By the bye, I may mention that the white animal previously mentioned, subsequently was known as one of the fleetest race-horses in all Idaho.
On our way back to Boice City, the party who had come to our rescue related to us the adventures and sufferings of the two brave fellows who had succeeded in carrying them intelligence of our position.
After quitting the knoll upon which we were besieged they had commenced their stealthy advance through the Indian lines, crawling flatly upon the earth, like a serpent. Each of them had taken a different direction. Frequently they passed close to a slumbering Indian. But for the grave necessity which imposed every precaution upon him to avoid detection, Gardner said more than once, he was tempted to knife some of the red devils, who had reduced him and the rest of us to so sore a strait. However, feeling that if he did so the struggle he might possibly cause would rouse the camp, he had wisely enough refrained from doing so.
After they had passed their enemies and were some mile or more beyond them, each rose to his feet.
Jasper had followed a small creek for some distance, and then struck across the rock and shale of the mountains until he reached Boice City. His body was scratched and cut by the brush he had stricken against in the commencement of the route, while the flesh had been actually torn from his feet by the jagged shale hehad passed over. When he arrived in the city, those who first saw him fancied he had just made his escape from the Indians, who had been amusing themselves by torturing him. Gardner had struck in a more northerly direction for Idaho City. His way had been nearly as bad, and he was almost dead when he arrived there. It should be mentioned that the former of these two unrecorded heroes died within a short time, after reaching Boice City. He had, voluntarily, as Gardner had also done, exposed himself to the almost sure risk of death, on behalf of his companions. Peace be with the gallant fellow, in that long sleep, for which we shed tears of blood!
No sooner had his information been given than Jake Jordan leapt upon his horse, and stopping at every house, called for volunteers. Every horse was placed in requisition. They were even taken from the teams that were standing in the main street, and mounted by those who were eager to join the expedition, whether their owners or not.
A well-equipped party soon after came in from Idaho City, and joined them.
When everything was in readiness, and not a moment had been lost by them, they placed themselves under the command of Jordan, and took the road. Nor did they slacken rein, even for an instant, until they had so bravely opened the doors of the trap into which we had unfortunately fallen. It was one of the most rapid and dashing rescues I ever remember in the West, and does infinite credit to him who carried it through, in every particular, with such complete success.
The Respectable Pile and an Idle Winter—Only One Street—Gambling and Drinking—A Western Communist—"Keerds"—A Sticky Wrist—Eight Hundred Per Cent—North or South—A Blow for the Old Flag—Neck or Nothing—A Compulsory Cold Bath—Not very much Damaged—Unable to get Compensation.
The Respectable Pile and an Idle Winter—Only One Street—Gambling and Drinking—A Western Communist—"Keerds"—A Sticky Wrist—Eight Hundred Per Cent—North or South—A Blow for the Old Flag—Neck or Nothing—A Compulsory Cold Bath—Not very much Damaged—Unable to get Compensation.
After a somewhat brief rest, Harry Arnold, with Bill and myself, determined upon returning to Honey Lake Valley. Nothing worthy of notice occurred until we reached Susanville, except that we travelled by night, and lay in camp during the day, to avoid the chance of discovery by any scouting party of Indians.
It was now late in the year, and as, after hearing the danger I had run, my wife was unwilling that I should so soon leave her again, we determined, with the balance of the Rangers whom we had left on the Humboldt, to pass this winter in comparative rest. That is to say, we would hunt deer for the market in Virginia City, and set a few traps.
The probability is that we arrived at this conclusion, from the fact that we had all of us more or less made money during the past year. Those of us who had been mining nearer home had done sufficiently well; while, in addition to what the three of us had been paid as guides by Colonel Connor, we had gathered a very reasonable pile of gold-dust while in the neighborhood of Idaho. Consequently, we were all of us disposed to enjoy theproceeds of our toil, and do as little hard work as possible.
My first business was, of course, to see to the comfort of the little woman whom I had been again absent from, for so many months.
Indeed, there was some surprise on the part of my friends to find me now and then declining, not only to join their hunting expeditions, but in addition sometimes refusing to form one in their raids upon the Faro and Monte banks which were run in various saloons, one of the most notorious being that in Burkett's Saloon, kept going by Heap and Hale, the John Chamberlains of Susanville. It will, probably, not astonish my readers to hear that these raids were by no means altogether flattering in their results to the skill and good fortune of the Rangers.
There is one anecdote which will not prove unamusing. It is, indeed, so characteristic of the inner life of the place, as well as of the general inner life of the mining districts, that I cannot refrain from recounting it.
Up to the present time, I have neglected to describe Susanville. It was by no means a large city, according to the Eastern notion of what a city should be. Nor, possibly, did it enjoy an over and above large share of civilized respectability.
A single street contained the whole of its actual business population. And of what was this whole visible street composed? Almost entirely of frame buildings for the retail of ardent spirits; in other words, of drinking-saloons. "Good Old Bourbon," "The Best Cognac," "Capital Rye," and other inviting appellations, of the same class, were the only evident appeals to those who chanced to pass through it, for their custom.Occasionally, indeed, you might find a liquor-store which in a measure protected a different class of business. In the front of one, you might find piles of ready-made clothing. Within another were all the appliances for three-card Monte or Faro. Here, were cigars and tobacco. This one, also, did duty as a corner-grocery.
These places were generally left to their own care, from the hour at which they were closed until the following morning.
The honesty of frontier-life protected them from being broken into.
At this time there was living in Susanville an aged settler named Pascal Taylor, but more commonly known as "Old Zac." He was an independent sort of Communist. Did he need chicken for a pot-pie, he would appropriate the fowls of his fellow-settlers without the slightest scruple. If he needed a new pair of pantaloons, it was equally indifferent to him whether he made a requisition upon the piles of clothes in front of the store of a dealer of such articles, or upon the dwellings of his nearest neighbors. However, let me do him justice. When detected, he would invariably repay the injured party in kind, by appropriating another article of the same sort and bringing it to him.
In fact, he might be termed a continual debtor to life, paying, from time to time, by incurring another debt. Whether at the close of his career his account with life might be balanced, must, nevertheless, remain a matter of considerable doubt.
Tom Long was the owner of one of the drinking-saloons, I have mentioned, as composing the line of street or road which was named Susanville. His residence was on the hill rising from one side of the line ofliquor-shanties in which its regular inhabitants made money. One night, old "Zac" was standing beside the spot where Tom was dispensing liquor. He was a favorite of Tom's. For what reason he was so, it would be impossible to say. But Tom employed him to do up odd "chores" for him, and occasionally assisted him in a way which in the East might have been stigmatized as "red-hot" charity. In Susanville, it was not considered so. Old "Zac" was a privileged person. Well, the truth is, Tom was tired with the employment of the day. He wanted to quit business and retire to his home. Turning to "Zac," he pushed out the bottle and a tumbler.
"Take a drink, Zac?"
"You bet—" responded the recipient of Tom's bounty. "I say," he continued, lifting the Old Rye to his lips, "here's long life to you."
"I want to go home."
"Why in thunder don't yu go, then?"
"Zac, I think I will, if you'll 'tend business for me."
"You bet!"
"Thank you, Zac! Here's the key of the door. Mind you lock it in about half an hour, and open it again, to-morrow morning." As Tom concluded, he took a fair dose of Rye himself, to render his skin impervious to the night air. In this he was imitated by old Zac. Then putting on his coat, and taking his hat, he quitted the saloon with a cheery "Good-night, old boy!"
Now, "Zac" had no intention of remaining long after his friend and patron had gone. He had rinsed out the two glasses he and Tom had just emptied, and was on his way to the door, when four of us stepped in.
"Eh, Zac! whar's Tom?"
"Gon to hum."
"Wall, you'll du!" exclaimed Butch'. "Jest, shet the doors."
"Hi'll see to hit better than 'e will, by ha blamed sight!" said Brighton Bill.
At the moment he said this, he was striding to the back-door of the saloon, which he very coolly locked and put the huge key in one of his pockets. No sooner was this done, than, returning to the front entrance, he performed the same operation.
Butch' had meanwhile seated himself at a square deal table in one of the corners of the room.
"Whar are the keerds?"
"Here—you bet!"
Ben Painter produced the pack, and was speedily, with myself and Bill, seated at the other three sides of the table. Our gold was produced, and laid beside us. At that time, as now, paper money was an unknown quantity in California. Then we began to play.
During the whole afternoon, we had been drinking. Necessarily, after playing for some fifteen minutes, we felt somewhat dry. Butch' possibly felt drier than any of us. At any rate, he was the one who cried out:
"Bring up the licker, Zac!"
The old fellow brought us the Rye and four glasses on a tray. We drank. But when he had again removed the glasses and held out his hand for the four "bits," or twenty-five-cent pieces, habit required, his unprincipled customer produced a revolver which he very deliberately cocked and laid down upon the table beside him.
"D'yu see that?"
"You bet—Mr. Hasbrouck."
"Wall, then! don't stick out yure paws for money but bring along the licker when we ask for it."
Old "Zac's" lower jaw dropped as he looked in the face of him who spoke. There was a general shout or rather scream of laughter from the three other card-players. The face of Butch' was, however, as inflexible as if it had been hewn from granite.
"What du yu mean?" was the question at length propounded.
"Exsag'ly what I say. Jest mind your business, and we'll mind ourn."
After this, we continued playing.
California had, before this time, a monopoly of such rough and possibly dishonest jests. The very men who would have scorned implicating themselves in any business swindle, saw no harm, in occasionally, when under the influence of liquor, perpetrating a joke of this description. When younger, Taylor himself may have been an accomplice in some of the same sort. He walked back to the bar, with a countenance as grave as that of a man who is going to the gallows.
Speedily another round of drinks was ordered. This was followed by another and another.
Occasionally I glanced at him, and saw the hard lines of his countenance growing longer and longer. At last, about one o'clock, when we had been playing for some three hours and the log on the hearth had burnt down to scarcely more than a white mass of wood, which would have blistered any hand that touched it even while it threw out no heat, we felt the place growing cold. Old "Zac's" face lost its melancholy at the moment when Ben Painter sang out, with a lusty shiver:
"Put another log on the fire, Zac!"
"Whar am I to git one?"
"What d'yer mean?"
"You bet, Mr. Painter! I hain't got the key. How in thunder am I to go fur wood?"
The old fellow was quite right. How in thunder could he go to the wood-pile, while the door was locked? It was dangerous to let him have the key. He might run to Tom Long's, and inform him of our use of the contents of his cellar, without cashing up. Tom Long was by no means such a pacifically disposed individual as his temporary substitute. A similar thought to this evidently suggested itself to the mind of Brighton Bill. Rising from his seat, he said:
"Hi'll go with 'im, and may H'i be blamed hif the hold rip bolts."
Some time elapsed before the fresh log made its appearance, and the door which Bill had opened was once more locked. The log was placed upon the embers by old "Zac," and, in a brief time, the cheerful blaze from it was again warming the chilly temperature of the saloon.
We recommenced playing. Presently more drinks were called for.
As before, the old fellow brought them. This time, however, he had not placed the glasses upon a tray. He brought them two in each hand. Leaning across the table he placed the first two between Butch' and me. The other two were planted between Painter and Brighton Bill. As I chanced to look at him, shortly after, I saw the roughly rigid lines of his mouth actually curving into a smile. When another round of drinks were demanded, they were brought in the same fashion,but placed between Brighton Bill and Butch', and between Painter and myself.
Shortly after this, it struck me that my pile of eagles had lessened more than it should have done.
I and Bill had, however, been losing. The probability was that I had not noticed how rapidly my money was going. Nevertheless, when drinks were again called for I saw old "Zac's" wrists on Butch's money and Painter's, as the two glasses were set down, between them and the remaining two players. When Long's substitute left the table, it was clear fewer gold pieces laid between them and us than had been heaped there before. I was on the trail and followed it with my eyes. When I had detected, however, the means of which the shrewd old vagabond had availed himself to get even with us, I was too much amused to turn State's evidence, even in the row which ultimately arose between Brighton Bill and Butch', from the former accusing the latter of concealing his winnings. Bill had lost about as much as I had. He was, nevertheless, unaware that his crony, for such next to myself Butch' Hasbrouck was, had lost equally in amount, although more in proportion, than he had himself.
The astute "Zac" Taylor had managed to prolong his apparently enforced embassy to the wood-pile, until he had been able to cover the lower sides of his wrists with pitch.
This shrewd dodge had enabled him to pay Tom Long or himself, seven or eight times more than the amount due the former for the liquor we had been consuming. Every time he stretched across the table to place two glasses upon it, or repeated the action by my side, his wrists would rest upon two of our piles of gold pieces.Each time, one or two half-eagles were secured by the pitch with which the old scamp had anointed the side of his wrists necessary for this shrewd trick. The consequence was, that, for the only time in my life when such an unusual chance occurred, the whole of the four players were almost dead-broke.
Each time one or two half-eagles were secured
"Each time one or two half-eagles were secured by the pitch with which the old scamp had anointed the sides of his wrists necessary for this shrewd trick."—Page 248.
But for the quantity of rye we had all of us been swallowing, the others must have seen through this impudent operation as I had done.
If so, it may be a matter of question whether "Zac's" undeniable popularity would have saved him from an entire coating of the pitch he had so acutely employed. Relishing the trick, I, however, held my peace. Possibly, had it occurred when flush times had passed, or before they had begun with me, I might have acted differently.
Early in the next spring, as our funds had almost touched low-water-mark, the boys held a council of war, and it was decided upon, without a single dissenting voice, that we should once more try our luck upon the Humboldt River.
Accordingly we started to the mines, there. For the first time we met in this locality with indifferent success, or rather with no success at all. We, therefore, decided upon prospecting at a further distance, and repaired to Austin. Here we found the mines less promising even than those we had just left, and pushed on to Belmont in the hope of doing better. A similar want of fortune pursued us to this place.
One evening as we were sitting in camp, in no very agreeable mood, as respected the world and things in general, a bright idea struck one of us.
"Look here, boys!" he said. "Haven't you ever thought of fighting ag'in Secesh?"
"May Hi be blamed," exclaimed Brighton Bill, "hif you 'aven't 'it hit! What's the h'use of prospecting hand digging where we don't git nothing. Hi'm game for heither side. Let's go h'in, Cap!"
"I'm not exactly game for either side, Bill!" was my reply; "but for the old Stars and Stripes, I think I'd like to take a turn."
"So would I. It will be some variety, old fellow, in any case, 'though I'd as soon fight it out on either side," said Painter.
"So would I. Ye're right, Ben!" ejaculated Butch' Hasbrouck.
"We'll put it to the vote, which side we go in for, Mose," quietly said Arnold.
Not one of us declined fighting. It was merely a question as to which side the fight was to be entered upon. A brief discussion had the result of our taking Harry's advice. The old flag, however, carried the largest number of votes. We were to strike a blow for the Union.
After we had determined upon this, the next thing which presented itself to our consideration, was the line of travel it would be best for us to take. We had a fair stock of coffee, sugar and jerked meat. This would, however, be insufficient, if we intended to cross the continent. We should have, consequently, to direct our march through a section in which game would be tolerably plentiful. My suggestion was that we should pass through the Paranagut country and the southern part of Utah, until we struck the Colorado River. From that point our line of march would be clear enough.
"Have yer ever been through that part, Mose?" asked Butch'.
"No."
"Then yer've a darned good nose for game, I will say."
"And red-skins, too," said Arnold, "if we are to believe all we hear."
"Whar thar's game, ye're sure to find the skunks," exclaimed Painter sententiously.
And so, the first part of our route was settled without much difficulty.
Next morning we broke up camp, and after a few days of hard travelling, struck the south fork of the Colorado. Game had been scarcer than we had supposed. However, it was absolutely necessary that we should here replenish our stock of provisions. The jerked meat began to run low, and we had no more than a single day's rations of coffee on hand. A halt for a few days was therefore proposed, during which we might devote our time to hunting, and laying in sufficient meat for us to continue our route to the East.
On the second morning after we had camped, I started alone up the river.
After ascending it for some three or four miles, I crossed and broke from it towards the south. In a brief space of time, I spotted an antelope, and was creeping up to it, against the wind, when almost close to me, beneath a large rock which had hitherto concealed it, I caught sight of another. My rifle was in a moment at my shoulder, and with no more trouble than it takes in telling it, I rolled him over.
This had occurred in the afternoon, and as I should have to carry the animal back with me, I thought it might be as well to retrace my steps.
Tying its feet together, I accordingly slung the dead antelope upon my back and started on my return.
The side of the Colorado in which our camp had been pitched, swept down to its banks with a park-like slope, although its herbage and the trees with which it was broken up, were wilder and more luxuriant than such a qualifying epithet might lead the reader to suppose they were. On the side to which I had crossed, the stream was bounded by an almost perpendicular wall of cliff, about sixty or seventy feet in height. Calculating that I should readily find some spot at which to descend, I had taken my way almost in a beeline to the spot opposite our camping-ground. Scarcely had I covered more than a mile in this direction than, happening to turn my head to the left, I saw a number of red-skins rushing towards me.
So thoroughly unmolested had our party been by Indians, since we had left Belmont, that I had entirely forgotten Arnold's warning hint about their presence in this part of the country. Indeed, I had not even thought about them lately, so apparently secure from their presence did we seem to be.
Here, however, they were, and plenty of them. Dropping the antelope in order to save myself, I took to my heels.
On arriving at the top of the cliff, immediately opposite the camp, I found no place at which I could manage to reach the bottom. The side of the cliff appeared to be one unbroken wall of rock.
Dashing up the river along the summit, at a little distance above I found a small notch in its face, haply, worn by some one of the numerous rivulets which seam the hills and mountains in winter. This afforded a means of partially sliding down or dropping to the level of the stream. The boys, on the opposite side of theColorado, discerned me just as I had discovered this. They also saw the Indians, who were gradually closing upon me, and a volley of balls rattled amongst them.
At the same time, I had dropped upon my knee behind a rock, and given one of them a very conclusive hint, that, on his part, at least, any further pursuit of me must be useless.
But my discharge had scarcely rung upon the ear, than two red-skins had seized me.
They had attempted to cut me off, and my unlucky wish to take a hand in the play of my friends, had given them the chance of succeeding. In the struggle my rifle was kicked over the brink of the precipice, and fell into the river. I had dashed one of the Indians from me, and had gripped the other by the throat, when they were joined by two more. Forcing me upon the ground, they speedily tied my hands together, and dragging me from behind the rock to the brow of the cliff, in plain sight of the boys, threw me over.
The next thing I remember was the voice of Brighton Bill.
"H'it's ha blamed good chance," he said to some one who was standing by him, "'e didn't smash 'is 'ead hon the rocks, or 'e'd this time be ha goner. H'i guess 'e'll go 'ome now, hand give hup wanting to fight for Huncle Sam."
"He'd do the old boy more good by ridding the country of them cussed red devils, than by any other way," was the reply of Butch'.
Bill had seen my body flying over the face of the precipice. He was an excellent swimmer, and, almost as I struck the water, had plunged in after me. When I heard what Hasbrouck said, I endeavored to speak,but for some moments could not manage to make a single word audible; while the boys, seeing the motion of my lips, were crowding round me, and uttering every class of kind comfort, and not unchristianly profane tenderness. When, at length, I was able to find utterance, it was to Hasbrouck I spoke.
"You are about right, Butch'. We'll first wipe out some of these cursed Apaches."
"How do you feel now, Mose?" asked Arnold, upon whose knee I found my head was resting.
"Not very much damaged," I replied, as I managed to sit up, "except by the loss of my rifle."
"Hif that's hall," said Bill joyously, "Hi'm blowed hif you're much 'urt. H'as for your gun, Painter can tell you h'if hit's much hout hof geer."
"It only got a good wetting," was Ben's answer. "It war wuss for the cartridges than 't war for the barrel."
Like a practical man, he had been employed in taking it to pieces, drying and cleaning it, after Bill had dived for it and brought it to land with him.
"Now, tell us, how you got into this darned scrape, old boy?"
In compliance with Arnold's request, I gave them a thorough narration, and as the moon had risen and it evidently promised to be a clear night, in another hour some half of the Rangers crossed the Colorado to look after the antelope, and if they could to pick off one or two of my assailants. However, they succeeded in finding neither antelope nor Apaches. The last had carried off not only all of their own scalps, but also the carcass of the game I had counted on for our supper.
We remained in this part of the country for some little time.
Nevertheless, we scared up no more red-skins. The Apaches, perhaps, had more respect for our rifles than the Bannocks lately had. Possibly, also, they were, at the time, not in force between Prescott and the Colorado. In any case, we saw nothing of them, and were unable to punish them for their disturbance of our hunting. In addition to this, we killed very little game, and at length crossed from Prescott down the Gila River to Fort Yuma. Thence, after remaining in its neighborhood for a few days, we returned and followed up the Colorado, through the Mojava and Navajos settlements, occupied by partially civilized red-skins, until, late in September, we once more found ourselves in the Honey Lake Valley.
Civilized Life in a Large and Young City—What a Redskin would think of it—A Chandelier and a Bonfire—The Old Friend—The Well-known Pipe—Too Old to Kill—Spitted—The White Mahala—Again in Co-operation with the Government—Three more Indian Murders—Our Indian Recruit—"Shoot Heap, but no Gun"—"A Convarted Red Devil."
Civilized Life in a Large and Young City—What a Redskin would think of it—A Chandelier and a Bonfire—The Old Friend—The Well-known Pipe—Too Old to Kill—Spitted—The White Mahala—Again in Co-operation with the Government—Three more Indian Murders—Our Indian Recruit—"Shoot Heap, but no Gun"—"A Convarted Red Devil."
The following winter was passed by me in San Francisco. It was for the first time since I had joined Captain Crim in crossing the Plains, that I had trodden the streets of a large city. All seemed to me so new, so busy, so thickly populated, that, for a few days, it appeared to me like the real Wilderness, while I looked back on the mountains, the forests, the cañons, and the desert I had left, as my actual world.
My feelings partially realized those of the savage, when for the first time he treads in the active marts of trade, and their equally laborious wealth or poverty.
Mingling with his wonder at the thronged and toiling stores, the superficial wealth everywhere apparent, the spars and masts of the huge shipping, the numerous spires, the sloping-eyed and high cheek-boned Chinese, the buzz of countless life surging around him, the clanging bells from the churches, haply the decorated volunteers stepping out to the voice of drum and trumpet, with the elegantly dressed women, the inanely simpering dandies, and blear-eyed spectacled old men, who have been working on and on without pause or cessationfor scores of years—there cannot but rise in him a feeling of contempt for all he sees before him.
He may not but contrast his own chainless and unfettered existence with that walled-in life whose passions are merely, so it would appear to him, things of routine; whose enjoyments seem to him meaningless shadows; whose loves and hates would count in his eye as nothing; and whose range, from the cradle to the grave, is to him narrower than the glad gallop of a single day on which he sights his game, or spots his enemy.
But what have I to do with such thoughts as these? My white friend cannot realize them—nor can my red enemy even read them. The first will consequently laugh at me for indulging in, while the last will never hear of my having entertained, any such reflections.
Moreover, after the first week of my sojourn in San Francisco, they gradually wore away. In my early life, which had been for so many years almost forgotten, I had been upon the stage, had dealt in pop-corn, and had proven my skill as a detective. If I could now find no occasion to employ one of the last-named class, I could in any case purchase and eat the second when it came in my way, and gaze upon that which was enacted on the first, either laughingly or applausively. So, by degrees, the old-time fancies came back, and I began to believe there might be some delight in civilization after all. I saw a few friends, and, as I was not without money, made many new. Some of these have been really friends, and some of them—well! it would be useless to sum up their characters, as they were not the red devils I had latterly been brought in contact with. Possibly, none of them would have felt any pleasure inmaking my body serve as a living chandelier, by way of a prelude to lighting a bonfire with my person as the central faggot. Yet, very certainly, they would have cleaned me out of all I had about me, without the slightest compunction, not even allowing me to retain the price of one meal.
Amongst my old friends, I met Captain Crim, then a wealthy horse-dealer, dwelling on the Mission, and one whose word would have been good for thousands.
After our first interview, we dined together; and when I had given him a rough sketch of my adventurous life after he had left me at Susanville, we had a long talk over the events attending my first appearance on the Plains under my engagement with him. Many of the incidents which had occurred during it had almost been forgotten by me until he recalled them, and three or four of them were solemnized by a hearty roar of laughter upon my part, in which my old Captain joined with a will.
However, all pleasures must end. It was thus with my visit to the capital of the West.
After the first week of my stay in San Francisco, there is no doubt but that I began to enjoy the novelty of complete civilization thoroughly. Neither can there be any doubt but that complete civilization as thoroughly enjoyed me. In truth, in some three months it literally cleaned me out. An offer was made me of a brief engagement on the stage. But my first week's repugnance, when my pockets were not empty, had with their emptiness deepened into a strong disgust. Shaking off the dust from the soles, not of my feet, but my boots, in the spring, I again turned my face towards Honey Lake.
It need scarcely be affirmed that my little wife was glad enough to see me again. Without imputing to her any lack of affection, it may, however, be assumed that the Rangers were almost as pleased as she was, at my reappearance in Susanville. Brighton Bill, as I afterwards heard, said:
"Now, Hi'm blowed hif we shan't 'ave ha little fun. Mose his has good ha Cap for ha lark, has ha Hingun skrimmage."
Whether so or not, the boys rallied round me at once, and, greatly to my wife's disgust, commenced a series of plannings and plottings for the occupation of the ensuing summer and winter.
This year was commemorated by a very heavy emigration to Idaho by the way of Susanville, Surprise Valley, and Peuabla Mountain. General Wright, who was on his way to the vicinity of the latter, for the purpose of prospecting with a party of some twelve men, had been specially recommended to me, and tarried with me for some four or five weeks.
After this, he had started in the direction of Peuabla. For a considerable length of time no news came back to us, in any way, of his party. Naturally, this, at first, caused small uneasiness on our parts. Neither the Pony Express nor the Telegraph have yet penetrated every part of the great but sparsely settled West. In consequence of this, the lack of constant intelligence scarcely argued that the receipt of news must unmistakably be unpleasant, if not disastrous.
However, I chanced to be out with a party of the Rangers, on our way to the Humboldt River. We were near Black Rock, when we happened to meet an old Pah-ute Indian with several squaws, possibly or not, hisown property. There was an appearance of a sort of Mormon respectability about the wrinkled red-skin, which at the moment impressed me, to a certain extent, favorably. Feeling this, I stepped up to him for the purpose of speaking. Judge what my astonishment was, when, drawing near him, to notice that he was smoking a pipe which I positively remembered as having been in the possession of the General.
There could not be the slightest mistake in this fact.
It was much too costly a pipe to have come into the possession of any Indian, save as a present, or by the more usual means in which the red-skin may acquire such property. My readers will very readily understand what such means are. Wright had himself told me how highly he valued this pipe. It had been presented to him by a dear friend, who was at this time dead. There must necessarily have been but small probability that it should have been a voluntary gift to the old Pah-ute.
Taking it at once from him, I demanded "where" he "got it."
"Me heap find em," was his leisurely reply. "Injin no steal 'em."
By this time, Bill Dow and several of the other Rangers had joined us. Dow also had happened to notice the pipe in the General's possession. With an angry imprecation, he exclaimed:
"Yer lie, yer red devil!" Then turning to me, he said: "Mose! as sure as God's in Heaven, that 'ere cuss has had a hand in killing Wright, for sartin. I reckon we'd jist better go over to Pabla, and look arter his party. Not, Cap! as I wants to dictate to yer. Only knowing as how the Gineral was a real friend of your'n, I thought, perhaps—"
"Thought!" I cried out, "Dow, when you know you are right."
"I'm dead sartin of it," he muttered between his teeth.
The aged Pah-ute had, while this was passing, been regarding me with that stoical indifference of feature which is so characteristic of the red man. Looking fixedly at him, I said:
"If you were not an old fellow, I would at once kill you. But if anything has gone wrong with the General or his party, see that you never again allow yourself to come within sight of me."
Immediately after this, we started for Summit Lake, and passing it, went down the cañon as far as the Puabla. On the following day about noon, we came to a cabin which had very evidently been occupied by Wright and his companions. It was now empty. The small cañon in which this rough cabin stood was filled with cottonwood trees and a dense growth of small underbrush. As we were examining the place, I came upon the first fragmentary testimony of the dark tragedy which had branded this spot with an ineffaceable stain. This was the leg of a man, which had been hewn off just below the knee. While I was yet looking at it, Arnold called out in a tremulously hollow voice, which at once indicated from how intensely nervous an agitation he must be suffering:
"Come here, Mose."
He was but a short distance in advance of me; and when I arrived where he was standing, let me own that I frankly regretted not having cut the throat of the wrinkled old ruffian whose possession of the General's pipe had placed me on the track of this most dastardly and savage murder—aye! and the throats of all thesquaws who were with him, too. Had I not, in my own person, had a sufficient experience of the gentleness of these she-devils? Could I doubt that it had been also displayed in the atrocious massacre of General Wright and the unfortunate men who had accompanied him?
I shall, of course, be asked for the full particulars of this ferocious butchery. Let me be as brief as I can in penning the details, which almost sicken me while I recall them.
We found the General actually spitted, a pointed stake having been forced lengthwise from behind through his body, and protruding beneath his chin. This stake had then been placed upon two crotched limbs of trees, above a fire, of which nothing but the dead embers now remained. As far as we could make out, there were no other marks of violence on the charred shape of the victim. He must have been killed by the terrible torture of thrusting this stake through his entrails. The remainder of his party had been literally cut into pieces. Arms, hands, heads, feet, legs, thighs, and bodies had been hewn apart, and were scattered around in the brush. Nor was there more than one of the victims who might have been slain before they were subjected to this inch by inch torture. Only a single wound by a bullet could be found by us, on any of these mutilated fragments of what had once been life.
And these brutal devils are the race that the Government of the United States demand should be dealt gently with by its children. I should refrain from denouncing them, perhaps, when the barbarities I had twice experienced at their hands are remembered by me. But in such a case as the present one, where my memory has no individual suffering to give it edgeand bitterness, I may surely be permitted to express my opinions. This, the more specially, when I know that these opinions are shared in by every settler who has had some two or three years' practical dealing with the falsehood, rascality, treachery, blood-thirstiness, and demon-like barbarity, which, almost invariably, in every instance, characterize the Western Indian.
What, let me fearlessly ask, could in any way have been the natural result of the hesitation of the Government at Washington, to operate efficiently for the protection of its own children?
These men had, undoubtedly, the right to claim such a protection. Any other country to which they might have belonged, would have given it to them. It has, however, been consistently refused, or accorded them in a way which renders it worse than useless. They have, consequently, been compelled to rely upon themselves for protection, it being carried out after their own fashion. Necessarily, this fashion has varied. But, in no case, could it take a shape other than of the struggle ever-existent between the conflicting parties, when law has become paralyzed, or neglects to put in a satisfactory appearance. For many years, legal restraint had been overridden in San Francisco. At length, the condition of society resulting from this became unbearable. It was then that the citizens of the capital of the young and vigorous West took the matter into their own hands, independently of the State authorities. A vigilance committee sprung from their actual necessity, and, in a short space of time, daily crime was reduced to the ordinary ratio it bears in civilization. Even in the great Eastern metropolis, during the past two or threeyears, a similar necessity has been proclaimed, and a like exertion of the popular will has been predicted by some of the leading New York journals. There, however, law seems recently to have awakened from its long slumber, and, if consistently active and severe, will repress the lawlessness of passion or criminality.
But where there is no law, save on sparsely rare occasions, as is sufficiently evidenced on the mountains, and in the valleys and plains bordering on California, the action of vigilance committees, or some restraint as sharp and certain, is a paramount necessity.
How can it be wondered at, while crime of the nature of the last-mentioned, and others which I have recounted, are of well-nigh yearly occurrence, that it should have exerted, on the part of those exposed to its visitation—without the interference of national protection except at rare intervals—the determination to repress it, bloodily and mercilessly, as the instances in which it develops its own atrocity and pitilessness, too evidently require?
However, let me avoid the appearance of defending what I believe to be the righteous exertion of a spirit of self-protection, and leave it to the unbiassed judgment of my readers.
Burying the fragments of the bodies of the poor victims, or as many of them as we could find after a long and sorrowful search, in as decent a manner as we could, we resumed our way to the Humboldt. Here we located some six miles above Lancaster, on this river, and met with no very great success in our search for the precious metals. While here, an Indian from above Gravelly Ford, known by us as Shoshonee John, came in to our party. He could talk very fair English, andhad been driven from his tribe in consequence of his openly professed friendly feeling to the whites. After a brief discussion among the boys, he was permitted to remain with us, until we started on our return. This was some time in August, in 1865.
We had reached the back of Granite Creek Station, which was then kept by Allen Simmons, from Oroville, and a man of the name of Bill Curry, when we fell in with some eight or ten Mahalas, with their papooses or children.
One of the Mahalas was a white woman. She had been taken by the Bannocks when she was no more than twelve years of age, in 1851. All her relatives and companions had been killed by them. Only herself had been spared. She was now married to a red-skin, by whom, she told us, she had five children. On our asking her to leave her captors, with the tears standing in her eyes, she refused to do so. She said that she knew of no friends who would receive her. What, she did not attempt to disguise that she considered as the disgrace of her present life, would, as she felt, preclude her from all white friendship. In consequence of this, she avowed herself determined to remain. On being further questioned, she told us that we were the first white men she had seen since the period of her capture. I then asked her, if she had heard of the horrible massacre of General Wright and his party. Bursting into tears, she affirmed that it had been "the work of Smoke-creek Sam, and the wretches who were with him."
Her grief and disgust at this were so marked and unmistakable, that I had no hesitation in asking her to tell us how and where we might find this scoundrel and his gang of ruffians. Without the slightest hesitation,she did so. Indeed, from the sudden flash in her eyes, and the rush of color to her tanned, yet still smooth cheeks, I felt convinced she experienced a bitter delight in believing that we might punish him. It is generally impossible for the necessity of life, or even for love, to blot out the ties of blood. She might be compulsorily a Mahala, yet was still, at heart, a white woman.
Again I endeavored to induce her to quit her present mode of life, but, unhesitatingly, although sadly, she refused to abandon the red-skin with whom her existence had been for so many years linked, and his and her children.
At Granite Station, Al. Simmons gave us additional information respecting Smoke-creek Sam. He had a few days before surprised a party of Chinamen, between the Peuabla mountain and Owyhee River. Some sixty, in all of them, had been murdered by the gang. This had been effected, in a similar way to the cruel mode of death by which General Wright had perished.
Pushing on, therefore, to the military station at Smoke Creek, we detailed the circumstances of these bloody outrages to Captain Smith, who was then in command of it.
His horror at hearing of the last, and being made acquainted with the details of the first, by those who had seen the remains of the murdered party, was as thorough, almost, as ours had been. An arrangement with him was, in consequence, speedily concluded, by which we were to proceed to Susanville, and, after giving our horses and ourselves a few days' rest, return to the station. Thence we were to start, in company with himself and men, to inflict, if possible, awell-deserved and retributory punishment on Smoke-creek Sam and his gang.
On arriving at the station, we found a party of three or four men from the Humboldt, who had preceded us by a few hours.
They had brought the intelligence that a party of Indians had visited Granite Creek on the day before. The station, as they informed us, had been burned to the ground. Al. Simmons, Bill Curry, and another man, had been killed. When A. R. Le Roy, who had joined the Rangers previous to our leaving the Humboldt River, heard this, he was fearfully excited. Al. Simmons had been one of his dearest friends, and the news of this additional murder increased not only his rage, but that of all of us.
Captain Smith was by no means dilatory. His men were soon in their saddles, after we had rejoined him, and we pushed on rapidly to Granite Creek.
About one hundred yards west of the station, we found the body of Simmons, lying on his face upon the ground. A small bullet-hole was just outside of his heart. He must have been slain instantly. Myself and the other boys felt his death as keenly as we had done anything, for some time. Scarcely eight days since, we had been sitting with him, and talking of the butchery of the Chinese; and now we saw that his life had been sacrificed by the red devils as relentlessly, although in a less cowardly manner. As for Le Roy, when he saw the body, he flung himself on the ground beside it, and throwing his arms around the lifeless form of his friend, burst into a savage flood of tears. Within the burned-up timber of the station lay poor Curry, who had been slain there. The third man hadevidently attempted to escape by flight. But the Indians had been too quick for him. Judging by their tracks, which were still clearly visible, he had been pursued, overtaken, and brought back. Less fortunate than the others, his death had not been so speedy. He had been stretched upon the earth with his face downwards. His hands and feet had been fastened by thongs to stakes driven into it. Brush and branches, hewn from the trees, had been then heaped upon his body and set fire to.
It would be unnecessary to say, that had anything been wanting to quicken our desire for retaliation, this must have done so. After attending to a hurried burial, we took the trail, which led us evidently in the direction the white Mahala had indicated to me, when I had asked her to tell me where Smoke-creek Sam and his gang were generally to be found.
Two days after, we camped for the night in a small valley in the mountains above Black Rock.
This valley was some six miles, or more, distant from an almost level piece of ground, to which the name of Soldier Meadows had been given.
After attending to the demands of our stomachs, for we had been on our own legs or those of our horses since daybreak, I went out with some other of the Rangers, as scouts, to discover if we were yet near the red-skins. Possibly an hour and a half may have elapsed, when some camp-fires were seen by me in the direction of the upper part of Queen's River. Shoshonee John had accompanied me, and detected them as quickly as I had done.
"Pah-ute Ingin!" he at once said.
"Or Smoke-creek Sam!" I could not help replying.
"All, heap same. Pah-ute as bad, only Smoky-creek Sam some worse."
Without pausing to discuss his exceeding Irish summary of the merits of the original tribe, and those who had absconded or been expelled from it, we immediately returned to our camp, being joined upon our way by Butch' Hasbrouck, who had also detected the same camp-fires.
"How far off, Butch', did you believe the red-skins were?"
"Ten miles will bring yer to 'em."
"He right!" sententiously observed the Indian who had accompanied me.
My estimate of the distance agreed with theirs, and upon our reaching the camp, the Rangers immediately took to their saddles, and Captain Smith ordered his men to mount. While they were doing this the red-skin addressed me, saying:
"Give Shoshonee John a gun, to help shoot heap Pah-utes."
"How do I know you will?"
The question was prompted by the knowledge I had acquired of the Indian character. It seemed to me that if the petitioner had owned a gun at the time about which he first joined us, he might, not improbably, have kept out of our neighborhood. He, however, answered me promptly enough.
"Pah-ute Ingin heap shoot Shoshonee John when catch him. Shoshonee John shoot him, too."
It might be so. But Harry Arnold and Ben Painter took the same view of the case as I did, and the matter was compromised by Captain Smith ordering him to begiven a cavalry sabre. At the same time, Brighton Bill, who had been listening, growled out:
"'E's ha convarted red devil. Hi'm blamed hif H'i wouldn't 'a given 'im a rifle."
When within a mile or something more of the camp, a halt was ordered, while some of us made a reconnoissance. Creeping up to their position, we found the band must count heavily. It had encamped on the very edge of the desert, which was here some forty miles across, without a single bush or shrub growing upon it. It formed almost a dead level, and in the dry season was so hard that a horse would scarcely leave the slightest track by which scout or red-skin could have trailed it.
A Lively Commencement—The Fight in the Desert—Extermination of a Band of Cut-throats—The Cavalry Sabre—A Contrast—Permitted to Retire and Receiving Promotion—A Little Love—Chance and Trouble—What Came of It—"Smoking out a Varmint"—A Few Prisoners—The Indian Agent—New Fruit on a Tree—Alone on a Trail—The End.
A Lively Commencement—The Fight in the Desert—Extermination of a Band of Cut-throats—The Cavalry Sabre—A Contrast—Permitted to Retire and Receiving Promotion—A Little Love—Chance and Trouble—What Came of It—"Smoking out a Varmint"—A Few Prisoners—The Indian Agent—New Fruit on a Tree—Alone on a Trail—The End.
After a brief council, in which Captain Smith, Harry Arnold, and myself were the principal ones who took a part, it was determined to surround them on the side where we then were, and immediately day had broken, to drive them to the desert. By doing this, we calculated scarcely one of them would have a chance of escaping.
"At last, Mose!" said Le Roy, who happened to be near me, "we have the blood-thirsty devils! and may God not spare me, if I fail to kill, while a single one of them is left alive."
He scarcely seemed to be aware of the meaning of his muttered words. But I knew of what he was thinking. It was of the death of Al. Simmons.
In some forty minutes the necessary orders had been given, and we had advanced nearly within gun-shot of them. We had moved into our position with the most complete silence. What had startled the Indians, I was and still am unable to imagine. They had, however, discovered our approach, and yelling out their war-whoop, dashed towards us, on our centre. It was just light enoughfor them to make out our strength. When they found this, they recoiled, and, almost at the same instant, made a charge upon our left. For some few minutes the boys and soldiers on that side of our position had lively work, and then, finding out that there also we were too strong for them, the red-skins started out on the desert.
We pursued them leisurely for some six miles. Then putting the spur to our horses, we galloped up and surrounded them.
It was now daylight. We could see the work before us.
Justice must be done even to such a rascally set of murdering thieves as Smoke-creek Sam's gang. When caught, they did fight, as I honestly believe no Pah-utes have ever before done. However, the blue-coated servants of Uncle Sam and the Buckskin Rangers fought better. The soldiers rode amongst the red-skins, hewing them down with their sabres, while our boys were equally busy with revolver and knife.
This had scarcely been going on for as many minutes as we had covered miles of the desert, when I marked one Indian. From descriptions of Smoke-creek Sam, which we had almost all of us heard, I determined that this must be the scoundrel, and rode up to him. I was lying on the side of my horse when he saw me. Lifting his revolver, he fired three or four shots at me as rapidly as he could.
The last of these crashed through the skull of the noble brute, that had borne me so well and gallantly for so many years. I felt, even at the moment in which he fell—in spite of the enemy who were in the front and on all sides of me—a cruel pang.
It so happened that when I fell, Arnold was near meand had seen the shot take effect on the animal I was mounted on. He knew how greatly I valued the gift of Jack Bird, not simply on account of the giver, but on its own account. I heard his voice, as the report of his own pistol rang on the ear, almost immediately following that of the red-skin's. Giving utterance to a fierce cry, he yelled out:
"You have killed the Tipton Slasher. Take that, you red devil!"
Harry's ball had broken the right arm of Smoke-creek Sam, and he had gone to grass as it struck him, or, at all events, I thought so. The red ruffian had certainly fallen, and, extricating myself from the panting body of my dying horse, I leapt towards him for the purpose of raising his hair. While I was in the act of doing this, I saw that he was not yet dead. With a desperate clutch of his left hand, he was trying to grasp the revolver which had fallen from his maimed limb upon the ground. It was lying a trifle beyond his reach, and before I had time even to think of putting him out of his misery, I saw the gleam of a cavalry sabre flashing through the air.
The blade fell.
In another instant, the savagely brutal head of Smoke-creek Sam was hanging from his shorn neck, attached to it merely by a small portion of bleeding flesh. At the same moment when this was effected, a voice shrieked out:
"Buckeeskin Mose, he now see whether Shoshonee John fight. Think him kill heap."
There was clearly no more reason for doubting the sincerity of our Indian ally.
"Smoke-creek Sam?"
This demand was made by me with an inquiring gesture, as, in doing so, I extended to him the scalp I had just lifted. Looking first at it, and then at the head he had so nearly severed from the body it belonged to, as if to make sure of their former connection, he replied:
"Heap sure."
The answering affirmative was uttered with a sententious gravity, exemplarily characteristic of his red ancestry, as Cooper has painted similar races long since wiped out by our rushing civilization. Striding from us, he then looked around the battle-field for more of his brethren, upon whom he could display the reality of his detestation of them, as well as his capacity as a headsman.
However, by this time the strife was well-nigh over. Not one of Smoke-creek Sam's gang could be seen standing upon his feet. The hard soil of the desert, for more than quarter of a mile square, was strown with their dead bodies. Eighty-one of the merciless scoundrels had paid with an honorable end for their bloodily disgusting crimes. Not a single red-skin had escaped from the bullet or the sabre. The band of torturing and villanous cut-throats and murderers had been totally exterminated.
In this instance also, I can justly say, as I have done in Colonel Connor's battle on Bear River, that Captain Smith, although an officer in the regular service, did his work well and thoroughly.
The Pah-utes, however, had not been reduced to tranquillity. As I have earlier explained, this gang was merely a section of that tribe whose atrocities and lawlessness had compelled their expulsion from it. Not, indeed, their atrocity and lawlessness against us, thewhite settlers, but that which they displayed at the expense of their red brethren.
Scarcely had I returned and been, for a short time, in the society of my little wife, settled down in Susanville, when an incident occurred which fully demonstrated this fact.
At this time, a body of Uncle Sam's blue-coats were stationed in the vicinity of Summit Lake. The cavalry was under the command of Captain Hall, and the infantry under that of Captain Meyers. It happened that two of our most prominent citizens were crossing the mountains, some four miles nearer than this post, when they were attacked by a party of red-skins. The leg of one of them, named Kesler, was broken by a rifle-ball at the first volley aimed at them by the attacking Indians. The other of the men was possessed of cool courage and indomitable pluck. This was Frank Drake. No sooner did he see his companion fall, than he asked briefly:
"Are you wounded?"
"The red cusses have broken my leg, Drake!"
"Yer must be off, then."
"How on airth can I?"
"We'll soon see," cried Frank cheerily.
Cutting one of the horses loose from their team, he helped Kesler on to it, in spite of the bullets which were rattling on the other side of the wagon. Then, bidding him ride to the Lake to ask for assistance from the soldiers, he proposed to fight it out alone with the Indians. Kesler remonstrated vainly with him. Giving to the horse he had cut loose a heavy lash with the whip he had previously been using, he said:
"Go, yer darned fool, unless yer wish both on us to be done for, by the red skunks."
The animal started with Kesler, followed by a pelting shower of bullets. None of them, however, struck either him or the horse. This unusual hint, in all probability, accelerated the speed of the latter, for he seems to have made good time. In about twenty minutes, Kesler arrived at the place where the blue-coats were stationed, and on seeing Captain Hall, told him the situation in which he had left Frank Drake, and begged him to send his friend "help at once." This officer replied in the usual official slang of the Plains:
"I've lost no Indians, and I'll be hung, if I'm going to trot out my men for nothing."
"Nothing! Hain't I told yer Frank Drake is fighting the red devils, by himself?"
"By this time," was Hall's reply, "the man is killed. We shan't find him."
In spite of this refusal, in which Uncle Sam's servant persisted, some few of his men, accompanied by several settlers who chanced to be present, at once mounted their horses and galloped off, leaving Kesler behind, to have his leg attended to by the army surgeon, if the post rejoiced in such an appendage. This is by no means invariably the case. The party galloping to save the plucky Frank Drake, made even better speed than his companion had done.
No sooner were their rapidly advancing hoofs heard, than the cowardly Indians fled.
Upon arriving at the point where the team had been left standing, they, at first, saw no living creature save one of the remaining horses. Frank Drake was found by them stretched under the wagon. When thered-skins ran, he knew relief was at hand, and had fainted away from loss of blood. Wounded in almost every part of his body as he was, by great luck, not one of the holes made by the Pah-utes was dangerous. Two of them were lying dead on the farther side of the road; and when he revived, he told those who had rescued him he thought he had seen a third of them carried away as they were approaching.
The preceding incident of frontier life is mentioned by me for the purpose of striking a just balance with regard to the protection afforded the settlements by the Government. This will be the better appreciated by the reader, when he hears I have been told that Captain Smith was "permitted to retire," while Captain Hall has since received the reward due to his services, by promotion.
Let me, before closing this volume, relate another incident which displays, in an even more striking light, the love for Uncle Sam's relatives which is so very generally exhibited by his servants.
Some time in 1865 or 1866, a family had moved into Honey Lake Valley consisting of an old man and his wife, with a daughter, whose charming face and winning manners might have entitled her to a place in far better society than Susanville could by any possibility afford her. The name of the family was Pierson. Their child was called Hattie. They had settled on a ranche just below Laithrop's place and near the Hot Springs. Butch' Hasbrouck had, shortly after the family arrived, become acquainted with them, and greatly to the pleasure of the parents, had made arrangements to reside under their roof.
Of course, such fair readers as I may not haveterrified into closing this volume, by the too bloody tales I have written out in these pages, will readily enough divine the reason which had led him so quickly into an intimacy with the parents and their daughter.
Hasbrouck loved Hattie Pierson.
He had, I believe, told me, only, of his happiness when he became engaged to her. Certainly, it was not generally known. She was still so young, that her father had insisted upon the marriage being deferred until the following year.
In the meantime, Hattie's beauty had attracted other admirers.
These she had managed to make understand that she did not love them, without inflicting upon them, or her own kindly and gentle nature, the pain of a refusal. One of them was, however, more obstinately pertinacious. This was a man of the name of Cockrell, who, in spite of every hint she had given him, persisted in his attentions, and at last made her an offer of marriage. Being thus cornered, as it were, the girl was compelled to refuse him. In the hope of softening her refusal by giving him a positive reason for it, she blushingly owned that she was engaged to Butch' Hasbrouck. She had learnt to give him the same appellation which all his friends had so long done.
What was her horror when Cockrell burst into a furious fit of passion, not only reproaching her in the vilest manner, but swearing not only to kill him but the girl also.
When this occurred, Butch' had been absent with the Rangers. This was only for a short time, and on his return, Hattie told him how Cockrell had terrified her. Her lover comforted her by laughing away her fears.However, on the next day, he made his appearance where I was living, and asked me to go with him in search of this man.
"What for, Butch'?" I asked.
"Nare yer mind, Mose! When I find the darned cuss, yer'll know, soon enough."
Of course, I went with him. But our search was a fruitless one. Cockrell had disappeared from Susanville the day before. No sooner had he heard that the Rangers had returned than he had quitted the place. When Hasbrouck found that this was positively so, he frankly told me the reason which induced him to search for the fellow.
"But if you had found him, Butch', what was it you meant to do?"
"What war it I meant to do? In course, shoot the darned blackguard."
Up to this moment, he had been as cool as a cucumber, or, rather, as the winter snow on Bear River during my campaign in that locality. Your quiet men are always dangerous, and so I told him. At the same time, I consoled him with the reflection that Cockrell's conduct had proved this fact. After abusing little Hattie Pierson like a dastardly cur, he had cleared out, immediately after the return of her plighted lover.
"P'raps yer're right, Mose!"
"I know I am, my boy! A white liver always tells. So has his."
"The varmint has run tu the nearest hole he could find," he said with a smile.
"If we catch him, we'll smoke him out."
We both laughed, and we were both wrong to laugh. In the following year, we again went upon theHumboldt, and shortly after we had done so, old Mr. Pierson decided to move further south, to Winamucca Valley, near Red Rock. When the family were passing up the east side of Honey Lake, they were attacked by Indians and all of them were murdered. When found, the body of the old man was literally riddled with bullets. Mrs. Pierson and Hattie were lying in each other's arms, clasped tightly, as if in the effort to shield each other from death. They had been slain in the same manner.
Intelligence of this was brought to us. And I can never forget the effect it had upon Butch' Hasbrouck when he heard it.
His face became lividly white, in spite of the tanning by exposure it had so long had. Without a word, he turned, lifted his rifle and his shot-pouch, took a small bag which he filled with parched corn, and was leaving us. Throwing my arm around his neck, I said:
"Where are you going?"
"After them as killed my Hattie."
"Do you think I shall not go with you?" I asked.
"Hand H'i too?" exclaimed Brighton Bill.
Arnold and Painter were already preparing to accompany him, and, in less than an hour, we were all upon the homeward road.
Our search was, for some two weeks, completely in vain. Although, near the scene of the murder, keen eyes could make out the trail, it was lost at a short distance from it, owing to the rocky nature of the soil. However, where we had first seen it, Butch' affirmed that he had discovered the track of a white man. Arnold and myself thought as he did. If so, this man was Cockrell. The belief in this fact made Hasbrouck untiring in his attempt to recover the trail.
In spite of every effort on his part and ours, we were unable to do so. It was a providential chance which enabled us, at last, to fasten upon a portion of the guilty parties. These were, unfortunately, all red-skins.
One morning, while on Willow Creek, we fell in with five Pah-utes. It was a surprise party both for them and us, and a luckless surprise for the red-skins. There was no chance for their showing fight. We were nearly five times their own number. Neither could they fly; we had surrounded them. Butch' had at once recognized upon them portions of old Pierson's clothing and some of Hattie's trinkets. We could not shoot them down in cold blood, and after a brief council, decided upon disarming and taking them with us as prisoners to Susanville. Had Cockrell been with them, I honestly believe he would never have left the spot alive. Hasbrouck would certainly have slain him where he stood. Nevertheless, he made no opposition to our present purpose. In his horror and wrath at the crime of the white scoundrel, he seemed to pass over that of the red devils who had aided him in accomplishing it, as scarcely worthy of notice.