As now we are all settled down to our various occupations, Yank of patience, Johnny of delighted adventuring, and myself of dogged industry, it might be well to give you some sort of a notion of Italian Bar, as this new camp was called. I saw a great deal of it, more than I really wished, for out of working hours I much frequented it in the vague hope of keeping tabs on its activities for Johnny’s sake.
It was situated on one of the main overland trails, and that was possibly the only reason its rich diggings had not been sooner discovered–it was too accessible! The hordes of immigrants dragged through the dusty main street, sometimes in an almost unending procession. More of them hereafter; they were in general a sad lot. Some of them were always encamped in the flats below town; and about one of the stores a number of them could be seen trying to screw their resolution up to paying the appalling prices for necessities. The majority had no spare money, and rarely any spirit left; and nobody paid much attention to them except to play practical jokes on them. Very few if any of this influx stopped at Italian Bar. Again it was too accessible. They had their vision fixed hypnotically on the West, and westward they would push until they bumped the Pacific Ocean. Of course a299great many were no such dumb creatures, but were capable, self-reliant men who knew what they were about and where they were going. Nobody tried to play any practical jokes on them.
Of the regular population I suppose three fourths were engaged in gold washing. The miners did not differ from those of their class anywhere else; that is to say, they were of all nationalities, all classes of life, and all degrees of moral responsibility. They worked doggedly and fast in order to get as much done as possible before the seasonal rains. When night fell the most of them returned to their cabins and slept the sleep of the weary; with a weekly foray into town of a more or less lurid character. They had no time for much else, in their notion; and on that account were, probably unconsciously, the most selfish community I ever saw. There was a great deal of sickness, and many deaths, but unless a man had a partner or a friend to give him some care, he might die in his cabin for all the attention any one else would pay him. In the same spirit only direct personal interest would arouse in any of them the least indignation over the only too frequent killings and robberies.
“They found a man shot by the Upper Bend this morning,” remarks one to his neighbour.
“That so? Who was he?” asks the other.
“Don’t know. Didn’t hear,” is the reply.
The barroom or street killings, which averaged in number at least two or three a week, while furnishing more excitement, aroused very little more real interest. Open and above-board homicides of that sort were always the300result of differences of opinion. If the victim had a friend, the latter might go gunning for his pal’s slayer; but nobody had enough personal friends to elevate any such row to the proportions of a general feud.
All inquests were set aside until Sunday. A rough and ready public meeting invariably brought in the same verdict–“justifiable self-defence.” At these times, too, popular justice was dispensed, but carelessly and not at all in the spirit of the court presided over by John Semple at Hangman’s Gulch. A general air of levity characterized these occasions, which might strike as swift and deadly a blow as a shaft of lightning, or might puff away as harmlessly as a summer zephyr. Many a time, until I learned philosophically to stay away, did my blood boil over the haphazard way these men had of disposing of some poor creature’s destinies.
“Here’s a Mex thief,” observed the chair. “What do you want done with him?”
“Move we cut off his ears!” yelled a voice from the back of the crowd.
“Make it fifty lashes!” shouted another.
A wrangle at once started between the advocates of cropping and the whip. The crowd wearied of it.
“Let the ─ ─ ─ go!” suggested someone.
And this motion was carried with acclamation. No evidence was offered or asked as to the extent of the man’s guilt, or indeed if he was guilty at all!
The meeting had a grim sense of humour, and enjoyed nothing more than really elaborate foolery. Such as, for example, the celebrated case of Pio Chino’s bronco.
301Pio Chino was acargadorrunning a train of pack-mules into some back-country camp. His bell mare was an ancient white animal with long shaggy hair, ewe neck, bulging joints, a placid wall eye, the full complement of ribs, and an extraordinarily long Roman nose ending in a pendulous lip. Yet fifteen besotted mules thought her beautiful, and followed her slavishly, in which fact lay her only value. Now somebody, probably for a joke, “lifted” this ancient wreck from poor Chino on the ground that it had never been Chino’s property anyway. Chino, with childlike faith in the dignity of institutions, brought the matter before the weekly court.
That body took charge with immense satisfaction. It appointed lawyers for the prosecution and the defence.
Prosecution started to submit Chino’s claim.
Defence immediately objected on the ground that Chino, being a person of colour, was not qualified to testify against a white man.
This point was wrangled over with great relish for an hour or more. Then two solemn individuals were introduced as experts to decide whether Chino was a man of colour, or, as the prosecution passionately maintained, a noble, great-minded and patriotic California member of the Caucasian race.
“Gentlemen,” the court addressed this pair, “is there any infallible method by which your science is able to distinguish between a nigger and a white man?”
“There is,” answered one of the “experts.”
“What?”
“The back teeth of a white man have small roots reaching302straight down,” expounded the “expert” solemnly, “while those of a negro have roots branching in every direction.”
“And how do you expect to determine this case?”
“By extracting one or more of the party’s back teeth,” announced the “expert” gravely, at the same time producing a huge pair of horseshoeing nippers.
Chino uttered a howl, but was violently restrained from bolting. He was understood to say that he didn’t want that mare. I should not have been a bit surprised if they had carried the idea of extraction to a finish; but the counsel for defence interposed, waiving the point. He did not want the fun to come to that sort of a termination.
Prosecution then offered the evidence of Chino’s brand. Now that old mare was branded from muzzle to tail, and on both sides. She must have been sold and resold four or five times for every year of her long and useful life. The network of brands was absolutely indecipherable.
“Shave her!” yelled some genius.
That idea caught hold. The entire gathering took an interest in the operation, which half a dozen men performed. They shaved that poor old mare from nose to the tip of her ratlike tail. Not even an eye-winker was left to her. She resembled nothing so much as one of the sluglike little Mexican hairless dogs we had seen on the Isthmus. The brands now showed plainly enough, but were as complicated as ever in appearance. Thunders of mock forensic oratory shook the air. I remember defence acknowledged that in that multiplicity of lines the figure of Chino’s brand could be traced; but pointed to the stars of the heavens and the figures of their constellations to303prove what could be done by a vivid imagination in evolving fancy patterns. By this time it was late, and court was adjourned until next week.
The following Sunday, after a tremendous legal battle, conducted with the relishing solemnity with which Americans like to take their fooling, it was decided to call in an expert on brands, and a certain California rancher ten miles distant was agreed upon.
“But,” objected the defence, “he is a countryman of the complainant. However honest, he will nevertheless sympathize with his own blood. Before the case is put before him, he should view these brands as an unprejudiced observer. I suggest that they be transcribed to paper and submitted to him without explanation.”
This appealed to the crowd. The astonished mare was again led out, and careful drawings made of her most remarkable sides. Then the case was again adjourned one week.
On that day the Californian was on hand, very grave, very much dressed up, very flattered at being called as an expert in anything. The drawing was laid before him.
“Don Luis,” said the court formally, “what do you, as expert, make of that?”
Don Luis bent his grave Spanish head over the document for some minutes. Then he turned it upside down and examined it again; sideways; the other end. When he looked up a little twinkle of humour lurked deep in his black eyes, but his face was solemn and ceremonious.
“Well, Don Luis,” repeated the court, “what do you make of it?”
304“Señor,” replied Don Luis courteously, “it looks to me like a most excellent map of Sonora.”
When the crowd had quieted down after this, the court ordered the animal brought forth.
“May it please y’r honour, the critter got a chill and done died,” announced the cadaverous Missourian, to whose care the animal had been confided.
“H’m,” said the court. “Well, here’s the court’s decision in this case. Pio Chino fined one drink for taking up our valuable time; Abe Sellers fined one drink for claiming such an old crow-bait on any grounds; Sam is fined one drink for not putting a blanket on that mare.” (“I only got one blanket myself!” cried the grieved Missourian.) “The fines must be paid in to the court at the close of this session.”
Hugely tickled, the meeting arose. Pio Chino, to whom the tidings of his bell mare’s demise was evidently news, stood the picture of dejected woe. His downcast figure attracted the careless attention of one of the men.
“Here boys!” he yelled, snatching off his hat. “This ain’t so damn funny for Chino here!” He passed the hat among the crowd. They tossed in gold, good-naturedly, abundantly, with a laugh. Nobody knows what amount was dumped into the astounded Chino’s old sombrero; but the mare was certainly not worth over fifteen dollars. If some one had dragged Chino before that same gathering under unsupported accusation of any sort, it would as cheerfully and thoughtlessly have hung him.
Of the gambling places, one only–that conducted by Danny Randall and called the Bella Union–inspired any305sort of confidence. The other two were frequented by a rough, insolent crew, given to sudden silences in presence of newcomers, good-humoured after a wild and disconcerting fashion, plunging heavily at the gaming tables and drinking as heavily at the bars. This is not to imply that any strong line of demarcation existed between the habitues of one or the other of these places. When an inhabitant of Italian Bar started out for relaxation, he visited everything there was to visit, and drifted impartially between Morton’s, Randall’s Bella Union, and the Empire. There was a good deal of noise and loud talk in any of them; and occasionally a pistol shot. This was generally a signal for most of the bystanders to break out through the doors and windows, and for the gayly inclined to shoot out the lights. The latter feat has often been cited admiringly as testifying to a high degree of marksmanship, but as a matter of fact the wind and concussion from the heavy revolver bullets were quite sufficient to put out any lamp to which the missiles passed reasonably close. Sometimes these affrays resulted in material for the Sunday inquests; but it is astonishing how easily men can miss each other at close range. Most of the shootings were the results of drunken quarrels. For that reason the professed gunmen were rarely involved. One who possessed an established reputation was let alone by the ordinary citizen; and most severely alone by the swaggering bullies, of whom there were not a few. These latter found prey for their queer stripe of vanity among the young, the weak, and the drunken. I do not hesitate to say that any man of determined character could keep out of trouble even in the worst days of the camp, provided306he had no tempting wealth, attended to his own affairs, and maintained a quiet though resolute demeanour.
When in camp Johnny and his two companions shone as bright particular stars. They were only boys, and they had blossomed out in wonderful garments. Johnny had a Californian sombrero with steeple crown loaded with silver ornaments, and a pair of Spanish spurs heavily inlaid with the same metal, a Chinese scarf about his neck, and a short jacket embroidered with silver thread. But most astonishing of all was a large off-colour diamond set in a ring, through which he ran the ends of his scarf. Parenthetically, it was from this that he got his sobriquet of Diamond Jack. I had a good deal of fun laughing at Johnny, but he didn’t mind.
“This diamond,” he pointed out, “is just as good as gold dust, it’s easier carried, and I can have some fun out of it.”
I am afraid he and Old Hickory Pine and Cal Marsh did a bit of swaggering while in town. They took a day to the down trip, and jogged back in a day and a half, stopping in Sacramento only the extra half day. Then they rested with us one day, and were off the next. Thus they accomplished seven or eight trips in the month. Both Old and Cal had the reputation of being quick, accurate shots, although I have never seen them perform. As the three of them were absolutely inseparable they made a formidable combination that nothing but an organized gang would care to tackle. Consequently they swaggered as much as they pleased. At bottom they were good, clean, attractive boys, who were engaged in an adventure that was thrilling307enough in sober reality, but which they loved to deck forth in further romance. They one and all assumed the stern, aloof, lofty pose of those whose affairs were too weighty to permit mingling with ordinary amusements. Their speech was laconic, their manners grave, their attitude self-contained. It was a good thing, I believe; for outside the fact that it kept them out of quarrels, it kept them also out of drinking and gambling.
I made many acquaintances of course, but only a few friends. The best of these were Dr. Rankin and Danny Randall. Strangely enough, these two were great pals. Danny had a little room back of the Bella Union furnished out with a round table, a dozen chairs, and a sofa. Here he loved to retire with his personal friends to sip drinks, smoke, and to discuss all sorts of matters. A little glassless window gave into the Bella Union, and as the floor of the little room was raised a foot or so, Danny sat where he could see everything that went on. These gatherings varied in number, but never exceeded the capacity of the dozen chairs. I do not know how Danny had caused it to be understood that these were invitation affairs, but understood it was, and no one ever presumed to intrude unbidden into the little room. Danny selected his company as the fancy took him.
As to why he should so often have chosen me I must again confess ignorance. Perhaps because I was a good listener. If so, the third member of a very frequent triumvirate, Dr. Rankin, was invited for the opposite quality. The doctor was a great talker, an analyst of conditions, and a philosophical spectator. The most308frequent theme of our talks was the prevalence of disorder. On this subject the doctor had very decided views.
“There is disorder because we shirk our duty as a community,” he stated, “and we shirk our duty as a community because we believe in our hearts that we aren’t a community. What does Jones or Smith or Robinson or anybody else really care for Italian Bar as a place; or, indeed, for California as a place? Not a tinker’s damn! He came out here in the first place to make his pile, and in the second place to have a good time. He isn’t dependent on any one’s good opinion, as he used to be at home. He refuses to be bothered with responsibilities and he doesn’t need to be. Why a pan miner needn’t even speak to his next neighbour unless he wants to; and a cradle miner need bother only with his partners!”
“Miners’ meetings have done some pretty good legislation,” I pointed out.
“Legislation; yes!” cried the doctor. “Haven’t you discovered that the American has a perfect genius for organization? Eight coal heavers on a desert island would in a week have a full list of officers, a code of laws, and would be wrangling over ridiculous parliamentary points of order in their meetings. That’s just the trouble. The ease with which Americans can sketch out a state on paper is an anodyne to conscience. We get together and pass a lot of resolutions, and go away with a satisfied feeling that we’ve really done something.”
“But I believe a camp like this may prove permanent,” objected Randall.
“Exactly. And by that very fact a social obligation309comes into existence. Trouble is, every mother’s son tries to escape it in his own case. What is every one’s business is no one’s business. Every fellow thinks he’s got away from being bothered with such things. Sooner or later he’ll find out he hasn’t, and then he’ll have to pay for his vacation.”
“We never stood for much thieving at Hangman’s Gulch,” I interposed.
“What did you do?”
“We whipped and sent them about their business.”
“To some other camp. You merely passed on your responsibility; you didn’t settle it. Your whipping merely meant turning loose a revengeful and desperate man. Your various banishments merely meant your exchanging these fiends with the other camps. It’s like scattering the coyotes that come around your fire.”
“What would you do, Doctor?” asked Randall quietly; “we have no regular law.”
“Why not? Why don’t you adopt a little regular law? You need about three in this camp–against killing, against thievery, and against assault. Only enforce in every instance, as far as possible.”
“You can’t get this crowd to take time investigating the troubles of some man they never heard of.”
“Exactly.”
“And if they get too bad,” said Danny, “we’ll have to get the stranglers busy.”
“Confound it, man!” roared Dr. Rankin, beating the table, “that’s just what I’ve been trying to tell you. You ought not to care so much for punishing as for deterring.310Don’t you know that it’s a commonplace that it isn’t the terrifying quality of the penalty that acts as a deterrent to crime, but it’s the certainty of the penalty! If a horse thief knows that there’s merely a chance the community will get mad enough to hang him, he’ll take that chance in hopes this may not be the time. If, on the other hand, he knows thatevery timehe steals a horse he’s going to be caught and fined even, he thinks a long time before he steals it.”
“All that’s true, Doctor,” said Danny, “as theory; but now I’m coming to bat with a little practice. Here’s the camp of Italian Bar in the year 1849. What would you do?”
“Elect the proper officers and enforce the law,” answered the doctor promptly.
“Who would you elect?”
“There are plenty of good men here.”
“Name me any one who would take the job. The good men are all washing gold; and they’re in a hurry to finish before the rains. I don’t care who you’re about to name–if anybody; this is about what he’d say: ‘I can’t afford to leave my claim; I didn’t come out here to risk my life in that sort of a row; I am leaving for the city when the rains begin, and I don’t know that I’ll come back to Italian Bar next season!’”
“Make it worth their while. Pay them,” insisted the doctor stoutly.
“And how’s the money to pay them to be collected? You’d have to create the officers of a government–and paythem.”
311“Well, why not?”
“At the election, who would take interest to elect a decent man, even if you could get hold of one? Not the other decent men. They’re too busy, and too little interested. But the desperadoes and hard characters would be very much interested in getting some of their own stripe in office. The chances are they would be coming back to Italian Bar next season, especially if they had the legal machinery for keeping themselves out of trouble. You’d simply put yourself in their power.”
Dr. Rankin shook his head.
“Just the same, you’ll see that I am right,” he prophesied. “This illusion of freedom to the social obligation is only an illusion. It will have to be paid for with added violence and turmoil.”
“Why, I believe you’re right as to that, Doctor,” agreed Danny, “but I’ve discovered that often in this world a man has to pay a high price for what he gets. In fact, sometimes it’s very expedient to pay a high price.”
“I can foresee a lot of violence before the thing is worked out.”
At this point the doctor, to his manifest disgust, was summoned to attend to some patient.
“That all sounds interesting,” said I to Danny Randall once we were alone, “but I don’t exactly fit it in.”
“It means,” said Danny, “that some day Morton’s gang will go a little too far, and we’ll have to get together and string some of them up.”
The overland immigrants never ceased to interest us. The illness, destitution, and suffering that obtained among these people has never been adequately depicted. For one outfit with healthy looking members and adequate cattle there were dozens conducted by hollow-eyed, gaunt men, drawn by few weak animals. Women trudged wearily, carrying children. And the tales they brought were terrible. They told us of thousands they had left behind in the great desert of the Humboldt Sink, fighting starvation, disease, and the loss of cattle. Women who had lost their husbands from the deadly cholera were staggering on without food or water, leading their children. The trail was lined with dead mules and cattle. Some said that five thousand had perished on the plains from cholera alone. In the middle of the desert, miles from anywhere, were the death camps, the wagons drawn in the usual circle, the dead animals tainting the air, every living human being crippled from scurvy and other diseases. There was no fodder for the cattle, and one man told us that he estimated, soberly, that three fourths of the draught animals on the plains must die.
“And then where will their owners be?”
The Indians were hostile and thieving. Most of the313ample provision that had been laid in had to be thrown away to lighten the loads for the enfeebled animals. Such immigrants as got through often arrived in an impoverished condition. Many of these on the route were reduced by starvation to living on the putrefied flesh of the dead animals along the road. This occasioned more sickness. The desert seemed interminable. At nightfall the struggling trains lay down exhausted with only the assurance of another scorching, burning day to follow. And when at last a few reached the Humboldt River, they found it almost impossible to ford–and the feed on the other side. In the distance showed the high forbidding ramparts of the Sierra Nevadas. A man named Delano told us that five men drowned themselves in the Humboldt River in one day out of sheer discouragement. Another man said he had saved the lives of his oxen by giving some Indians fifteen dollars to swim the river and float some grass across to him. The water of the Humboldt had a bad effect on horses, and great numbers died. The Indians stole others. The animals that remained were weak. The destruction of property was immense, for everything that could be spared was thrown away in order to lighten the loads. The road was lined with abandoned wagons, stoves, mining implements, clothes.
We were told these things over and over, heavily, in little snatches, by men too wearied and discouraged and beaten even to rejoice that they had come through alive. They were not interested in telling us, but they told, as though their minds were so full that they could not help it. I remember one evening when we were feeding at314our camp the members of one of these trains, a charity every miner proffered nearly every day of the week. The party consisted of one wagon, a half dozen gaunt, dull-eyed oxen, two men, and a crushed-looking, tragic young woman. One of the men had in a crude way the gift of words.
He told of the crowds of people awaiting the new grass at Independence in Missouri, of the making up of the parties, the election of officers for the trip, the discussion of routes, the visiting, the campfires, the boundless hope.
“There were near twenty thousand people waiting for the grass,” said our friend; a statement we thought exaggerated, but one which I have subsequently found to be not far from the truth.
By the middle of May the trail from the Missouri River to Fort Laramie was occupied by a continuous line of wagons.
“That was fine travelling,” said the immigrant in the detached way of one who speaks of dead history. “There was grass and water; and the wagon seemed like a little house at night. Everybody was jolly. It didn’t last long.”
After Fort Laramie there were three hundred miles of plains, with little grass and less water.
“We thought that was a desert!” exclaimed the immigrant bitterly. “My God! Quite a lot turned back at Laramie. They were scared by the cholera that broke out, scared by the stories of the desert, scared by the Indians. They went back. I suppose they’re well and hearty–and kicking themselves every gold report that goes back east.”
315The bright anticipations, the joy of the life, the romance of the journey all faded before the grim reality. The monotony of the plains, the barrenness of the desert, the toil of the mountains, the terrible heat, the dust, the rains, the sickness, the tragedy of deaths had flattened all buoyancy, and left in its stead only a sullen, dogged determination.
“There was lots of quarrelling, of course,” said our narrator. “Everybody was on edge. There were fights, that we had to settle somehow, and bad feeling.”
They had several minor skirmishes with Indians, lost from their party by disease, suffered considerable hardships and infinite toil.
“We thought we’d had a hard time,” said our friend wonderingly. “Lord!”
At the very start of the journey they had begun to realize that they were overloaded, and had commenced to throw away superfluous goods. Several units of the party had even to abandon some of their wagons.
“We chucked everything we thought we could get along without. I know we spent all one day frying out bacon to get the grease before we threw it away. We used the grease for our axles.”
They reached the head of the Humboldt. Until this point they had kept together, but now demoralization began. They had been told at Salt Lake City that they had but four hundred miles to go to Sacramento. Now they discovered that at the Humboldt they had still more than that distance to travel; and that before them lay the worst desert of all.
316“Mind you,” said our friend, “we had been travelling desperately. Our cattle had died one by one; and we had doubled up with our teams. We had starved for water until our beasts were ready to drop and our own tongues had swollen in our mouths, and were scared–scared, I tell you–scared!”
He moistened his lips slowly, and went on. “Sometimes we took two or three hours to go a mile, relaying back and forth. We were down to a fine point. It wasn’t a question of keeping our property any more; it was a case of saving our lives. We’d abandoned a good half of our wagons already. When we got to the Humboldt and learned from a mountain man going the other way that the great desert was still before us, and when we had made a day or two’s journey down the river toward the Sink, I tell you we lost our nerve–and our sense.” He ruminated a few moments in silence. “My God! man!” he cried. “That trail! From about halfway down the river the carcasses of horses and oxen were so thick that I believe if they’d been laid in the road instead of alongside you could have walked the whole way without setting foot to ground!”
And then the river disappeared underground, and they had to face the crossing of the Sink itself.
“That was a real desert,” the immigrant told us sombrely. “There were long white fields of alkali and drifts of ashes across them so soft that the cattle sank way to their bellies. They moaned and bellowed! Lord, how they moaned! And the dust rose up so thick you couldn’t breathe, and the sun beat down so fierce you felt it like317something heavy on your head. And how the place stunk with the dead beasts!”
The party’s organization broke. The march became a rout. Everybody pushed on with what strength he had. No man, woman, or child could ride; the wagons were emptied of everything but the barest necessities. At every stop some animal fell in the traces, and was cut out of the yoke. When a wagon came to a stop, it was abandoned, the animals detached and driven forward.
Those who were still afoot were constantly besought by those who had been forced to a standstill.
“I saw one old man, his wife and his daughter, all walking along on foot,” said the immigrant bitterly. “They were half knee deep in alkali, the sun was broiling hot, they had absolutely nothing. We couldn’t help them. What earthly chance had they? I saw a wagon stalled, the animals lying dead in their yokes, all except one old ox. A woman and three children sat inside the wagon. She called to me that they hadn’t had anything to eat for three days, and begged me to take the children. I couldn’t. I could have stopped and died there with her, but I couldn’t put another pound on my wagon and hope to get through. We were all walking alongside; even Sue, here.”
The woman raised her tragic face.
“We left our baby there,” she said; and stared back again into the coals of the fire.
“We made it,” resumed the immigrant. “We got to the Truckee River somehow, and we rested there three days. I don’t know what became of the rest of our train; dead perhaps.”
318We told him of the immigrant register or bulletin board at Morton’s.
“I must look that over,” said he. “I don’t know how long it took us to cross the mountains. Those roads are terrible; and our cattle were weak. We were pretty near out of grub too. Most of the people have no food at all. Well, here we are! But there are thousands back of us. What are they going to do? And when the mountains fill with snow─”
After the trio, well fed for the first time in months, had turned in, we sat talking about our fire. We were considerably subdued and sobered; for this was the first coherent account we had heard at first hand. Two things impressed us–the tragedy, the futility. The former aspect hit us all; the latter struck strongly at Old and Cal. Those youngsters, wise in the ways of the plains, were filled with sad surprise over the incompetence of it all.
“But thar ain’t no manner ofusein it!” cried Old. “They are just bullin’ at it plumb regardless! They ain’t handled their cattle right! They ain’t picked their route right–why, the old Mormon trail down by the Carson Sink is better’n that death-trap across the Humboldt. And cut-offs! What license they all got chasin’ every fool cut-off reported in? Most of ’em is all right fer pack-trains and all wrong fer wagons! Oh, Lord!”
“They don’t know,” said I, “poor devils, they don’t know. They were raised on farms and in the cities.”
Johnny had said nothing. His handsome face looked very sombre in the firelight.
“Jim,” said he, “we’re due for a trip to-night; but I319want you to promise me one thing–just keep these people here, and feed them up until we get back. Tell them I’ve got a job for them. Will you do it?”
I tried to pump Johnny as to his intentions, but could get nothing out of him; and so promised blindly. About two o’clock I was roused from my sleep by a soft moving about. Thrusting my head from the tent I made out the dim figures of our horsemen, mounted, and moving quietly away down the trail.
I had no great difficulty in persuading the immigrants to rest over.
“To tell you the truth,” the narrator confided to me, “I don’t know where we’re going. We have no money, We’ve got to get work somehow. I don’t know now why we came.”
His name, he told me, was George Woodruff; he had been a lawyer in a small Pennsylvania town; his total possessions were now represented by the remains of his ox team, his wagon, and the blankets in which he slept. The other man was his brother Albert, and the woman his sister-in-law.
“We started with four wagons and a fine fit-out of supplies,” he told me–“food enough to last two years. This is what we have left. The cattle aren’t in bad shape now though; and they are extra fine stock. Perhaps I can sell them for a little.”
Two days passed. We arose the morning of the third to find that the oxen had strayed away during the night. Deciding they could not have wandered far, I went to my gold washing as usual, leaving Woodruff and his brother to hunt them up. About ten o’clock they came to my claim very much troubled.
321“We can’t find them anywhere,” they told me, “and it doesn’t seem natural that they should stray far; they are too tired.”
I knocked off work, and returned with them to the flat, where we proceeded to look for tracks. The earth was too hard and tramped to show us much, and after a half hour of fruitless examination we returned to camp with the intention of eating something before starting out on a serious search. While thus engaged the express messengers rode up.
“Hullo!” said Johnny cheerfully. “Glad to hear you made such a good thing out of your cattle!”
He caught our stare of surprise, swung from his horse and advanced on us with three swift strides.
“You haven’t sold them?” he exclaimed.
“We’ve been looking for them all the morning.”
“Stolen, boys!” he cried to his companions. “Here’s our job! Come on!”
He leaped on his horse in the headlong, graceful fashion the boys had cultivated at the relay station, and, followed by Cal and Old, dashed away.
We made nothing definite of this, though we had our surmises to exchange. As the boys had not returned an hour later, I resumed my digging while the Woodruffs went over to visit with Yank, who was now out of bed. Evening came, with no sign of our friends. We turned in at last.
Some time after midnight we were awakened by the shuffling and lowing of driven cattle, and went out into the moonlight to see our six oxen, just released from herding, plunging their noses thirstily into the little stream from the322spring. Five figures on horseback sat motionless in the background behind them. When the cattle had finished drinking, the horsemen, riding in two couples and one single, turned them into the flat, and then came over to our camp.
After they had approached within plain sight we saw that the single horseman was Cal Marsh; and that Johnny and Old each led an animal on which a man was tied, his arms behind him, his feet shackled beneath the horse’s barrel.
“Here, you fellows,” said Johnny in a low voice, “just catch hold here and help with these birds.”
The three descended rather wearily from their horses, the lead lines of which Cal held while the rest unshackled the prisoners and helped them to dismount. They were both known to me, one as the big desperado, Malone; and the other as the barkeeper at Morton’s place, our old friend of Chagres days. The latter’s head was roughly bound with a bloody cloth. Under Johnny’s direction we tied them firmly. He issued his orders in a low-voiced, curt fashion that precluded anything but the most instant and silent obedience.
“There,” said he at last, “they’ll do. Chuck them inside where they’ll be out of sight. Now about those two horses─”
“I’ll just run ’em up to the Dutchman’s Flat and stake ’em out thar,” interposed Old. “Thar ain’t no one thar; and they won’t be discovered.”
“Well,” conceded Johnny, “if your horse isn’t too tired.”
“She’ll make it,” replied Old confidently.
“Now for our horses,” said Johnny. “Won’t do to be323getting in at this time of night. It doesn’t look natural. Don’t believe we can get them to the stable without being spotted. Maybe you’d better stake them up there too. Can you walk back?”
“I reckon,” said Old.
He tied the four led horses together, mounted, took the lead rope from Cal, and rode off up the gulch.
Cal came to the fire and sat down. I was instantly struck by his ghastly appearance.
“Cal’s bored through the shoulder,” Johnny explained. “Now, Jim, you’ve got to go up and get Dr. Rankin. He lives at Barnes’s hotel, you know. Barnes is all right; bring him down, too, if you happen to wake him up. Go around to Danny Randall’s quietly and tell him we want to see him. He sleeps in that little back room. Throw some pebbles against the stovepipe; that’ll wake him up. Look out he doesn’t pot you. Don’t let anybody see you if you can possibly help; and tell the others to slip out here quietly, too. Do you understand all that?”
“I see what I’m to do,” I assented; “but let me in! What’s it all about?”
“We met these men and three others driving Woodruff’s oxen this morning,” said Johnny rapidly. “Stopped and had quite a chat with them. They told what sounded like a straight story of having bought the oxen. I knew Woodruff wanted to sell. Didn’t suppose they’d have the nerve to lift them right under our noses. Guess they hadn’t an idea they’d meet us on the road. We were taking the lower trail just for a change. So as soon as we got the news from you, we went back, of course. They324suspected trouble, and had turned off. Old and Cal are wonders at trailing. Came up with them just beyond Bitter Water, and monkeyed around quite a while before we got a favourable chance to tackle them. Then we took the cattle away and brought back these birds. That’s all there was to it.”
“You said five. Where are the other three?”
“Killed ’em,” said Johnny briefly. “Now run along and do your job.”
After some delay and difficulty I fulfilled my instructions, returning at last in company with Danny Randall, to find my friends sitting around the little fire, and Dr. Rankin engaged in bathing Cal’s wound. Johnny was repeating his story, to which the others were listening attentively.
“I learned a little more of this sort of thing in Sacramento,” he was concluding. “And I’d like to state this right here and now: practical jokes on these immigrants are poor taste as far as I am concerned from now on. That’s my own private declaration of war.”
“Let’s take a look at your birds, Johnny,” suggested Randall.
I brought out the prisoners and stacked them up against the trees. They gave us back look for look defiantly.
“You won’t live a week after this,” said the Morton man, whose name was Carhart, addressing Johnny.
“I’ll just have a look at your head, my friend,” said Dr. Rankin.
The man bent his head, and the doctor began to remove the bloody bandages.
325“Question is,” said Johnny, “what do we do with them?”
Danny was thinking hard.
“One of two things,” said he at length: “We can string them up quietly, and leave them as a warning; or we can force matters to a showdown by calling a public meeting.”
“Question is,” said I, “whether we can get anybody with nerve enough to serve as officers of court, or, indeed, to testify as witnesses.”
“You said a true word there,” put in Carhart with an oath.
“I’ll bear witness for one,” offered Dr. Rankin, looking up from his work, “and on a good many things.”
“Look out, damn you!” muttered Carhart.
“I’ve been called to a good many cases of gunshot wounds,” continued the doctor steadily, “and I’ve kept quiet because I was given to understand that my life was worth nothing if I spoke.”
“You’d better keep your mouth shut!” warned the bandit.
“Now,” pursued the doctor, “I personally believe the time has come to assert ourselves. I’m in favour of serving notice on the whole lot, and cleaning up the mess once and for all. I believe there are more decent men than criminals in this camp, if you get them together.”
“That’s my idea,” agreed Johnny heartily. “Get the camp together; I’ll see every man in it and let Woodruff tell his tale, and then let Old or me tell ours.”
“And I’ll tell mine,” said Dr. Rankin.
Danny Randall shook his head.
“They’ll rise to it like men!” cried Johnny indignantly.326“Nobody but a murderer and cattle thief listening to that story could remain unmoved.”
“Well,” said Danny, “if you won’t just quietly hang these fellows right now, try the other. I should string ’em up and shut their mouths. You’re too early; it won’t do.”
The meeting took place in the Bella Union, and the place was crowded to the doors. All the roughs in town were on hand, fully armed, swearing, swaggering, and brandishing their weapons. They had much to say by way of threat, for they did not hesitate to show their sympathies. As I looked upon their unexpected numbers and listened to their wild talk, I must confess that my heart failed me. Though they had not the advantage in numbers, they knew each other; were prepared to work together; were, in general, desperately courageous and reckless, and imbued with the greatest confidence. The decent miners, on the other hand, were practically unknown to each other; and, while brave enough and hardy enough, possessed neither the recklessness nor desperation of the others. I think our main weakness sprang from the selfish detachment that had prevented us from knowing whom to trust.
After preliminary organization a wrangle at once began as to the form of the trial. We held very strongly that we should continue our usual custom of open meeting; but Morton insisted with equal vehemence that the prisoners should have jury trial. The discussion grew very hot and confused. Pistols and knives were flourished. The chair328put the matter to a vote, but was unable to decide from the yells and howls that answered the question which side had the preponderance. A rising vote was demanded.
“Won’t they attempt a rescue?” I asked of Danny Randall, under cover of the pandemonium. “They could easily fight their way free.”
He shook his head.
“That would mean outlawing themselves. They would rather get clear under some show of law. Then they figure to run the camp.”
The vote was understood to favour a jury trial.
“That settles it,” said Danny; “the poor damn fools.”
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
“You’ll see,” said he.
In the selection of the jury we had the advantage. None of the roughs could get on the panel to hang the verdict, for the simple reason that they were all too well known. The miners cautiously refused to endorse any one whose general respectability was not known to them. I found myself one of those selected.
A slight barrier consisting of a pole thrown across one corner of the room set aside a jury box. We took our places therein. Men crowded to the pole, talking for our benefit, cursing steadily, and uttering the most frightful threats.
I am not going to describe that most turbulent afternoon. The details are unessential to the main point, which was our decision. Counsel was appointed by the court from among the numerous ex-lawyers. The man who took charge of the defence was from New York, and had329served some ten years in the profession before the gold fever took him. I happen to know that he was a most sober-minded, steady individual, not at all in sympathy with the rougher elements; but, like most of his ilk, he speedily became so intensely interested in plying his profession that he forgot utterly the justice of the case. He defended the lawless element with all the tricks at his command. For that reason Woodruff was prevented from testifying at all, except as to his ownership of the cattle; so that the effect of his pathetic story was lost. Dr. Rankin had no chance to appear. This meeting should have marked the awakening of public spirit to law and order; and if all the elements of the case had been allowed to come before the decent part of the community in a common-sense fashion, I am quite sure it would have done so. But two lawyers got interested in tangling each other up with their technicalities, and the result was that the real significance of the occasion was lost to sight. The lawyer for the defence, pink and warm and happy, sat down quite pleased with his adroitness. A few of us, and the desperadoes, alone realized what it all meant.
We retired to Randall’s little room to deliberate. Not a man of the twelve of us had the first doubt as to the guilt of the prisoners. We took a ballot. The result was eleven for acquittal and one for conviction. I had cast the one vote for conviction.
We argued the matter for three hours.
“There’s no doubt the men are guilty,” said one. “That isn’t the question. The question is, dare we declare it?”
330“It amounts to announcing our own death sentence,” argued another. “Those fellows would stand together, but who of the lot would stand by us? Why, we don’t even know for sure who would be with us.”
“This case ought never to have been tried by a jury,” complained a third bitterly. “It ought to have been tried in a miners’ court; and if it hadn’t been for those soft heads who were strong for doing things ‘regularly’ instead of sensibly, we’d have had it done that way.”
“Well,” said an older man gravely, “I agree to that. I am going to be governed in my decision not by the merits of the case, but by the fact that I have a family back in the States. I consider my obligations to them greater than to this community.”
I reasoned with them for a long time, bringing to bear all the arguments I had heard advanced at various times during our discussions in Danny Randall’s back room. At last, seeing I could in no manner shake their resolution, I gave in. After all, I could not blame them. The case was to them only one of cattle stealing; they had no chance to realize that it was anything more. Without solicitation on my part they agreed to keep secret my opposition to the verdict of acquittal.
Our decision was greeted by wild yells and the discharge of pistols on the part of the rough element. The meeting broke up informally and in confusion. It would have been useless for the presiding officer to have attempted to dismiss court. The mob broke through en masse to congratulate the prisoners. Immediately the barkeepers were overwhelmed with work. Here and there I could see331a small group of the honest men talking low-voiced, with many shakes of the head. Johnny, Old, and Cal, who had attended with his arm slung up, had their heads together in a corner. Danny Randall, who, it will be remembered, had not appeared publicly in any way, stood at his customary corner of the bar watching all that was going on. His gamblers were preparing to reopen the suspended games.
After conferring together a moment the three express messengers made their way slowly across the room to the bar. I could not see exactly what happened, but heard the sudden reverberations of several pistol shots. The lamps and glasses rattled with the concussion, the white smoke of the discharges eddied and rose. An immediate dead silence fell, except for the sounds made by the movements of those seeking safe places. Johnny and his two friends shoulder to shoulder backed slowly away toward the door. Johnny and Old presented each two pistols at the group around the bar, while Cal, a revolver in his well hand, swept the muzzle slowly from side to side. Nobody near the bar stirred. The express messengers backed to the door.
“Keep your heads inside,” warned Johnny clearly. On the words they vanished.
Immediately pandemonium broke loose. The men along the bar immediately became very warlike; but none of those who brandished pistols tried to leave the building. From the swing and sway of the crowd, and the babel of yells, oaths, threats, and explanations I could make nothing. Danny Randall alone of all those in the room held his position332unmoved. At last a clear way offered, so I went over to him.
“What’s happened?” I shouted at him through the din.
Danny shrugged his shoulders.
“They killed Carhart and Malone,” Danny replied curtly.
It seemed, I ascertained at last, that the three had advanced and opened fire on the two ex-prisoners without warning.
As soon as possible I made my escape and returned to our own camp. There I found the three of them seated smoking, their horses all saddled, standing near at hand.
“Are they coming our way?” asked Johnny instantly.
I told them that I had seen no indications of a mob.
“But why did you do it?” I cried. “It’s an open challenge! They’ll get you boys now sure!”
“That remains to be seen,” said Johnny grimly. “But it was the only thing to do. If Carhart and Malone had ever been given time to report on our confab the other evening, you and Danny Randall and Dr. Rankin would have been marked men. Now no one knows of your connection with this matter.”
“But they’ll be after you─”
“They were after us in any case,” Johnny pointed out. “Don’t deceive yourself there. Now you keep out of this and let us do it.”
“I reckon we can handle this bunch,” said Old.
“Lord! what a lot of jellyfish!” cried Johnny disgustedly. “Danny was right enough about them. But let me state right here and once again that practical jokes on immigrants are going to be mighty unhealthy here.”
No concerted attempt was made by the roughs to avenge the execution of their comrades. Whether they realized that such an attempt would be likely to solidify the decent element, or whether that sort of warfare was not their habit, the afternoon and night wore away without trouble.
“Danger’s over,” announced Johnny the following morning.
“What next?” I asked.
“We’ll go up to town,” said Johnny.
This they proceeded to do, negativing absolutely my desire to accompany them.
“You stay out of this,” said Johnny. “Go and wash gold as usual.”
I was immensely relieved that afternoon when they returned safe and sound. Afterward I heard that they had coolly visited every saloon and gambling place, had stopped in each to chat with the barkeepers and gamblers, had spent the morning seated outside the Bella Union, and had been in no manner molested.
“They’ll be all right as long as they stick together and keep in the open,” Yank assured me. “That gang will sooner assassinate than fight.”
334Although for the moment held in check by the resolute front presented by these three boys, the rough element showed that it considered it had won a great victory, and was now entitled to run the town. Members of the gang selected what goods they needed at any of the stores, making no pretence of payment. They swaggered boldly about the streets at all times, infested the better places such as the Bella Union, elbowed aside insolently any inoffensive citizen who might be in their way, and generally conducted themselves as though they owned the place. Robberies grew more frequent. The freighters were held up in broad daylight; rumours of returning miners being relieved of their dust drifted up from the lower country; mysterious disappearances increased in number. Hardly an attempt was made to conceal the fact that the organized gang that conducted these operations had its headquarters at Italian Bar. Strange men rode up in broad daylight, covered with red dust, to confer with Morton or one of the other resident blackguards. Mysteriously every desperado in the place began to lay fifty-dollar octagonal slugs on the gaming tables, product of some lower country atrocity.
The camp soon had a concrete illustration of the opinion the roughs held of themselves. It was reported quietly among a few of us that several of our number had been “marked” by the desperadoes. Two of these were Joe Thompson, who had acted as counsel for the prosecution in the late trial, and Tom Cleveland, who had presided, and presided well, over the court. Thompson kept one of the stores, while Cleveland was proprietor of the butcher shop. No overt threats were made, but we understood that somehow335these men were to be put out of the way. Of course they were at once warned.
The human mind is certainly a queer piece of mechanism. It would seem that the most natural thing to have done, in the circumstances, would have been to dog these men’s footsteps until an opportunity offered to assassinate them quietly. That is just what would have been done had the intended victims been less prominently in the public eye. The murder of court officials, however, was a very different matter from the finding of an unknown miner dead in his camp or along the trail. In the former case there could be no manner of doubt as to the perpetrators of the deed–the animus was too directly to be traced. And it is a matter for curious remark that in all early history, whether of California in the forties, or of Montana in the bloodier sixties, the desperadoes, no matter how strong they felt themselves or how arrogantly they ran the community, nevertheless must have felt a great uncertainty as to the actual power of the decent element. This is evidenced by the fact that they never worked openly. Though the identity of each of them as a robber and cut-throat was a matter of common knowledge, so that any miner could have made out a list of the members of any band, the fact was never formally admitted. And as long as it was not admitted, and as long as actual hard proof was lacking, it seemed to be part of the game that nothing could be done. Moral certainties did not count until some series of outrages resulted in mob action.
Now consider this situation, which seemed to me then as it seems to me now, most absurd in every way. Nobody336else considered it so. Everybody knew that the rough element was out to “get” Thompson and Cleveland. Everybody, including both Thompson and Cleveland themselves, was pretty certain that they would not be quietly assassinated, the argument in that case being that the deed would be too apt to raise the community. Therefore it was pretty well understood that some sort of a quarrel or personal encounter would be used as an excuse. Personally I could not see that that would make much essential difference; but, as I said, the human mind is a curious piece of mechanism.
Among the occasional visitors to the camp was a man who called himself Harry Crawford. He was a man of perhaps twenty-five years, tall, rather slender, with a clear face and laughing blue eyes. Nothing in his appearance indicated the desperado; and yet we had long known him as one of the Morton gang. This man now took up his residence in camp; and we soon discovered that he was evidently the killer. The first afternoon he picked some sort of a petty quarrel with Thompson over a purchase, but cooled down instantly when unexpectedly confronted by a half dozen miners who came in at the opportune moment. A few days afterward in the slack time of the afternoon Thompson, while drinking at the bar of the Empire and conversing with a friend, was approached by a well-known sodden hanger-on of the saloons.
“What ’n hell you fellows talking about?” demanded this man impudently.
“None of your business,” replied Thompson impatiently, for the man was a public nuisance, and besides was deep in Thompson’s debt.
337The man broke into foul oaths.
“I’ll dare you to fight!” he cried in a furious passion.
Facing about, Thompson saw Crawford standing attentively among the listeners, and instantly comprehended the situation.
“You have the odds of me with a pistol,” said Thompson, who notoriously had no skill with that weapon. “Why should I fight you?”
“Well, then,” cried the man, “put up your fists; that’ll show who is the best man!”
He snatched off his belt and laid it on the bar. Thompson did the same.
“Come on!” cried the challenger, backing away.
Thompson, thoroughly angry, reached over and slapped his antagonist. The latter promptly drew another revolver from beneath his coat, but before he could aim it Thompson jumped at his throat and disarmed him. At this moment Crawford interfered, apparently as peacemaker. Thompson was later told secretly by the barkeeper that the scheme was to lure him into a pistol fight in the street, when Crawford would be ready to shoot him as soon as the first shot was fired.
On the strength of his interference Crawford next pretended to friendship, and spent much of his time at Thompson’s store. Thompson was in no way deceived. This state of affairs continued for two days. It terminated in the following manner: Crawford, sitting half on the counter, and talking with all the great charm of which he was master, led the subject to weapons.
“This revolver of mine,” said he, at the same time drawing338the weapon from its holster, “is one of the old navy model. You don’t often see them nowadays. It has a double lock.” He cocked it as though to illustrate his point, and the muzzle, as though by accident, swept toward the other man. He looked up from his affected close examination to find that Thompson had also drawn his weapon and that the barrel was pointing uncompromisingly in his direction.
For a moment the two stared each other in the eye. Then Crawford sheathed his pistol with an oath.
“What do you mean by that?” he cried.
“I mean,” said Thompson firmly, “that I do not intend you shall get the advantage of me. You know my opinion of you and your gang. I shall not be shot by any of you, if I can help it.”
Crawford withdrew quietly, but later in the day approached a big group of us, one of which was Thompson.
“There’s a matter between you and me has got to be settled!” he cried.
“Well, I can’t imagine what it is,” replied Thompson. “I’m not aware that I’ve said or done anything to you that needs settlement.”
“You needn’t laugh!” replied Crawford, with a string of insulting oaths. “You’re a coward; and if you’re anything of a man you will step out of doors and have this out.”
“I am, as you say, a coward,” replied Thompson quietly, “and I see no reason for going out of doors to fight you or anybody else.”
After blustering and swearing for a few moments Crawford withdrew. He made no attempt to fight, nor do I339believe his outburst had any other purpose than to establish the purely personal character of the quarrel between Thompson and himself. At any rate, Thompson was next morning found murdered in his bunk, while Crawford had disappeared. I do not know whether Crawford had killed him or not; I think not.
About this time formal printed notices of some sort of election were posted on the bulletin board at Morton’s place. At least they were said to have been posted, and were pointed out to all comers the day after election. Perhaps they were there all the time, as claimed, but nobody paid much attention to them. At any rate, we one day awoke to the fact that we were a full-fledged community, with regularly constituted court officers, duly qualified officials, and a sheriff. The sheriff was Morton, and the most worthy judges were other members of his gang!
This move tickled Danny Randall’s sense of humour immensely.
“That’s good head work,” he said approvingly. “I didn’t think Morton had it in him.”
“It’s time something was done to run that gang out of town,” fumed Dr. Rankin.
“No; it is not time,” denied Danny, “any more than it was time when you and Johnny and the rest of you had your celebrated jury trial.”
“I’d like to know what you are driving at!” fretted the worthy doctor.
Danny Randall laughed in his gentle little fashion. I will confess that just at that time I was very decidedly wondering what Danny Randall was at. In fact, at340moments I was strongly inclined to doubt his affiliations. He seemed to stand in an absolutely neutral position, inclining to neither side.
Tom Cleveland was killed in the open street by one of the Empire hangers-on. The man was promptly arrested by Morton in his capacity of sheriff, and confined in chains. Morton, as sheriff, selected those who were to serve on the jury. I had the curiosity to attend the trial, expecting to assist at an uproarious farce. All the proceedings, on the contrary, were conducted with the greatest decorum, and with minute attention to legal formalities. The assassin, however, was acquitted.
From that time the outrages increased in number and in boldness. No man known to be possessed of any quantity of gold was safe. It was dangerous to walk alone after dark, to hunt alone in the mountains, to live alone. Every man carried his treasure about with him everywhere he went. No man dared raise his voice in criticism of the ruling powers, for it was pretty generally understood that such criticism meant death.
It would be supposed, naturally, by you in our modern and civilized days, that such a condition of affairs would cast a fear and gloom over the life of the community. Not at all. Men worked and played and gambled and drank and joked and carried on the light-hearted, jolly existence of the camps just about the same as ever. Outside a few principals like Morton and his immediate satellites, there was no accurate demarkation between the desperadoes and the miners. Indeed, no one was ever quite sure of where his next neighbour’s sympathies lay. We all mingled341together, joked, had a good time–and were exceedingly cautious. It was a polite community. Personal quarrels were the product of the moment, and generally settled at the moment or soon after. Enmities were matters for individual adjustment.
Randall’s express messengers continued to make their irregular trips with the gold dust. They were never attacked, though they were convinced, and I think justly, that on numerous occasions they had only just escaped attack. Certainly the sums of money they carried were more than sufficient temptation to the bandits. They knew their country, however, and were full of Indian-like ruses, twists, doublings and turns which they employed with great gusto. How long they would have succeeded in eluding what I considered the inevitable, I do not know; but at this time occurred the events that I shall detail in the next chapter.