, and looking fiercely round, "will ye see a messmate treated like this? I'm no murderer, an' I defy any one to prove it."

There was a move among the miners, and a voice was heard to speak of rescuing the prisoner.

"Men," cried Ned, still holding Smith, and looking round upon the crowd, "men—"

"I guess there are no men here," interrupted a Yankee; "we're all gentlemen."

"Being a man does not incapacitate one from being a gentleman," said Ned, sharply, with a look of scorn at the speaker, who deemed it advisable to keep silence.

After a moment's pause, he continued—"If this gentleman has done no evil, I and my friends will be answerable to him for what we have done; but my comrade, Larry O'Neil, denounces him as a murderer; and says he can prove it. Surely the law of the mines and fair play demand that he should be tried!"

"Hear! hear! well said. Git up a bonfire, and let's have it out," cried several voices, approvingly.

The miners rushed out, dragging Black Jim along with them to an open level space in front of the hotel, where stood a solitary oak-tree, from one of whose sturdy arms several offenders against the laws of the gold-mines had, at various times, swung in expiation of their crimes. Here an immense fire was kindled, and hither nearly all the miners of the neighbourhood assembled.

Black Jim was placed under the branch, from which depended part of the rope that had hanged the last criminal. His rifle, pistols, and knife, were taken from him, amid protestations of innocence, and imprecations on the heads of his accusers. Then a speech was made by an orator who was much admired at the place, but whose coarse language would scarcely have claimed admiration in any civilised community. After this Larry O'Neil stepped forward with McLeod, and the latter described all he knew of the former life of the culprit, and his conduct towards the murdered man. When he had finished, Larry produced the bullet, which was compared with the rifle and the bullets in Smith's pouch, and pronounced similar to the latter. At this, several of the miners cried out, "Guilty, guilty; string him up at once!"

"There are other rifles with the same bore," said Smith. "I used to think Judge Lynch was just, but he's no better I find than the land-sharks elsewhere. Hang me if you like, but if ye do, instead o' gittin' rid o' one murderer, ye'll fill the Little Creek with murderers from end to end. My blood will be on your heads."

"Save yer breath," said Larry, drawing Smith's knife from its scabbard. "See here, boys, sure two dovetails niver fitted closer than this bit o' steel fits the pint o' Black Jim's knife. Them men standin' beside me can swear they saw me take it out o' the breast o' the morthered man, an' yerselves know that this is the murderer's knife."

Almost before Larry had concluded, Smith, who felt that his doom was sealed, exerted all his strength, burst from the men who held him, and darted like an arrow towards that part of the living circle which seemed weakest. Most of the miners shrank back—only one man ventured to oppose the fugitive; but he was driven down with such violence, that he lay stunned on the sward, while Smith sprang like a goat up the steep face of the adjacent precipice. A dozen rifles instantly poured forth their contents, and the rocks rang with the leaden hail; but the aim had been hurried, and the light shed by the fire at that distance was uncertain.

The murderer, next moment, stood on the verge of the precipice, from which he wrenched a mass of rock, and, shouting defiance, hurled it back, with a fearful imprecation, at his enemies. The rock fell into the midst of them, and fractured the skull of a young man, who fell with a groan to the earth. Smith, who paused a moment to witness the result of his throw, uttered a yell of exultation, and darted into the mountains, whither, for hours after, he was hotly pursued by the enraged miners. But one by one they returned to the Creek exhausted, and telling the same tale—"Black Jim had made his escape."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

SABBATH AT THE DIGGINGS—LARRY O'NEIL TAKES TO WANDERING, AND MEETS WITH ADVENTURES—AN IRISH YANKEE DISCOVERED—TERRIBLE CALAMITIES BEFALL TRAVELLERS ON THE OVERLAND ROUTE.

There is no country in our fallen world, however debased and morally barren, in which there does not exist a few green spots where human tenderness and sympathy are found to grow. The atmosphere of the gold-regions of California was, indeed, clouded to a fearful extent with the soul-destroying vapours of worldliness, selfishness, and ungodliness, which the terrors of Lynch law alone restrained from breaking forth in all their devastating strength.

And this is not to be wondered at, for Europe and America naturally poured the flood of their worst inhabitants over the land, in eager search for that gold, the love of which, we are told in Sacred Writ, "is the root of all evil." True, there were many hundreds of estimable men who, failing, from adverse circumstances, to make a livelihood in their native lands, sought to better their fortunes in the far west; but, in too many cases, the gold-fever which raged there soon smote them down; and men who once regarded gold as the means to an end, came at last to esteem gold to be the end, and used every means, fair and foul, to obtain it. Others there were, whose constitutions were proof against the national disease; whose hearts deemed love to be the highest bliss of man, and doing good his greatest happiness.

But stilling and destructive though the air of the gold-mines was, there were a few hardy plants of moral goodness which defied it—and some of these bloomed in the colony of Little Creek.

The Sabbath morning dawned on Ned Sinton and his friends—the first Sabbath since they had begun to dig for gold. On that day the miners rested from their work. Shovel and pick lay quiet in the innumerable pits that had been dug throughout the valley; no cradle was rocked, no pan of golden earth was washed. Even reckless men had come to know from experience, that the Almighty in His goodness had created the Sabbath for the special benefit of man's body as well as his soul, and that they wrought better during the six days of the week when they rested on the seventh.

Unfortunately they believed only what experience taught them; they kept the Sabbath according to the letter, not according to the spirit; and although they did not work, they did not refrain from "thinking their own thoughts and finding their own pleasure," on God's holy day. Early in the morning they began to wander idly about from hut to hut, visited frequently the grog-shops, and devoted themselves to gambling, which occupation materially marred even the physical rest they might otherwise have enjoyed.

"Comrades," said Ned Sinton, as the party sat inside their tent, round the napkin on which breakfast was spread, "it is long since we have made any difference between Saturday and Sunday, and I think it would be good for us all if we were to begin now. Since quitting San Francisco, the necessity of pushing forward on our journey has prevented our doing so hitherto. How far we were right in regarding rapid travelling as being necessary, I won't stop to inquire; but I think it would be well if we should do a little more than merely rest from work on the Sabbath. I propose that, besides doing this, we should read a chapter of the Bible together as a family, morning and evening on Sundays. What say you?"

There was a pause. It was evident that conflicting feelings were at work among the party.

"Perhaps you're right," said Maxton; "I confess that I have troubled myself very little about religion since I came out here, but my conscience has often reproached me for it."

"Don't you think, messmates," said Captain Bunting, lighting his pipe, "that if it gets wind the whole colony will be laughin' at us?"

"Sure they may laugh," said Larry O'Neil, "an' after that they may cry, av it'll do them good. Wot's the differ to us?"

"I don't agree with you, Ned," said Tom Collins, somewhat testily; "for my part I like to see men straightforward, all fair and above-board, as the captain would say. Hypocrisy is an abominable vice, whether it is well meaning or ill meaning, and I don't see the use of pretending to be religious when we are not."

"Tom," replied Ned, in an earnest voice, "don't talk lightly of serious things. I don't pretend to be religious, but I do desire to be so: and I think it would be good for all of us to read a portion of God's Word on His own day, both for the purpose of obeying and honouring Him, and of getting our minds filled, for a short time at least, with other thoughts than those of gold-hunting. In doing this there is no hypocrisy."

"Well, well," rejoined Tom, "I'll not object if the rest are agreed."

"Agreed," was the unanimous reply. So Ned rose, and, opening his portmanteau, drew forth the little Bible that had been presented to him by old Mr Shirley on the day of his departure from home.

From that day forward, every Sabbath morning and evening, Ned Sinton read a portion of the Word of God to his companions, as long as they were together; and each of the party afterwards, at different times, confessed that, from the time the reading of the Bible was begun, he felt happier than he did before.

After breakfast they broke up, and went out to stroll for an hour or two upon the wooded slopes of the mountains. Ned and Tom Collins went off by themselves, the others, with the exception of Larry, walked out together.

That morning Larry O'Neil felt less sociable than was his wont, so he sallied forth alone. For some time he sauntered about with his hands in his pockets, his black pipe in his mouth, a thick oak cudgel, of his own making, under his arm, and his hat set jauntily on one side of his head. He went along with an easy swagger, and looked particularly reckless, but no man ever belied his looks more thoroughly. The swagger was unintentional, and the recklessness did not exist. On the contrary, the reading of the Bible had brought back to his mind a flood of home memories, which forced more than one tear from his susceptible heart into his light-blue eye, as he wandered in memory over the green hills of Erin.

But the scenes that passed before him as he roamed about among the huts and tents of the miners soon drew his thoughts to subjects less agreeable to contemplate. On week-days the village, if we may thus designate the scattered groups of huts and tents, was comparatively quiet, but on Sundays it became a scene of riot and confusion. Not only was it filled with its own idle population of diggers, but miners from all the country round, within a circuit of eight or ten miles, flocked into it for the purpose of buying provisions for the week, as well as for the purpose of gambling and drinking, this being the only day in all the week, in which they indulged in what they termed "a spree."

Consequently the gamblers and store-keepers did more business on Sunday than on any other day. The place was crowded with men in their rough, though picturesque, bandit-like costumes, rambling about from store to store, drinking and inviting friends to drink, or losing in the gaming-saloons all the earnings of a week of hard, steady toil—toil more severe than is that of navvies or coal-heavers. There seemed to be an irresistible attraction in these gambling-houses. Some men seemed unable to withstand the temptation, and they seldom escaped being fleeced. Yet they returned, week after week, to waste in these dens of iniquity the golden treasure gathered with so much labour during their six working days.

Larry O'Neil looked through the doorway of one of the gambling-houses as he passed, and saw men standing and sitting round the tables, watching with eager faces the progress of the play, while ever and anon one of them would reel out, more than half-drunk with excitement and brandy. Passing on through the crowded part of the village, which looked as if a fair were being held there, he entered the narrow footpath that led towards the deeper recesses at the head of the valley. O'Neil had not yet, since his arrival, found time to wander far from his own tent. It was therefore with a feeling of great delight that he left the scene of riot behind him, and, turning into a bypath that led up one of the narrow ravines, opening into the larger valley, strolled several miles into deep solitudes that were in harmony with his feelings.

The sun streamed through the entrance to this ravine, bathing with a flood of light crags and caves and bush-encompassed hollows, that at other times were shrouded in gloom. As the Irishman stood gazing in awe and admiration at the wild, beautiful scene, beyond which were seen the snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada, he observed a small solitary tent pitched on a level patch of earth at the brow of a low cliff. Curiosity prompted him to advance and ascertain what unsociable creature dwelt in it. A few minutes sufficed to bring him close upon it, and he was about to step forward, when the sound of a female voice arrested him. It was soft and low, and the accents fell upon his ear with the power of an old familiar song. Being at the back of the tent, he could not see who spoke, but, from the monotonous regularity of the tone, he knew that the woman was reading. He passed noiselessly round to the front, and peeping over the tops of bushes, obtained a view of the interior.

The reader was a young woman, whose face, which was partially concealed by a mass of light-brown hair as she bent over her book, seemed emaciated and pale. Looking up just as Larry's eye fell upon her, she turned towards a man whose gaunt, attenuated form lay motionless on a pile of brushwood beside her, and said, tenderly:

"Are ye tired, Patrick, dear, or would you like me to go on?"

Larry's heart gave his ribs such a thump at that moment that he felt surprised the girl did not hear it. But he could not approach; he was rooted to the earth as firmly, though not as permanently, as the bush behind which he stood. An Irish voice, and an Irish girl, heard and seen so unexpectedly, quite took away his breath.

The sick man made some reply which was not audible, and the girl, shutting the book, looked up for a few moments, as if in silent prayer, then she clasped her hands upon her knees, and laying her head upon them, remained for some time motionless. The hands were painfully thin, as was her whole frame. The face was what might have been pretty at one time, although it was haggard enough now, but the expression was peculiarly sorrowful.

In a few minutes she looked up again, and spread the ragged blanket more carefully over the shoulders of the sick man, and Larry, feeling that he was at that time in the questionable position of an eavesdropper, left his place of concealment, and stood before the tent.

The sick man saw him instantly, and, raising himself slightly, exclaimed, "Who goes there? Sure I can't git lave to die in pace!"

The familiar tones of a countryman's voice fell pleasantly on Larry's ear as he sprang into the tent, and, seizing the sick man's hand, cried, "A blissin' on the mouth that said that same. O Pat, darlint! I'm glad to mate with ye. What's the matter with ye? Tell me now, an' don't be lookin' as if ye'd seen a ghost."

"Kape back," said the girl, pushing Larry aside, with a half-pleased, half-angry expression. "Don't ye see that ye've a'most made him faint? He's too wake intirely to be—"

"Ah! then, cushla, forgive me; I wint and forgot meself. Blissin's on yer pale face! sure yer Irish too."

Before the girl could reply to this speech, which was uttered in a tone of the deepest sympathy, the sick man recovered sufficiently to say—

"Sit down, friend. How comed ye to larn me name? I guess I never saw ye before."

"Sure, didn't I hear yer wife say it as I come for'ard to the tint," answered Larry, somewhat staggered at the un-Irish word "guess."

"He is my brother," remarked the girl.

"Troth, ye've got a dash o' the Yankee brogue," said Larry, with a puzzled look; "did ye not come from the owld country?"

The sick man seemed too much exhausted to reply, so the girl said—

"Our father and mother were Irish, and left their own country to sittle in America. We have never seen Ireland, my brother nor I, but we think of it as almost our own land. Havin' been brought up in the woods, and seein' a'most no one but father and mother for days an' weeks at a time, we've got a good deal o' the Irish tone."

"Ah! thin, ye have reason to be thankful for that same," remarked Larry, who was a little disappointed that his new friends were not altogether Irish; but, after a few minutes' consideration, he came to the conclusion, that people whose father and mother were natives of the Emerald Isle could no more be Americans, simply because they happened to be born in America, than they could be fish if they chanced to be born at sea. Having settled this point to his satisfaction, he proceeded to question the girl as to their past history and the cause of their present sad condition, and gradually obtained from her the information that their father and mother were dead, and that, having heard of the mines of California, her brother had sold off his farm in the backwoods, and proceeded by the overland route to the new land of gold, in company with many other western hunters and farmers. They reached it, after the most inconceivable sufferings, in the beginning of winter, and took up their abode at Little Creek.

The rush of emigration from the western states to California, by the overland route, that took place at this time, was attended with the most appalling sufferings and loss of life. Men sold off their snug farms, packed their heavy waggons with the necessaries for a journey, with their wives and little ones, over a wilderness more than two thousand miles in extent, and set off by scores over the prairies towards the Ultima Thule of the far west. The first part of their journey was prosperous enough, but the weight of their waggons rendered the pace slow, and it was late in the season ere they reached the great barrier of the Rocky Mountains. But severe although the sufferings of those first emigrants were, they were as nothing compared with the dire calamities that befell those who started from home later in the season. All along the route the herbage was cropped bare by those who had gone before; their oxen broke down; burning sandy deserts presented themselves when the wretched travellers were well-nigh exhausted; and when at length they succeeded in reaching the great mountain-chain, its dark passes were filled with the ice and snow of early winter.

Hundreds of men, women, and children, fell down and died on the burning plain, or clambered up the rugged heights to pillow their dying heads at last on wreaths of snow. To add to the unheard-of miseries of these poor people, scurvy in its worst forms attacked them; and the air of many of their camping places was heavy with the stench arising from the dead bodies of men and animals that had perished by the way.

"It was late in the season," said Kate Morgan, as Larry's new friend was named, "when me brother Patrick an' I set off with our waggon and oxen, an' my little sister Nelly, who was just able to run about, with her curly yellow hair streamin' over her purty shoulders, an' her laughin' blue eyes, almost spakin' when they looked at ye."

The poor girl spoke with deep pathos as she mentioned Nelly's name, while Larry O'Neil sat with his hands clasped, gazing at her with an expression of the deepest commiseration.

"We got pretty well on at first," she continued, after a pause, "because our waggon was lighter than most o' the others; but it was near winter before we got to the mountains, an' then our troubles begood. First of all, one o' the oxen fell, and broke its leg. Then darlin' Nelly fell sick, and Patrick had to carry her on his back up the mountains, for I had got so weak meself that I wasn't fit to take her up. All the way over I was troubled with one o' the emigrants that kep' us company— there was thirty o' us altogether—he was a very bad man, and none o' us liked him. He took a fancy to me, an' asked me to be his wife so often that I had to make Patrick order him to kape away from us altogether. He wint off in a black rage, swearin' he'd be revenged,—an' oh!" continued Kate, wringing her hands, "he kept his word. One day there was a dispute between our leaders which way we should go, for we had got to two passes in the mountains; so one party went one way, and we went another. Through the night, my—my lover came into our camp to wish me good-bye, he said, for the last time, as he was goin' with the other party. After he was gone, I missed Nelly, and went out to seek for her among the tents o' my neighbours, but she was nowhere to be found. At once I guessed he had taken her away, for well did he know I would sooner have lost my life than my own darlin' Nell."

Again the girl paused a few moments; then she resumed, in a low voice—

"We never saw him or Nelly again. It is said the whole party perished, an' I believe it, for they were far spent, and the road they took, I've been towld, is worse than the one we took. It was dead winter when we arrived, and Patrick and me came to live here. We made a good deal at first by diggin', but we both fell sick o' the ague, and we've been scarce able to kape us alive till now. But it won't last long. Dear Patrick is broken down entirely, as ye see, and I haven't strength a'most to go down to the diggin's for food. I haven't been there for a month, for it's four miles away, as I dare say ye know. We'll both be at rest soon."

"Ah! now, don't say that again, avic," cried Larry, smiting his thigh with energy; "ye'll be nothin' o' the sort, that ye won't; sure yer brother Pat is slaipin' now like an infant, he is, an' I'll go down meself to the stores and git ye medicines an' a doctor, an' what not. Cheer up, now—"

Larry's enthusiastic efforts to console his new friend were interrupted by the sick man, who awoke at the moment, and whispered the word "food."

His sister rose, and taking up a small tin pan that simmered on the fire in front of the tent, poured some of its contents into a dish.

"What is it ye give him?" inquired Larry, taking the dish from the girl's hands and putting it to his lips. He instantly spat out the mouthful, for it was soup made of rancid pork, without vegetables of any kind.

"'Tis all I've got left," said the girl. "Even if I was able to go down for more, he wouldn't let me; but I couldn't, for I've tried more than once, and near died on the road. Besides, I haven't a grain o' goold in the tent."

"O morther! Tare an' ages!" cried Larry, staring first at the girl and then at her brother, while he slapped his thighs and twisted his fingers together as if he wished to wrench them out of joint.

"Howld on, faix I'll do it. Don't give it him, plaze; howld on, do!"

Larry O'Neil turned round as he spoke, seized his cudgel, sprang right over the bushes in front of the tent, and in two minutes more was seen far down the ravine, spurning the ground beneath him as if life and death depended on the race.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

KINDNESS TO STRANGERS IN DISTRESS—REMARKS IN REFERENCE TO EARLY RISING—DIGGINGS WAX UNPRODUCTIVE—NED TAKES A RAMBLE, AND HAS A SMALL ADVENTURE—PLANS FORMED AND PARTLY DEVELOPED—REMARKABLE HUMAN CREATURES DISCOVERED, AND STILL MORE REMARKABLE CONVERSE HELD WITH THEM.

"I'll throuble ye for two pounds of flour," cried Larry O'Neil, dashing into one of the stores, which was thronged with purchasers, whom he thrust aside rather unceremoniously.

"You'll have to take your turn, stranger, I calculate," answered the store-keeper, somewhat sharply.

"Ah thin, avic, plaze do attind to me at wance; for sure I've run four miles to git stuff for a dyin' family—won't ye now?"

The earnest manner in which Larry made this appeal was received with a laugh by the bystanders, and a recommendation to the store-keeper to give him what he wanted.

"What's the price?" inquired Larry, as the man measured it out.

"Two dollars a pound," answered the man.

"Musha! I've seed it chaiper."

"I guess so have I; but provisions are gittin' up, for nothin' has come from Sacramento for a fortnight."

"Tay an' sugar'll be as bad, no doubt!"

"Wuss, they are; for there's next to none at all, I opine, in this here location."

"Faix, I'll have a pound o' both, av they wos two dollars the half-ounce. Have ye got raisins an' sago?"

"Yes."

"Give me a pound o' that, aich."

These articles having been delivered and paid for, Larry continued—

"Ye'll have brandy, av coorse?"

"I guess I have; plenty at twenty dollars a bottle."

"Och, morther, it'll brake the bank intirely; but it's little I care. Hand me wan bottle, plaze."

The bottle of brandy was added to his store, and then the Irishman, shouldering his bundle of good things, left the shop, and directed his steps once more towards the ravine in which dwelt Kate Morgan and her brother Pat.

It was late when the Irishman returned from his mission of kindness, and he found the fire nearly out, the tent closed, and all his comrades sound asleep, so, gently lifting the curtain that covered the entrance, he crept quietly in, lay down beside Bill Jones, whose nasal organ was performing a trombone solo, and in five minutes was sound asleep.

It seemed to him as if he had barely closed his eyes, when he was roused by his comrades making preparations to resume work; nevertheless, he had rested several hours, and the grey hue of early day that streamed in through the opening of the tent warned him that he must recommence the effort to realise his golden dreams. The pursuit of gold, however engrossing it may be, does not prevent men from desiring to lie still in the morning, or abate one jot of the misery of their condition when they are rudely roused by early comrades, and told that "it's time to get up." Larry O'Neil, Tom Collins, and Maxton groaned, on receiving this information from Ned, turned, and made as if they meant to go to sleep. But they meant nothing of the sort; it was merely a silent testimony to the fact of their thorough independence—an expressive way of shewing that they scorned to rise at the bidding of any man, and that they would not get up till it pleased themselves to do so. That this was the case became evident from their groaning again, two minutes afterwards, and turning round on their backs. Then they stretched themselves, and, sitting up, stared at each other like owls. A moment after, Maxton yawned vociferously, and fell back again quite flat, an act which was instantly imitated by the other two. Such is the force of bad example.

By this time the captain and Jones had left the tent, and Ned Sinton was buckling on his belt.

"Now, then, get up, and don't be lazy," cried the latter, as he stepped out, dragging all the blankets off the trio as he took his departure, an act which disclosed the fact that trousers and flannel shirts were the sleeping garments of Maxton and Tom, and that Larry had gone to bed in his boots.

The three sprang up immediately, and, after performing their toilets, sallied forth to the banks of the stream, where the whole population of the place was already hard at work.

Having worked out their claims, which proved to be pretty good, they commenced new diggings close beside the old ones, but these turned out complete failures, excepting that selected by Captain Bunting, which was as rich as the first. The gold deposits were in many places very irregular in their distribution, and it frequently happened that one man took out thirty or forty dollars a day from his claim, while another man, working within a few yards of him, was, to use a mining phrase, unable "to raise the colour;" that is, to find gold enough to repay his labour.

This uncertainty disgusted many of the impatient gold-hunters, and not a few returned home, saying that the finding of gold in California was a mere lottery, who, if they had exercised a little patience and observation, would soon have come to know the localities in which gold was most likely to be found. There is no doubt whatever, that the whole country is impregnated more or less with the precious material. The quartz veins in the mountains are full of it; and although the largest quantities are usually obtained in the beds of streams and on their banks, gold is to be found, in smaller quantities, even on the tops of the hills.

Hitherto the miners at Little Creek had found the diggings on the banks of the stream sufficiently remunerative; but the discovery of several lumps of gold in its bed, induced many of them to search for it in the shallow water, and they were successful. One old sea-captain was met by Bill Jones with a nugget the size of a goose-egg in each hand, and another man found a single lump of almost pure gold that weighed fourteen pounds. These discoveries induced Ned Sinton to think of adopting a plan which had been in his thoughts for some time past; so one day he took up his rifle, intending to wander up the valley, for the double purpose of thinking out his ideas, and seeing how the diggers higher up got on.

As he sauntered slowly along, he came to a solitary place where no miners were at work, in consequence of the rugged nature of the banks of the stream rendering the labour severe. Here, on a projecting cliff; which overhung a deep, dark pool or eddy, he observed the tall form of a naked man, whose brown skin bespoke him the native of a southern clime. While Ned looked at him, wondering what he could be about, the man suddenly bent forward, clasped his hands above his head, and dived into the pool. Ned ran to the margin immediately, and stood for nearly a minute observing the dark indistinct form of the savage as he groped along the bottom. Suddenly he rose, and made for the shore with a nugget of gold in his hand.

He seemed a little disconcerted on observing Ned, who addressed him in English, French, and Spanish, but without eliciting any reply, save a grunt. This, however, did not surprise our hero, who recognised the man to be a Sandwich Islander whom he had met before in the village, and whose powers of diving were well-known to the miners. He ascertained by signs, however, that there was much gold at the bottom of the stream, which, doubtless, the diver could not detach from the rocks during the short period of his immersion, so he hastened back to the tent, determined to promulgate his plan to his comrades. It was noon when he arrived, and the miners were straggling from all parts of the diggings to the huts, tents, and restaurants.

"Ha! Maxton, glad I've found you alone," cried Ned, seating himself on an empty box before the fire, over which the former was engaged in culinary operations. "I have been thinking over a plan for turning the course of the stream, and so getting at a portion of its bed."

"Now that's odd," observed Maxton, "I have been thinking of the very same thing all morning."

"Indeed! wits jump, they say. I fancied that I had the honour of first hitting on the plan."

"First hitting on it!" rejoined Maxton, smiling. "My dear fellow, it has not only been hit upon, but hit off, many months ago, with considerable success in some parts of the diggings. The only thing that prevents it being generally practised is, that men require to work in companies, for the preliminary labour is severe, and miners seem to prefer working singly, or in twos and threes, as long as there is good 'pay-dirt' on the banks."

"Well, then, the difficulty does not affect us, because we are already a pretty strong company, although our vaquero has left us, and I have seen a place this morning which, I think, will do admirably to begin upon; it is a deep pool, a few miles up the stream, under—"

"I know it," interrupted Maxton, putting a large slice of pork into the frying-pan, which hissed delightfully in the ears of hungry men. "I know the place well, but there is a much better spot not a quarter of a mile higher up, where a Chinaman, named Ah-wow, lives; it will be more suitable, you'll find, when I shew it you."

"We'll go and have a look at it after dinner," observed Ned; "meanwhile, here are our comrades, let us hear what they have to say about the proposal."

As he spoke, Collins, Jones, Larry, and the captain advanced in single file, and with disconsolate looks, that told of hard toil and little reward.

"Well, what have you got, comrades?"

"Nothin'," answered Bill Jones, drawing forth his comforter. Bill's comforter was black and short, and had a bowl, and was at all times redolent of tobacco.

"Niver a speck," cried Larry O'Neil, setting to with energy to assist in preparing dinner.

"Well, friends, I've a plan to propose to you, so let us take the edge off our appetites, and I'll explain."

Ned sat down tailor-fashion on the ground with his companions round him, and, while they devoted themselves ravenously and silently to tea, flour-cake, salt-pork, and beans, he explained to them the details of his plan, which explanation, (if it was not the dinner), had the effect of raising their spirits greatly. Instead, therefore, of repairing to their profitless claims after dinner, they went in a body up the stream to visit the Chinaman's diggings. Captain Bunting alone remained behind, as his claim was turning out a first-rate one.

"Sure, there's a human!" cried Larry, as they turned a projecting point, about an hour and a half later, and came in sight of Ah-wow's "lo-cation," as the Yankees termed it.

"It may be a human," remarked Ned, laughing, "but it's the most inhuman one I ever saw. I think yonder fellow must be performing a surgical operation on the Chinaman's head."

Ah-wow was seated on a stone in front of his own log-hut, with his arms resting on his knees, and an expression of supreme felicity on his yellow face, while a countryman, in what appeared a night-gown, and an immense straw hat, dressed his tail for him.

Lest uninformed readers should suppose that Ah-wow belonged to the monkey-tribe, we may mention that the Chinaman's head was shaved quite bald all round, with the exception of a tail of hair, about two feet long, and upwards of an inch thick, which jutted from the top of his caput, and hung down his back. This tail he was in the act of getting dressed when our party of miners broke in upon the privacy of his dressing-room.

Ah-wow had a nose which was very flat and remarkably broad, with the nostrils pointing straight to the front. He also had a mouth which was extremely large, frightfully thick-lipped, and quite the reverse of pretty. He had two eyes, also, not placed, like the eyes of ordinary men, across his face, on either side of his nose, but set in an angular manner on his visage, so that the outer corners pointed a good deal upwards, and the inner corners pointed a good deal downwards— towards the point of his nose, or, rather, towards that vacant space in front of his nostrils which would have been the point of his nose if that member had had a point at all. Ah-wow also had cheek bones which were uncommonly high, and a forehead which was preposterously low, and a body which was rather squat, and a tout ensemble which was desperately ugly. Like his hairdresser, he wore a coat somewhat resembling a night-shirt, with a belt round it, and his feet were thrust into yellow slippers. These last, when he went to dig for gold, he exchanged for heavy boots.

When Ned and his friends walked up and stood in a grinning row before him, Ah-wow opened his little eyes to the uttermost, (which wasn't much), and said, "How!"

If he had affixed "d'ye do" to it, the sentence would have been complete and intelligible. His companion attempted to vary the style of address by exclaiming, "Ho!"

"Can you speak English?" inquired Ned, advancing.

A shake of the head, and a consequent waggle of the tail was the reply.

"Or French?"

(Shake and waggle.)

"Maybe ye can do Irish?" suggested Larry.

The shake and waggle were more vigorous than before but Ah-wow rose, and, drawing on his boots, made signs to his visitors to follow him, which they did, through the bushes, round the base of a steep precipice. A short walk brought them to an open space quite close to the banks of the stream, which at that place was broken by sundry miniature waterfalls and cascades, whose puny turmoil fell like woodland music on the ear. Here was another log-hut of minute dimensions and ruinous aspect, in front of which sat another Chinaman, eating his dinner. Him Ah-wow addressed as Ko-sing. After a brief conversation, Ko-sing turned to the strangers, and said—

"Ho! Kin speek English, me can. What you want?"

"We want to look at your diggings," answered Ned.

"We are going to turn the river here, if we can; and if you and your companions choose to join us, we will give you good wages."

"Kin speek, but not fery well kin on'erstan'. Work, work you say, an' pay we?"

"Yes, that's it; you work for us, and we'll pay you."

"How moche?" inquired the cautious Celestial.

"Five dollars a day," replied Ned.

The Chinaman put on a broad grin, and offered to shake hands, which offer was accepted, not only by Ned, but by the whole party; and the contract was thus settled on the spot, to the satisfaction of all parties.

After this they spent some time in examining the bed of the stream, and having fixed upon a spot on which to commence operations, they prepared, about sunset, to return for their tent and mining tools, intending to make a moonlight flitting in order to avoid being questioned by over-curious neighbours. All their horses and mules, except Ned's charger, having been sold a few days before to a Yankee who was returning to Sacramento, they expected to get off without much noise, with their goods and chattels on their backs.

Before starting on their return, while the rest of the party were crowding round and questioning Ko-sing, Bill Jones—whose mind since he arrived in California seemed to be capable of only one sensation, that of surprise—went up to Ah-wow, and glancing round, in order to make sure that he was not observed, laid his hand on his shoulder, and looked inquiringly into the Chinaman's face. The Chinaman returned the compliment with interest, throwing into his sallow countenance an expression of, if possible, blanker astonishment.

"O-wow!" said Bill, with solemn gravity, and pausing, as if to give him time to prepare for what was coming. "O-wow! wot do you dress your pig-tail with?"

"Ho!" replied the Chinaman.

"Ho!" echoed Bill; "now, that's curious. I thought as how you did it with grease, for it looks like it. Tell me now, how long did it take afore it growed that long?" He lifted the end of the tail as he spoke.

"How!" ejaculated the Chinaman.

"Ay, how long?" repeated Bill.

We regret that we cannot give Ah-wow's answer to this question, seeing that it was never given, in consequence of Bill being suddenly called away by Ned Sinton, as he and his friends turned to go.

"Come, Bill, let's be off."

"Ay, ay, sir," answered Bill, turning from the Chinaman and following his comrades with solemn stolidity, or, if you prefer the expression, with stolid solemnity.

"Don't linger, Larry," shouted Tom Collins.

"Ah! thin, it's cruel to tear me away. Good-night to ye, Bow-wow, we'll be back before mornin', ye purty creature." With this affectionate farewell, Larry ran after his friends and followed them down the banks of the tumbling stream towards the 'R'yal Bank o' Calyforny,' which was destined that night, for a time at least, to close its doors.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE NEW DIGGINGS—BRIGHT PROSPECTS—GREAT RESULTS SPRING FROM GREAT EXERTIONS, EVEN IN CALIFORNIA—CAPTAIN BUNTING IS SEIZED WITH A GREAT PASSION FOR SOLITARY RAMBLING, AND HAS TWO DESPERATE ENCOUNTERS; ONE WITH A MAN, THE OTHER WITH A REAR.

The part of the Little Creek diggings to which the gold-hunters transported their camp, was a wild, secluded spot, not much visited by the miners, partly on account of its gloomy appearance, and partly in consequence of a belief that the Celestials located there were getting little or no gold. In this supposition they were correct. Ah-wow and Ko-sing being inveterately lazy, contented themselves with digging just enough gold to enable them to purchase a sufficiency of the necessaries of life. But the region was extremely rich, as our adventurers found out very soon after their arrival. One of the ravines, in particular, gave indications of being full of gold, and several panfuls of earth that were washed out shewed so promising a return, that the captain and Larry were anxious to begin at once. They were overruled, however, by the others, who wished to make trial of the bed of the stream.

Six days of severe labour were undergone by the whole party ere their task was accomplished, during which period they did not make an ounce of gold, while, at the same time, their little store was rapidly melting away. Nevertheless, they worked heartily, knowing that a few days of successful digging would amply replenish their coffers. At grey dawn they set to work; some, with trousers tucked up, paddling about in the water all day, carrying mud and stones, while others felled trees and cut them into logs wherewith to form the dam required to turn the stream from its course. This was a matter of no small difficulty. A new bed had to be cut to the extent of eight or ten yards, but for a long time the free and jovial little mountain stream scorned to make such a pitiful twist in its course, preferring to burst its way headlong through the almost completed barricade, by which it was pent-up.

Twice did it accomplish this feat, and twice, in so doing, did it sweep Captain Bunting off his legs and roll him along bodily, in a turmoil of mud and stones and dirty water, roaring, as it gushed forth, as if in savage triumph. On the second occasion, Bill Jones shared the captain's ducking, and all who chanced to be working about the dam at the time were completely drenched. But, however much their bodies might be moistened, no untoward accident could damp the ardour of their spirits. They resumed work again; repaired the breach, and, finally, turned the obstinate stream out of the course which, probably, it had occupied since creation. It rushed hissing, as if spitefully, along its new bed for a few yards, and then darted, at a right angle, back into its former channel, along which it leaped exultingly as before.

But the object for which all this trouble had been undertaken was attained. About eight yards of the old bed of the torrent were laid bare, and the water was drained away, whereat each of the party exhibited his satisfaction after his own peculiar manner—Larry O'Neil, as usual, giving vent to his joy in a hearty cheer.

The result was even more successful than had been anticipated. During the next few days the party conversed little; their whole energies being devoted to eating, sleeping, and digging. The bed of the stream was filled with stones, among which they picked up numerous nuggets of various sizes—from a pea to a walnut—some being almost pure gold, while others were, more or less, mixed with quartz. A large quantity of the heavy black sand was also found at the bottom of a hole, which once had been an eddy—it literally sparkled with gold-dust, and afforded a rich return for the labour previously expended in order to bring it to light. The produce of the first two days' work was no less than fourteen pounds weight of gold!

The third day was the Sabbath, and they rested from their work. It is, however, impossible for those who have never been in similar circumstances to conceive how difficult it was for our party of gold-hunters to refrain from resuming work as usual on that morning. Some of them had never been trained to love or keep the Sabbath, and would have certainly gone to work had not Ned and the captain remonstrated. All were under great excitement in consequence of their valuable discovery, and anxious to know whether the run of luck was likely to continue, and not one of the party escaped the strong temptation to break the Sabbath-day, except, indeed, the Chinamen, who were too easy-going and lazy to care whether they worked or rested. But the inestimable advantage of good early training told at this time on Ned Sinton. It is questionable whether his principles were strong enough to have carried him through the temptation, but Ned had been trained to reverence the Lord's-day from his earliest years, and he looked upon working on the Sabbath with a feeling of dread which he could not have easily shaken off, even had he tried. The promise, in his case, was fulfilled—"Train up a child in the way he should go, and he will not depart from it when he is old;" and though no mother's voice of warning was heard in that wild region of the earth, and no guardian's hand was there to beckon back the straggler from the paths of rectitude, yet he was not "let alone;" the arm of the Lord was around him, and His voice whispered, in tones that could not be misunderstood, "Remember the Sabbath-day, to keep it holy."

We have already said, that the Sabbath at the mines was a day of rest as far as mere digging went, but this was simply for the sake of resting the wearied frame, not from a desire to glorify God. Had any of the reckless miners who filled the gambling-houses been anxious to work during Sunday on a prolific claim, he would not have hesitated because of God's command.

The repose to their overworked muscles, and the feeling that they had been preserved from committing a great sin, enabled the party to commence work on Monday with a degree of cheerfulness and vigour that told favourably on their profits that night, and in the course of a few days they dug out gold to the extent of nearly two thousand pounds sterling.

"We're goin' to get rich, no doubt of it," said the captain one morning to Ned, as the latter was preparing to resume work in the creek; "but I'll tell you what it is, I'm tired o' salt beef and pork, and my old hull is gettin' rheumatic with paddling about barefoot in the water, so I mean to go off for a day's shootin' in the mountains."

"Very good, captain," replied Ned; "but I fear you'll have to go by yourself, for we must work out this claim as fast as we can, seeing that the miners further down won't be long of scenting out our discovery."

Ned's words were prophetic. In less than half-an-hour after they were uttered a long-visaged Yankee, in a straw hat, nankeen trousers, and fisherman's boots, came to the spot where they were at work, and seated himself on the trunk of a tree hard by to watch their proceedings.

"Guess you've got som'thin'," he said, as Larry, after groping in the mud for a little, picked up a lump of white quartz with a piece of gold the size of a marble embedded in the side of it.

"Ah! but ye're good for sore eyes," cried Larry, examining the nugget carefully.

"I say, stranger," inquired the Yankee, "d'ye git many bits like that in this location?"

The Irishman regarded his question with an expressive leer. "Arrah! now, ye won't tell?" he said, in a hoarse whisper; "sure it'll be the death o' me av ye do. There's no end o' them things here—as many as ye like to pick; it's only the day before to-morrow that I turned up a nugget of pure goold the size of me head; and the capting got hold o' wan that's only half dug out yet, an' wot's seen o' 't is as big as the head o' a five-gallon cask—all pure goold."

The Yankee was not to be put off the scent by such a facetious piece of information. He continued to smoke in silence, sauntered about with his hands in his nankeen pockets, watched the proceedings of the party, inspected the dirt cast ashore, and, finally, dug out and washed a panful of earth from the banks of the stream, after which he threw away the stump of his cigar, and went off whistling. Three hours later he returned with a party of friends, laden with tents, provisions, and mining tools, and they all took up their residence within twenty yards of our adventurers, and commenced to turn the course of the river just below them.

Larry and Jones were at first so angry that they seriously meditated committing an assault upon the intruders, despite the remonstrances of Tom Collins and Maxton, who assured them that the new-comers had a perfect right to the ground they occupied, and that any attempt to interrupt them by violence would certainly be brought under the notice of Judge Lynch, whose favourite punishments, they well knew, were whipping and hanging.

Meanwhile Captain Bunting had proceeded a considerable way on his solitary hunting expedition into the mountains, bent upon replenishing the larder with fresh provisions. He was armed with his favourite blunderbuss, a pocket-compass, and a couple of ship-biscuits. As he advanced towards the head of the valley, the scenery became more and more gloomy and rugged, but the captain liked this. Having spent the greater part of his life at sea, he experienced new and delightful sensations in viewing the mountain-peaks and ravines, by which he was now surrounded; and, although of a sociable turn of mind, he had no objection for once to be left to ramble alone, and give full vent to the feelings of romance and enthusiastic admiration, with which his nautical bosom had been filled since landing in California.

Towards noon, the captain reached the entrance to a ravine, or gorge, which opened upon the larger valley, into which it discharged a little stream from its dark bosom. There was an air of deep solitude and rugged majesty about this ravine that induced the wanderer to pause before entering it. Just then, certain sensations reminded him of the two biscuits in his pocket, so he sat down on a rock and prepared to dine. We say prepared to dine, advisedly, for Captain Bunting had a pretty correct notion of what comfort meant, and how it was to be attained. He had come out for the day to enjoy himself and although his meal was frugal, he did not, on that account, eat it in an off-hand easy way, while sauntering along, as many would have done. By no means. He brushed the surface of the rock on which he sat quite clean, and, laying the two biscuits on it, looked first at one and then at the other complacently, while he slowly, and with great care, cut his tobacco into delicate shreds, and filled his pipe. Then he rose, and taking the tin prospecting-pan from his belt, went and filled it at the clear rivulet which murmured at his feet, and placed it beside the biscuits on the rock. This done, he completed the filling of his pipe, and cast a look of benignity at the sun, which at that moment happened in his course to pass an opening between two lofty peaks, which permitted him to throw a cloth of gold over the captain's table.

Captain Bunting's mind now became imbued with those aspirations after knowledge, which would have induced him, had he been at sea, to inquire, "How's her head?" so he pulled out his pocket-compass, and having ascertained that his nose, when turned towards the sun, pointed exactly "south-south-west, and by south," he began dinner. Thereafter he lit his pipe, and, reclining on the green turf beside the rock, with his head resting on his left hand, and wreaths of smoke encircling his visage, he—he enjoyed himself. To elaborate a description, reader, often weakens it—we cannot say more than that he enjoyed himself— emphatically.

Had Captain Bunting known who was looking at him in that solitary place, he would not have enjoyed himself quite so much, nor would he have smoked his pipe so comfortably.

On the summit of the precipice at his back stood, or rather sat, one of the natives of the country, in the shape of a grizzly-bear. Bruin had observed the captain from the time he appeared at the entrance of the ravine, and had watched him with a curious expression of stupid interest during all his subsequent movements. He did not attempt to interrupt him in his meal, however, on two grounds—first, because the nature of the grizzly-bear, if not molested, induces him to let others alone; and secondly, because the precipice, on the top of which he sat, although conveniently close for the purposes of observation, was too high for a safe jump.

Thus it happened that Captain Bunting finished his meal in peace, and went on his way up the wild ravine, without being aware of the presence of so dangerous a spectator. He had not proceeded far, when his attention was arrested by the figure of a man seated on a ledge of rock that over hung a yawning gulf into which the little stream plunged.

So still did the figure remain, with the head drooping on the chest, as if in deep contemplation, that it might have been mistaken for a statue, cut out of the rock on which it sat. A deep shadow was cast over it by the neighbouring mountain-peaks, yet, as the white sheet of a waterfall formed the background, it was distinctly visible.

The captain advanced towards it with some curiosity, and it was not until he was within a hundred yards that a movement at length proved it to be a living human being.

The stranger rose hastily, and advanced to meet a woman, who at the same moment issued from an opening in the brushwood near him. The meeting was evidently disagreeable to the woman, although, from the manner of it, and the place, it did not seem to be accidental; she pushed the man away several times, but their words were inaudible to the captain, who began to feel all the discomfort of being an unintentional observer. Uncertainty as to what he should do induced him to remain for a few moments inactive, and he had half made up his mind to endeavour to retreat unobserved, when the man suddenly struck down the female, who fell with a faint cry to the earth.

In another minute the captain was at the side of the dastardly fellow, whom he seized by the neck with the left hand, while with the right he administered a hearty blow to his ribs. The man turned round fiercely, and grappled with his assailant; and then Captain Bunting became aware that his antagonist was no other than Smith, alias Black Jim, the murderer.

Smith, although a strong man, was no match for the captain, who soon overpowered him.

"Ha! you villain, have I got you?" cried he, as he almost throttled the man. "Get up now, an' come along peaceably. If you don't, I'll knock your brains out with the butt of my gun."

He permitted Black Jim to rise as he spoke, but held him fast by the collar, having previously taken from him his knife and rifle.

Black Jim did not open his lips, but the scowl on his visage shewed that feelings of deadly hatred burned in his bosom.

Meanwhile, the girl had recovered, and now approached.

"Ah! plase, sir," she said, "let him off. Shure I don't mind the blow; it's done me no harm—won't ye, now?"

"Let him off!" exclaimed the captain, violently; "no, my good girl; if he has not murdered you, he has at any rate murdered one human being that I know of, and if I can, I'll bring him to justice."

Kate, (for it was she), started at this reply, and looked earnestly at the man, who hung his head, and, for the first time, shewed symptoms of a softer feeling.

"Ah! it's true, I see, an' all hope is gone. If he'd commit a murder, he'd tell a lie too. I thought he spoke truth when he said Nelly was alive, but—"

The girl turned as she spoke, and left the spot hurriedly, while the captain took out his pocket-handkerchief, and began to fasten the arms of his prisoner behind him. But Black Jim was not to be secured without a struggle. Despair lent him energy and power. Darting forward, he endeavoured to throw his captor down, and partially succeeded; but Captain Bunting's spirit was fully roused, and, like most powerful men whose dispositions are habitually mild and peaceful, he was in a blaze of uncontrollable passion. For some time Black Jim writhed like a serpent in the strong grasp of his antagonist, and once or twice it seemed as if he would succeed in freeing himself, but the captain's hands had been trained for years to grasp and hold on with vice-like tenacity, and no efforts could disengage them. The two men swayed to and fro in their efforts, no sound escaping them, save an occasional gasp for breath as they put forth renewed energy in the deadly struggle. At last Black Jim began to give way. He was forced down on one knee, then he fell heavily on his side, and the captain placed his knee on his chest.

Just then a peculiar hiss was heard behind them, and the captain, looking back, observed that a third party had come upon the scene. The grizzly-bear, which has been described as watching Captain Bunting at dinner, had left its former position on the brow of the precipice, and, whether from motives of curiosity, or by accident, we will not presume to say, had followed the captain's track. It now stood regarding the two men with an uncommonly ferocious aspect. Its indignation may, perhaps, be accounted for by the fact that they stood in the only path by which it could advance—a precipice on one side and a thicket on the other rendering the passage difficult or impossible. Grizzlies are noted for their objection to turn out of their way for man or beast, so the combatants no sooner beheld the ferocious-looking animal than they sprang up, seized their weapons, and fired together at their common enemy. Bruin shook his head, uttered a savage growl, and charged. It seemed as if Black Jim had missed altogether—not to be wondered at considering the circumstances—and the mixture of shot and slugs from the blunderbuss was little more hurtful than a shower of hail to the thick-skinned monarch of these western hills. Be this as it may, the two men were compelled to turn and flee for their lives. Black Jim, being the nimbler of the two, was soon out of sight among the rocks of the precipices, and, we may remark in passing, he did not again make his appearance. Inwardly thanking the bear for its timely appearance, he ran at top speed into the mountains, and hid himself among those wild lonely recesses that are visited but rarely by man or beast.

Captain Bunting endeavoured to save himself by darting up the face of the precipice on his left, but the foot-hold was bad, and the bear proved about as nimble as himself, compelling him to leap down again and make for the nearest tree. In doing so, he tripped over a fallen branch, and fell with stunning violence to the ground. He rose, however, instantly, and grasping the lower limb of a small oak, drew himself with some difficulty up among the branches.

The bear came thundering on, and reached the tree a few seconds later. It made several abortive efforts to ascend, and then, sitting down at the foot, it looked up, grinning and growling horribly in disappointed rage.

The captain had dropped the blunderbuss in his fall, and now, with deep regret, and not a little anxiety, found himself unarmed and a prisoner. True, his long knife was still in its place, but he was too well aware of the strength and ferocity of the grizzly-bear—from hearsay, and now from ocular demonstration—to entertain the idea of acting on the offensive with such a weapon.

The sun sank behind the mountain-peaks, and the shades of night began to fall upon the landscape, and still did Captain Bunting and the bear sit—the one at the top, and the other at the foot of the oak-tree— looking at each other. As darkness came on, the form of the bear became indistinct and shadowy; and the captain's eyes waxed heavy, from constant staring and fatigue, so that at length bruin seemed, to the alarmed fancy of the tree'd mariner, to be twice the size of an elephant. At last the darkness became so deep that its form mingled with the shadows on the ground, and for some time the uncertainty as to its actual presence kept the prisoner wakeful; but soon his eyes began to close, despite his utmost efforts to keep them open; and for two hours he endured an agonising struggle with sleep, compared to which his previous struggle with Black Jim was mere child's-play. He tried every possible position among the branches, in the hope of finding one in which he might indulge in sleep without the risk of falling, but no such position was to be found; the limbs of the tree were too small and too far apart.