A GOLD SAVING MACHINE.
Tex had $5,000 worth of gold dust deposited there in Lee’s safe. I think ’twas long in the spring of ’50 that we first got the news that Lee had busted. The boys who had deposited their dust with him made a rush for Sacramento City, now, you bet. But, oh, pshaw! it wern’t any use. They couldn’t git anything. A few of them, I heard afterwards, made out to git a little something. Well, now, you see, when the news first come up, I asked Tex if he wasn’t goin’ down, for I noticed that he didn’t seem to hurry or fret about it. ‘Oh,’ says he, ‘I reckon I will, but there’s no hurry about it.’ NowTex waited for some of the boys to return, and report what the prospect was, and then he started down. I tell you there was black sand in the corner of his eye as he stepped into the stage the next morning, and says I to myself, ‘Old Barton, old Barton, take keer of yourself, for you are agoin’ to have a visitor from old Tuolumne!’ Well, upon his arrival in Sacramento, he found Lee’s office, and in front of it was a large, powerful negro acting in the capacity of doorkeeper. Says Tex to him, ‘Is Mr. Lee in his office?’
“‘No, sah, no, sah, he am not, sah!’
“‘Well, I know a d—— d sight better,’ says Tex.
“‘Well, you can’t see him, sah, for he’s busy, sah.’
“But before the astonished doorkeeper could scrape himself together again from among the pile of old rubbish in the corner, Tex was inside the room, and with the door locked upon the inside.
“He found Mr. Lee alone, writing at his table. He laid his certificate of deposit upon the table in front of him, and remarked in a very quiet, pleasant manner:
“‘Mr. Lee, that paper calls for $5,000 worth of gold dust, and I will give you just two minutes to open that safe and pass it out.’
“Mr. Lee would like to make an explanation and argue the case; but ‘not a word, sir; when you open that safe, and I find there is no money or gold dust in it, then I will listen to any explanation which you wish to give, and not before, so hurry up, if you please.’
“Mr. Lee then in a very haughty manner turned and looked Tex in the eye. He saw color in among the black sand in the corner of it, fixed his eyes upon that funny, innocent-looking gold saving machine which Tex was holding in his hand, slid in a kind of hurried sort of way over the back of his chair to his safe, unlocked it, counted out $5,000 all in slugs, put them into a little canvas sack, and handing it to Tex, remarked that it was all right. ‘You bet,’ says Tex, and politely bidding Barton good-day, he left.”
“Well,” says another old-timer whom they called Pete, “that reminds me of another one of the same breed who lived up in Coloma. His name was Crumie, George Crumie, if I remember. This chap kept a saloon up there, and I believe was the only one in the camp who had an iron safe at that time, for this was along in the spring of ’50, I think. Now, Mr. Crumie was a very obliging man, and waswilling for us miners to keep our sacks of dust in his safe. Well, one day Mr. Crumie concluded that he had some very important business to attend to in San Francisco, and now was a grand opportunity for any of the boys to send down for any little thing they wanted, as Mr. Crumie was willing to attend to anything of that kind, and wouldn’t charge a cent for his trouble. The consequence was that he had quite a list of articles to purchase for us, and the dust in his pocket to pay for ’em.
“The morning Mr. Crumie left the camp ’twas noticed that his baggage was rather numerous, and quite hefty, too, for a man who was jest goin’ down on business and who was intending to come right back agin, do you see. But little attention was paid to his baggage, however, and all was supposed to be right until a few days after he had left, when word was brought up to Coloma that Mr. George Crumie was on board of a steamer, and on his way to New York. Upon receiving this unwelcome news, the boys concluded that something was wrong. The safe was at once broken open, for he had taken the key with him, and found empty. It was estimated that there was at least $25,000 in gold dust deposited there by different miners, besides about $7,000 belonging to his pardner, John O’Donnell, who was then living in Hangtown. That explained the use of them heavy trunks that some of us helped to load upon the stage for him the day he started.”
Pete was asked if Crumie had ever been heard of since? “No,” he answered, “not that I am sure of; but only a few years ago I was informed that a Mr. George Crumie was residing in the city of——, and following the profession of gambling.”
Tennessee now remarked that there was another little incident or two in which his old pard Tex took an active part that he would like to tell; one of them occurred in a small town upon the Mississippi river near Memphis, in the fall of ’51. “Tex and I concluded to go home on a visit for a short time in the fall of ’51, and on the way we stopped at the little town for a few days to see some old acquaintances, and it was there that the little incident occurred. We met rather unexpectedly a man that we didn’t think of meeting. Of course you all remember that company of outlaws that created so much excitement here in California in ’49, called The Hounds.
“There was, I think, about twenty of them, and their object was when they first formed to clean out the Mexican horse and cattlethieves who infested the central and lower parts of the State at that time. They accomplished their purpose, and very effectually, too, in a short time, but this job finished what to do next was the question to decide, which they were not long in doing, however, for the precedent had been established many years before by the renowned Captain Kidd, with which fact they were all doubtless familiar. They therefore decided to go and do likewise upon their hook, and roam at will among the hills of the mining regions, as well as among the ranches of the valleys, as land buccaneers.
“They were a desperate set of men, and had no scruples whatever about taking the life of any one who opposed them. Rewards were offered by a committee of citizens for their capture or destruction, and the band was finally broken up and dispersed, many of them being forced to flee the country.
“One of these Hounds was a man whom Tex had heard of before, and a few years previous had resided near the small town where I have said that we stopped for a few days. By the way, while in San Francisco a few days before starting on our voyage home, by accident Tex picked up an old handbill from a table in the hotel where we were stopping, signed by the committee of citizens and Governor Burnett also, I think, offering a reward of $1,000 for the capture of this very man I refer to. Well, while sitting in the bar-room of a hotel in the small town, in conversation with old acquaintances, Tex made the remark that this man, who formerly lived near here, had been a member of the band of outlaws in California called The Hounds, and inquired if it was known what had ever become of him, and I tell you, boys, we were both astonished when informed that that man was at the present time a resident of the place, and was running a faro game in a house across the street. We were further informed that he was a very dangerous character.
“Now you may depend that this news to us was not very pleasant at this particular time, and if we had known it we should never have mentioned his name, but Tex was in for it now, and of course I was bound to stand by my pard.
“One of this man’s friends, who was present and heard the statement from Tex, went over and informed him at once that a man at the hotel, right from California, had stated all the particulars of his connection with The Hounds, and of the reward offered for his
TEX GIVES FULL SATISFACTION.
capture. Well, we expected, of course, to receive a visit from the gentleman, and we didn’t have long to wait, for in a few minutes the door was thrown open and in walked a large, powerfully built man who was every inch a Hound, and he showed it in his black, glistening eyes. He walked right up to Tex, who was sitting in a chair, and demanded his authority for the statement, or instant satisfaction for the foul slander, at the same time placing his hand upon the handle of his weapon. Tex drew his weapon instantly, and, rising to his feet, replied in a very quiet manner:
“‘Well, sir, you can have both if you wish, and first here is my authority,’ at the same time taking the handbill from his pocket he shook it out, and stepping backwards a few steps to the side of the room, fastened it to the wall, remarking: ‘There, sir, is my authority for the statement I have made, signed by the Governor, and now if you demand satisfaction you shall have it at once, but if you make the least motion to draw your weapon you are a dead Hound.’
“The man immediately left the house, and that night left the town upon finding that his friends had all deserted him.”
One of the boys asked Tennessee what steamer he sailed on when he returned East in ’51, and if there were many other forty-niners who went East upon the same steamer? He stated that they took passage in the steamer “Sierra Nevada” from San Francisco, and upon the steamer “Illinois” from Chagres to New York, the latter commanded by Lieutenant Herndon, who was lost when the steamer “Central America” foundered a few years later in the Caribbean Sea. There were about 700 passengers on board the steamer when we left San Francisco, and as near as we could judge at that time about 500 of them were Forty-niners. Some were going East to remain, but by far the greater portion were going to see their friends, relatives, and the girls they left behind them, and with the intention of returning soon again to California.
It was while crossing the Isthmus that another little incident occurred, in which Tex took an active part. It illustrates the character of the man, and how ready he always was to help any one in trouble. In crossing the Isthmus at that time we traveled on foot or by mule power to the small town of Golgona, which place is at the head of navigation, and from here down the Chagres River by boat to the town of Chagres. Now, Tex, myself, and a fewothers, arrived at Golgona ahead of the crowd of passengers from Panama early in the afternoon, intending, of course, to take passage immediately down the river. But as we were upon the point of starting we were informed by one of the passengers of the steamer, John L. Stevens, that a friend of his, who was also a passenger upon the same steamer, was confined in the calaboose there upon the evidence of one of the natives, who swore that the American had refused to pay him for transporting his trunk from Panama. Upon this accusation the American was arrested and confined in the native prison, a large log house near the town. Upon investigation we found this man to be a Forty-niner, a man about 60 years of age, and from the State of Ohio. We were allowed to converse with him through the iron-grated window, and he stated that he paid the native in advance at Panama one ounce, as agreed upon, for transporting his baggage, and didn’t think it right to compel him to pay it again upon the evidence of the native.
To leave this old Forty-niner locked up was not to be thought of. Tex proposed, therefore, that we wait until our passengers had all arrived in the place, then make a demand for his release of the Alcalde, and in case of refusal, to release him ourselves and take him down the river with us.
About fourP.M.the passengers had all arrived and we were ready for business. A committee was appointed to wait upon the Alcalde, a large powerful negro, dressed in full regimentals, with a cavalry sword suspended to his waist, and explain to him the facts in the case and demand the man’s release; but the old commander felt the dignity of his position, and in a very lofty and dignified manner refused to liberate the Americano until he had settled the account.
Suspecting trouble the Alcalde called out his native troops, numbering about 200 men, to guard the prison. They were armed with a great variety of weapons, consisting of the old-fashioned flint-lock musket, pistols, swords and clubs. Among them the old style brass blunderbuss was numerous, as well as other styles of deadly weapons. I tell you, boys, they were about as ferocious and formidable a looking set of warriors as you would care to run afoul of in a dark night if you didn’t know who they were; but during an engagement the safest place, in my opinion, would be right in front of them.
TEX AT GOLGONA.
Well, Tex took charge of the boys, and with a big sledge hammer in his hand we formed into line between the native troops and the calaboose. Tex drew his watch from his pocket and holding it up before the eyes of the Alcalde gave him (the latter) to understand, by pointing to the hands of it, that when the short hand had got to the figure five if the door wasn’t opened he would open it with his sledge, and, furthermore, if he ordered his troops to fire off their guns and things that some of them would get badly hurt. The Alcalde drew his huge sword from its scabbard, flourished it above his head, and at the same time ordered his troops to turn around, face the music and make ready, which they succeeded in doing after some little trouble; but at the same time Tex remarked: “Now, boys, show ’em what you’re got, and we’ll soon show ’em that we know how to use them, too.” Every man instantly drew his gun. They were mostly single-barrelled pistols, although there was a great number of the latest style of revolver, the Smith & Wesson, among them, but they were sufficient for the purpose.
As soon as the time was up Tex held his watch up before theeyes of the Alcalde, replaced it carefully in his pocket, at the same time raising the sledge above his head and advancing toward the prison door. Would the swarthy commander order his troops to fire? He ran his eye along the line of his brave army, then took a careful survey of the crowd of Americans in front of the prison, and looked at the little insignificant weapons that they held in their hands. Would he uphold the dignity of his position and give the order to fire and save his reputation as a warrior? He hesitated; suppose he should get hurt and his army annihilated? Taking the key from his pocket he unlocked the prison door, and the old Forty-niner was free.
Upon our return to California a few months later the fact had been made known that the native did actually receive his pay for transporting the American’s trunk. He was tried and found guilty, and the Alcalde sentenced him to receive 100 lashes and confined him in prison for one year.
Tennessee’s Letter From Tex—The War in Chili Gulch—Sam Brown and the Chap With the Mild Blue Eyes—Sam Brown and the Policeman—Old Kentuck and Sleepy Ben.
Tennessee’s Letter From Tex—The War in Chili Gulch—Sam Brown and the Chap With the Mild Blue Eyes—Sam Brown and the Policeman—Old Kentuck and Sleepy Ben.
ANOTHER little incident took place on board of the steam ship “Illinois,” that is worth relating, continued Tennessee “because Tex bossed the job. When we first went down to the dinner table in the steerage, we found that there wasn’t any sugar on the table for our coffee; Tex thought that very strange, and turning around to the ship’s steward, who was standing in the door of the pantry, inquired of him if there was any sugar on board? ‘Oh, yes sah’!’ replied the colored steward, ’there’s two barrels of white sugar here in the pantry sah; but dem is fo’ the cabin sah.’ ‘Well’ says Tex; ‘we must have some of that sugar here in the steerage, for we have all paid the price of our passage, and are just as much entitled to the use of that sugar as the cabin passengers are, and if you don’t bring it out in two minutes we will go and help ourselves.’”
So the steward immediately locked the pantry door, and sent word to the officers of the ship that there was mutiny among the passengers of the steerage. In a few moments Lieut. Smith with a guard of six marines armed with cutlasses descended into the steerage and demanded to know what the trouble was. Tex replied that there was no sugar upon the table, and as there was plenty of it in the pantry reserved for the cabin, the boys had concluded that they were as good as the cabin passengers, and therefore demanded some sugar. And without meaning to show any disrespect to the officers of the ship, sir, yet we must have some of that sugar, and we’ll give the steward five minutes to bring it. If he doesn’t, then we shall be obliged to get it ourselves. The officer then ordered the guard to arrest that man, which they started to do, but as they advanced toward Tex with drawn cutlasses, a hundred of the old
“NOT MUTINY, BUT SUGAR.”
Forty-niners surrounded Tex, and gave the officers to understand that it wouldn’t be safe to attempt the job. Captain Herndon was immediately summoned and drawing his sword demanded of Tex in a very threatening manner if it was his desire to raise a mutiny on board of his ship? Tex replied in a very calm and quiet manner, oh, no, not by any means Captain, for we are not that style of men at all. We are a lot of Forty-niners on the way to the East to visit the old folks and to see our girls, and have no desire to raise a mutiny, but we are simply trying to raise some sugar.
Captain Herndon took a good square look at Tex right in the eye, for about a minute; then he ordered the guard to go upon deck, sheathed his sword, and walking round to the other side of the table where Tex was standing, laid his hand upon his shoulder, and with good nature beaming from his eyes said:
“Then all you are trying to raise is a little sugar is it, sir?”
“That’s all, Captain, said Tex in a very quiet and polite way.”
“Well, remarked the Captain and you shall have it. Steward divide that sugar with the boys in the steerage,” and then shaking hands with Tex and a few others, he went upon deck.
Some one asked if Tex was yet alive and where he was; and Tennessee replied that Tex returned to his native State about twenty years ago; bought a ranch somewhere in the northern part of the State; went and got married, and settled down for life. He continued by saying that he heard from Tex occasionally, and said he; “The last letter I received from him was only a few months ago. I have the letter with me now, and if you would all like to hear what Tex has to say, I will read it to you.” Upon all present expressing a desire to hear the letter read, Tennessee took it from his pocket and read as follows:
“California Ranch, Jones Co., Texas, }“September 25th, 1887. }
“Dear Old Pard:—
“Returning home, after an absence of about three weeks, from Galveston, where I had been with a drove of cattle, I found your letter awaiting me, and you can imagine the pleasure we all enjoyed in again hearing that you are in good health and still continue in the old business of mining, with fair prospects ahead of you, and we sincerely hope that your fullest expectations may be realized from your silver mine up in Cœur D’Alene. My family are all inthe best of health and my two oldest sons are now of that age to be of great assistance to me upon the ranch. This, as you know, is quite a pleasant country in which to settle down for life, and we are all reasonably contented. For this reason, I ought not to complain. Yet this is not California, by any means. Although having a pleasant home, yet I am continually thinking of the happy years I spent in California, and with a desire to make that my future home, which I certainly would do if I could dispose of my property here. You tell me that great changes have taken place in some portions of the mining regions. That in many places our old piles of tailings have been levelled down; the places where we mined filled up again and planted with fruit trees and grape vines, and also that pleasant homes can now be seen among the hills where formerly all was desolate and dreary, and where in the opinion of all of us at that early day no reasons were known why they should not so continue. You tell me in your letter that the old-timers are fast disappearing, and that not more than 500 or 600 are at present living in the mining region. This fact I am sorry to hear, although ’tis what must be from the nature of things expected. If circumstances are such that I shall not be able to sell my property here and remove with my family to California, I shall, at any rate, make you a visit, perhaps next winter; if not, then the winter following, for I tell you, Pard, there is no spot upon the face of the earth more dear to me, except my home, or filled with such pleasant associations than the mining regions of California, and a residence there of fifteen or twenty years unfits a man for a residence in any other portion of the Union, or, in fact, anywhere else. When I come we will get Yank and Jeff, if we can find them, and start on a prospecting tour around among the old camps, where we mined in early days. We will go to Mokelumne Hill, then over to Angel’s camp, then up through Jackson in old Amador, and then we’ll strike onto our old trail up past Duncan’s store and pan out a few pans on the MacCosmy (Cosumnes). Then, if we have time, I would like very much to visit Chili Gulch, over in Calaveras County, that historic spot, where you remember the Chileans captured the Kentucky boys. Then we’ll strike on to the old trail up through Fiddletown, where we’ll find, I think, a few old-timers; then along up through old Hangtown, in Eldorado County, where you tell me that fifty or sixty old Forty-niners are still hanging out. We’ll prospect aroundup Cedar, Oregon and Spanish Ravines, take a look over in the big cañon and at that rich spot we struck at Poverty Point. We will lay in a fresh supply of provisions from Coleman’s store, if he is yet in business in Hangtown, lay in a few mince pies from Doctor Wakefield’s wife, under the hill, and continue our prospecting across the South Fork, up through Coloma, Georgetown, Spanish Flat, up on around Forest Hill and vicinity, where the boys used to roll the dust out by the million. And if we have time, Pard, we’ll visit Nevada, Rough and Ready, Squaw Hollow, Last Chance, and all other camps and river bars where we used to prospect in early days. And I tell you that such a trip, for me, would give me more pleasure than a journey through the Holy Land or any other portion of the earth’s surface. Give my best respects to all old acquaintances that you run across in your wanderings, and please tell them for me that from a residence of about twenty years among the mountain ranges of California I acquired that trait of hospitality which is peculiar to your State, and if any of them should ever chance to visit this portion of the country, they will always find the latch-string hanging outside the door. Don’t forget, either, what I have before mentioned to you, that when the storms of adversity strike you too heavy, or if the bed rock in the diggings is inclined to buck, and the claim don’t pan well, we have an extra room prepared and ready; an extra chair at the table, also, always ready for my old Pard which he is welcome to occupy the balance of his life. My family join in sending their respects, and hoping to hear from you soon again, I remain, as ever, Your old Pard,
“Tex.”
Tennessee having finished reading the letter, and after each one had given his opinion in relation to the kindness and noble qualities of the writer of it, it was suggested that they all unite in drinking to his health. The toast from old Mike upon the occasion being:
“An’ now, me b’ys, here’s a long life, hilth and prosperity to our ould comrade, Tex, an’ may the b’ys who are now afther drinkin’ to his hilth be able to mate togither yearly for the balance ov ther lives an’ repait the same operation, be jabers.”
Three cheers were then given for Tex, while old Mike was not forgotten.
Tennessee was asked if he was acquainted with the particulars of the incident that occurred in Chili Gulch referred to by Tex?He replied that he was, as he got the whole account of it from Kentuck, who was present and took a part in the affair:
“IT’LL BE OUR TURN NEXT.”
“This Chili Gulch is a few miles from Mokelumne Hill and empties into the Calaveras River. It was given this name because ’twas discovered by a company of Chileans numbering about thirty, and they had worked there for several months, and were taking out gold by the bushel. In the winter of ’49-’50 a company of men composed of Texans and Kentuckians, with a few from Arkansas and Missouri, numbering about sixteen in all, camped near Chili Gulch, and finding that these foreigners were getting more than their share of gold, concluded to drive them out and take possession of these rich claims. They therefore posted notices in the gulch ordering the foreigners to vacate within twenty-four hours or suffer the consequences. But no attention was paid to the order for the reason that no law had been passed by the Government to prevent them from mining in California. And from this fact they inferred that they had as good a right to mine as any one. The miners, finding that they did not intend to leave, drove them out by main force and took possession, not only of their mining ground,but also of their tools, tents and even of some of their clothing. The Chileans went up to Mokelumne Hill for assistance, but the officers of the law refused to assist them. The sheriff did, however, in order to get rid of them, give them a blank warrant with the privilege of filling it out and serving said warrant in any manner they pleased. Armed with this authority they went early in the morning and took the whole company of miners prisoners, but unfortunately one Missourian was killed and another one badly wounded during the affray. They tied the hands of their prisoners, and driving them along in the road ahead of them, started for the town of Stockton, distant about eighty miles. Kentuck said ‘that they was jist the maddest set of men you ever did see, for the idea of bein’ driv along the road like a flock of geese by them d—d greasers, with their hands tied behind their backs, was terrible.’
“And said he, if we could only have got loose, we’d have killed the whole lot of ’em.
“They told the greasers that they were playin the trump card with a full hand and to make the most of it, for said they it’ll be our turn next; and it came sooner than either party expected. They all stopped at O’Neil’s station, about twelve miles from Stockton, for breakfast. Now it happened that there were quite a number of travellers and teamsters who had stopped there the night before and when they saw them greasers drive in the boys for breakfast, they were not long in getting acquainted with the particulars, and whether right or wrong made no difference, for they were Americans at any rate. So they charged upon them while they were eating their breakfast and bound every one of ’em. Now the scene had changed, and the boys around Chili Gulch were astonished, a few days after, to see the American boys driving the Chileans before them into camp, all tied in a similar manner as the Americans had been. Kentuck said they gave them a fair trial, and sentenced four of them to be shot. Of course they didn’t know which ones killed their pardner, but it made no difference, to shoot about four of ’em would fill the bill anyhow. And said he, the rest of ’em left that part of the country in a hurry.
“‘Well,’ said I to old Kentuck, ‘I suppose that you and your company staid there and worked out Chili Gulch didn’t you?’
“‘Oh well, yas we didn’t,’ he replied.
“And I asked him why not, as there was a good show after they had driven out the Chileans.
“‘Oh yes,’ said he, ‘that was all right, and you see we did start in to work, but found the climate so kind er sultry round thar, that we all concluded to find a more salubrious clime further north.’
“I asked him to explain what he meant; and said he.
“‘A few days after we started in to work, some of the miners around thar had a sort of a miners’ meetin’ one day, and so they come over into Chili Gulch and stuck a paper up on a tree with some writing on it for us to read, and so we did.’
“I asked Kentuck if he remembered what it said.
“‘Oh yas,’ says he, ‘I do, first rate, for I’ve got an awful good memory. It said that if any of them fellers what driv out, and shot them Chileans, was found mining over there in Chili Gulch, that the miners round in them diggings would hang every derned one of em. Now wer’nt that too sultry for comfort old pard, and wer’nt it time to hunt for a more salubrous atmosphere?’”
Tennessee was asked if he was with Tex up in Tuolumne in ’56 or ’57, at the time he had the trouble with Sam Brown.
“Oh yes,” he replied, “I was near there at that time, but there wasn’t much trouble, anyhow. The way it was: you see some one had told Brown that Tex made the remark, that it would be much better for the country if Brown was out of it. This, of course, was enough for Brown, and swearing vengeance he went on a hunt for the man Tex, and he found him. Now Brown had heard of Tex, but never had seen him, for Tex was at work down in the gulch and seldom went up into town; but one day he had some business up at Mokelumne Hill, and Brown was informed of the fact and started out to find him. Tex was pointed out to him, so Brown crossed the street, and stepping in front of him demanded to know if he had made such a remark which he repeated, at the same time placing his hand upon his weapon.
“Tex asked, ‘is this Sam Brown? at the same time placing his hand upon his gun.
“The latter answered that such was his name.
“‘Well,’ says Tex, ‘I did make that remark and meant it too, and am willing to make the same remark again to your face, if ’tis any accommodation to you, and now what are you going to do about it?’
“Brown took a good square look at that quiet, good natured blueeye of Tex’s, removed his hand from his weapon, and remarked as he turned to leave, ‘oh nothing’; some one asked Brown why he didn’t go for Tex? ‘Oh!’ says he, ‘I don’t want to quarrel with that man.’”
Brown was a noted desperado, a fine looking man, with long curly hair of a sandy color; he was rather of a good natured disposition when perfectly sober, but a demon when drinking.
It was said of him that he had killed in the short space of ten years about a dozen men; but, somehow, he always got clear by pleading self defence.
But his career ended in Carson Valley some time in ’63 if I am not mistaken, when Vansickles, with a few others overtook him on the road with their shot guns, and without the formality of a trial filled his body with buck shot.
Jersey remarked that there was a good story told about Brown, the circumstances of which occurred in some mining camp in the State of Navada. Brown had butchered a man in self defence, as he usually claimed, but the authorities thought otherwise and determined to arrest him; but where was the officer who was willing to take his chances, and make the arrest. An ex-policeman in San Francisco who had monkeyed with that style of man, as he supposed, learning of the situation, volunteered to make the arrest, and was tendered the job.
Brown was informed of the fact, and patiently watched for the coming man. Upon the arrival of the stage into town containing the policeman, Brown was at his post waiting to tender him a cordial reception, and as the former opened the stage door to alight, Brown ordered him to remain right where he was, and enjoy a ride at his (Brown’s) expense, and then ordered the driver to take him away out of town, which he did.
Another old-timer asked Tennessee if he knew what had become of old Kentuck and his partner, Sleepy Ben? The former answered that it was never known what had become of them. They were either killed by the Indians or lost in the mountains some time in ’54.
“You know that after they had worked out that rich claim in the winter of ’49-’50 in Georgetown cañon, they went the next season up on Murderers’ Bar, on the Middle Fork, where they did well. The following season they commenced work on the river,
SAM AND THE POLICEMAN.
but luck was against them and they were washed out for two seasons in succession. In ’53 they went into the mountains on a prospecting expedition, and returned in the fall with some of the finest specimens, and the biggest, that you ever did see. They struck a rich cañon somewhere at the north, and we all tried to find out where it was, but it wasn’t any use, and it never has been found yet. Well, they started in the spring of ’54 for their rich cañon, and that is the last that ever has been heard of Kentuck and Sleepy Ben. It was very early in the spring when they started, and the supposition was that they got lost in the snow, and were frozen or starved to death.”
Yank Visits the Old Mining Camp—Yank Seated on the Boulder—The First Loaf of Bread—The Bean-pot Comet—How Julius Sailed Up the River—Jeff’s Plum-Duff—The Stone Statue—The Old Miner Who Was Robbed on Board the Steamer—The Cœur d’Alene Mines—Coasting.
Yank Visits the Old Mining Camp—Yank Seated on the Boulder—The First Loaf of Bread—The Bean-pot Comet—How Julius Sailed Up the River—Jeff’s Plum-Duff—The Stone Statue—The Old Miner Who Was Robbed on Board the Steamer—The Cœur d’Alene Mines—Coasting.
ONE of the company remarked, with rather a sad expression of countenance, that the last time he went through the mining region in the central counties, where he mined in earlier days, it actually gave him the blues to see those small villages and mining camps now all going to ruins and not a single sluice or tom at work for miles around, except once in a while by a Chinaman.
“Why, them confounded ranchers,” he continued, “are jest fencin’ in the whole country, and settin’ out their grape-vines and orchards right where we used to jest roll out ther dust. Why, if them chaps keep on a spell longer, nobody will know that there has ever been any minin’ done there at all.”
“Oh, say, Jim, when were you up in Eldorado County last!” asked Yank, an old-timer, of an old pardner whom he had just met for the first time in many years.
Jim replied that he had never been to that part of the country since he left it in ’53.
“But that was a rich gulch that we worked over there by Mosquito cañon, wern’t it?” said Yank.
“Well, I should say it was, and good two-ounce diggins’ every day. I would jest like to strike another sich a claim as that now.”
“Well,” says Yank, “do you remember old Buckeye, the chap with the crooked nose?”
“Oh, yes! yes indeed. You remember I called him old corkscrew. But have you ever run afoul of him in your travels?”
“Yes,” replied Yank, “and I’ll tell ye how I happened to strike him last fall. You see I had been prospecting around up in thatnew silver minin’ region in Northern Idaho, and as soon as the snow begun to fall I concluded to make tracks for California, so I came down through Montana into Nevada, but didn’t see any thing worth stayin’ there for. Well, on my way over from Nevada, I concluded to come around on that divide, take a look around the country above Georgetown, and take a walk over to that gulch, near Mosquito Cañon, where we worked in ’50. But I tell you I hardly knew the place, for I had to climb over fences, travel through vineyards and orchards, and in one place I come across the biggest swarm of children that you ever did see, and it did seem strange to see so many children livin’ where only a few years ago was nobody but grizzlys and Indians. I asked a little black-eyed chap where they all came from, and he said that building over there on the hill was a school-house, and the children all lived around in the neighborhood. I asked him if their parents were mining?
“‘Oh, no,’ said he, ‘they was most all ranchin’, some few of em were minin’ down in the cañon and some were workin’ in their tunnel claims in the hills.’
I asked him if there was any more children in that part of the country.
“‘Oh,’ says he, ‘I reckon there is; for right over there by the cañon is a big school house that’s chock full of children, and over there in that ravine they are jest buildin’ another one and that’ll soon be full of children too, you bet.’
“The boy put me on the trail to the cañon, and I soon found the gulch where we mined nearly forty years ago. ’Tis all fenced in now, and the ground where we worked down in the gulch is all covered with fruit trees. You remember that great quartz boulder, Jim, that slid down off the bank one day and came near smashing some of us?”
“Oh, yes, first rate,” answered Jim.
“Well, that great boulder lies right there yet in the same spot and jest looks as natural as life. I lit my pipe and took a seat upon it, as we used to do, you remember, and thought of old times, and wondered what had become of my old pardners, Jim, Buckeye and Kentuck. I found the old cabin that we built, or what is left of it, but it has been fixed up, and two or three chaps are livin’ in it, who are at work for the man who owns the ranch. Itook a walk up towards the old cabin and see two of them chaps grinding an axe out in front of it. Do you remember, Jim, the time that I went over to Georgetown and bought that Dutch oven?”
YANK REVISITING THE OLD SCENES.
“Yes, indeed, I do, and old Buckeye called it a donkey baker, because there was a big cross upon the inside of the cover, and I remember, Yank, how you bragged that you was jest a-goin to show the boys what good bread was when it come your cook week agin. Ha! Ha! and I remember that first loaf you baked, too, and how we had to drill and blast it into small pieces before we could eat it.”
“But don’t you remember the next loaf I baked was so infernal hard, Jim, that you broke the drill tryin’ to put in a blast?”
“Yes, you bet I do, Yank.”
“Well, you’ve got an awful good memory, Jim; and you remember I threw that loaf of bread out among the ashes in front of the house, Yank?”
“Well, now, listen. I see them chaps at work up there in frontof the cabin grindin’ an axe, and I could hear one of ’em growlin’ and cussin’ about somethin’, so I walked up that way to have a talk with them. They told me that they had been to work mor’n two hours tryin’ to grind the axe on that grindstone, but ’twasn’t worth a cuss. I asked them where the stone came from, and one of them said that he found it among that old pile of ashes and tried three or four days to git a hole through it so they could use it.
“‘Out of the ash heap,’ said I, ‘that’s queer.’ I stepped up close to get a good look at it, and what do you suppose I see, Jim? Why, on the side of the stone was a big cross, and I’ll be dolgerned if they wasn’t using that loaf of bread for a grindstone that I throw’d out there nearly forty years ago, just as sure as you live. Well, I asked the chap how they got a hole through it. He said they tried every way they could think of, but ’twas no use.
“‘One day there was a thunder shower comin’ over, and the Boss, he fastened a wire to it and then run the ’tother end of the wire ’way up to the top of a hop-pole. Well, the lightnin’ struck it right square in the center, and it jest tore the lightnin’ all to pieces, but didn’t hurt the stone a bit.’
“‘Well, well,’ says I, ‘that beats anything I ever heard of. But,’ I asked, ‘how did you make out to git a hole through it at last?’
“‘Well,’ says he, ‘I’ll tell ye. A man over the hill yonder was down here to the ranch ’tother day looking at the stone, and he told the Boss to bring it over to his ranch and he would drill a hole through it for him. So we took it over thar and he did it. You see, he has got on his ranch a real knowin’ sort of mule, who’s always willin’ to do anythin’ you want done, if he can do it. So the rancher made the stone fast to a tree behind the mule, fastened a drill to the mule’s hind foot, and then begun to tickle the mule behind his ear with a long straw, and in about three minutes he drilled a hole right square through the middle of the stone.’
“Then I up and told him what that stone was and the reason why they couldn’t grind an axe on it, and showed him the cross on the inside of it, and how it was marked from the cross on the inside of the cover of the bake-oven.
“The chap who had told me all about drilling the hole through it, turned his eye up towards me and remarked that he thought I had better be goin’ pretty soon, for the Boss might be comin’ down that way. I asked him why? He said there was a noticejest above thar on the fence that no old Forty-niners were allowed to come about on the ranch. I asked him the reason why, and he said that he couldn’t exactly tell what the reason was, but said he (the Boss) was an old Forty-niner hisself and maybe he could tell me. I then asked the chap if he was an old-timer too. He said no, but that he had an aunt who was.
“‘I thought so,’ said I.