Prospecting, as it is called, for gold placers and quartz veins has grown into a profession. No man can engage in it successfully unless he understands it. There are certain indications in the face of the country, the character of the rocks, the presentation of the strata, the form of the gulch, the gravel in streams or on the bars, the cement formation below it, or the shape of the mountains, which are generally known only to experienced prospectors, that determine generally the presence of the precious metals. Guided by these unmistakable signs, the veteran gold searcher is sustained in his solitary explorations by the consciousness of possessing knowledge which must sooner or later lead to success. Impressed with the idea that as many rich gulches and productive veins have been found, so others remain to be discovered,—and that as those already developed have made their owners rich, so some fortunate discovery may do the same for him,—he mounts his pony, and with pick, shovel, and pan, a magnifying glass, a few pounds of bacon, flour, and coffee, his trusty rifle and revolver at hand, and his roll of blankets and not infrequently a quart flask of whiskey, he plunges into the unexplored recesses of the mountains, and for weeks and months is lost to all the world of humanity beside himself. Alone, but encouraged by that hope which outlives every disappointment, he wanders hundreds of miles into the unvisited wilderness, the hero of countless adventures and the explorer of the world’s great solitudes.

Men of this class are numerous in all gold-mining regions. Their very occupation makes them maniacs. They lose all relish for society, and think of nothing but the success they are one day to meet with in the pursuit of gold. Frequent as their discoveries often are, and promising as many of them proved to be, the one they are in search of lies still farther onward. Abandoning to those who follow them discoveries which would assure them all the wealth they need, they lead on and on into the mountain labyrinth, pioneering the path of empire, to die at last alone, unfriended, and destitute, beyond its utmost boundaries. It is to such men that we owe the discovery of all the gold regions which have contributed to our wealth since the days of Marshall, the discoverer of gold in California in 1848.

Gold had been discovered west of the mountains in several portions of Washington Territory previous to this time. As early as the year 1852, H. M. Chase found it on a creek which flowed into the Grand Ronde River. He exhibited it at Portland, and such was the excitement it occasioned that several parties of discovery were organized, and plunged into the mountain recesses of that portion of Washington which afterwards became Idaho. Among others was one Pierce, who became infatuated with the idea that the river sands of this unexplored region were filled with diamonds. He searched for them very thoroughly, but the traditions of the time fail to inform me that he found anything more valuable than gold. An unimportant camp of the early miners, which received his name, has served to transmit his memory and mania to the present period. These early explorations, leading deeper and deeper into the mountain wilderness, finally resulted in the discovery of the Florence and Oro Fino mines.

Thousands of people, lured by their discoveries, had nearly worked out the placers of Oro Fino during the Summer of 1861. The Pacific world, alive to the importance of a region which promised such great additions to its wealth, kept up a stream of emigration to the placers, which exhausted all the sources of supply more rapidly than they could be filled. The world was there in miniature. Meantime the indomitable prospector kept in the van. Crossing the Salmon River range, he soon unveiled the riches of those placers which afterwards became known as Florence and Elk City. They were immediately occupied by thousands,—and other thousands of the far East, thrilled with the story of their richness, were on their way to the new El Dorado. An hegira similar to that of 1849 again took place across the plains. Lewiston was no longer the base of operations. Among the earliest of those to abandon it for a point more favorable to the prosecution of their enterprise, were the banditti which had so long held its inhabitants in fear. Supplied with horses from the shebang on the Walla Walla road, they departed from Lewiston in small parties, intending to recommence operations at a place afterwards to be selected, in the mountains of the interior.

The daring, adventurous, and courageous elements of character are necessarily developed and brought into frequent action in a mining country; and whenever these are found in combination with high moral principle, they are held in continual fear by men of criminal life. One bold, honest man will demoralize the guilty designs of a host of rascals. Nothing was so much dreaded by Plummer’s murderous gang as the possible organization of a Vigilance Committee; and any man who favored it was marked for early destruction. Such a man was Patrick Ford, the keeper of a saloon in Lewiston. Ford was an active man in his own business,—eager in the pursuit of gain, but entirely upright in his dealings, and the open and avowed enemy of the roughs. He, more than any other member of the community, had urged the people of Lewiston to unite for their protection, and hang every suspected individual in the place; and he taunted them with cowardice when they disbanded without punishing the known murderers of Hiltebrant. As fearless as he was uncompromising, he denounced the ruffians in person, and warned them that a time would come ere long when they would meet their deserts at the hands of an outraged people. He did not conceal from them his intention of following in the track of the prosperous miner, lead where it might,—which purpose they resolved to prevent. His death they regarded as necessary to their future prosperity. Having ascertained that he intended to leave Lewiston with a half-dozen dancing girls for the saloon he had established at Oro Fino, they laid a plan to insult him and involve him in a quarrel on his arrival at their shebang, and kill him. Ford was admonished of the design, which he foiled by avoiding the shebang. Being assured of his safe passage to Oro Fino, the robbers, led by Plummer, Ridgely, and Reeves, mounted their horses and started for the interior. Of the particular events of the early part of the trip, further than that it was marked by the frequent robbery of travellers, I am unable to speak. When within seven or eight miles of Oro Fino, the robbers observed two Frenchmen, some distance apart, approaching them on foot. The one in advance was ordered to stop and throw up his hands, as in that position he was powerless and could not offer any resistance. After a careful search of his person they found nothing of value, and bade him move on as rapidly as possible, telling him that it was “a rough country to be in without money” and that he “had better get out of it as soon as possible.” With the other, whom they subjected to a like process, they were more fortunate, and, despite his solemn denial, found in his pocket a purse containing a thousand dollars in dust, which they appropriated, dismissing him with the remark that if he had done the square thing and not lied they would have given him enough to take him to the Columbia,—but as it was, he might be thankful to get off with a whole carcass. Some idea may be formed of the daring and recklessness of this robbery when it is understood to have occurred at mid-day, near a town containing a population of several thousands, and on a thoroughfare thronged with travellers.

Uttering a shout of exultation, the robbers dashed into the town of Oro Fino with the impetuosity of a cavalry charge. Reining up in front of Ford’s saloon, which they entered, they called loudly upon the bar-keeper for liquor. Ford was absent. When they had drunk, they commenced demolishing the contents of the saloon. Decanters, tumblers, chairs, and tables were broken and scattered over the apartment. One of their number, more fiendish than the others, seized a lap-dog from one of the females and cut off his tail. At this juncture Ford himself came upon the scene. Boldly confronting the rioters, pistol in hand, he ordered them instantly to leave his premises. He charged them with the robbery of the Frenchmen, and denounced them as thieves, robbers, and murderers. They saw and feared his determination, and obeyed his commands with alacrity. He followed them into the street, and threatened them with punishment if they remained in town. They were about to act upon this hint, when Ford, fully armed, came to them a second time, and demanded the cause of their delay. He was answered with a bullet, inflicting a dangerous wound. The fire was returned, and the fight became general,—three against one. The robbers were protected by their horses, while their antagonist was openly exposed to their fire. Ford emptied the charges from one six-shooter, made five shots with the other, and was in the act of aiming for the last, when he fell dead, riddled with the balls of his adversaries. Ridgely was shot through the leg twice, and Plummer’s horse disabled.

Such was the melancholy fate of Patrick Ford,—a man long to be remembered as the friend of law and order,—the first, indeed, in the northern mines who dared to urge the extermination of the robbers, as the only remedy for their depredations. He literally sealed his principles with his life’s blood.

Ridgely’s wounds disabled him for service. He was taken by his companions to a ranche near the town, and as well cared for as circumstances would admit. Leaving him there, the other members of the band, fearful of the friends of Ford, seldom ventured beyond the limits of their camp.