The Misty Morning—Another Indian Scrimmage—Mountain-fever—Never say Die—A Rascally Proceeding—My Six-shooter and a Somersault—"Lo! the Poor Indian!"—His Letter of Introduction—The Ultimate Warmth of His Reception—Nearly Squaring Accounts—A Relapse—Left Behind in Highly Dramatic Attire—First Results with New Acquaintances—Kindness of My Captain—Greater Kindness of His Friend—Becoming a Gold-digger.

It was what sailors term a nasty day when we left this valley. A heavy mist, which was almost rain, veiled the surrounding range of country. Little beyond the eighth of a mile, in front of us or on either side, was visible.

About noon, some of our scouts brought the Captain information that matters looked squally, ahead of the train.

In fact, they had discovered some fresh traces of our red enemies. A halt was at once ordered, and I was despatched ahead with forty of the men to discover, if possible, what the present danger might be.

Nothing for some time presenting itself to verify the report Captain Crim had received, I took a leaf from his book and divided my boys into two parties. This resulted about half a mile farther in a sharp firing from the other party, which suddenly ceased, and in a few minutes more we came across the Indians, who were retreating in good order. Once more, I turned what I had learnt since I first joined Crim, to good account. Concealing my men, we astonished them by a round volley, which sent them off in double-quick time.

We were once more masters of the situation, and shortly after the train was again advancing.

Keeping a careful look-out, in order to prevent an ambush, this evening we struck Gravelly Ford, on the southern bank of the Humboldt.

After we had crossed this, I was taken sick with that terrible disease, emigrants have named the mountain-fever. For the last two days, I had been feeling somewhat under the weather, with occasional racking pain and headache. Never having previously known what actual sickness was, save from the result of accident, I had fancied it was nothing, and would speedily pass away. But, I was wrong. Unable either to walk or ride, my companions were obliged to place me in a wagon, and I became an invalid under the charge of the doctor who had accompanied us.

Captain Crim was more than kind to me at this time. In fact, he would not give me up, although the doctor, ignorant of the toughness of my constitution, actually told him that I was past recovery.

"We'll never say die, doctor, until we leave him behind us, with a wooden board at his head."

It was impossible for me to avoid hearing this, as the observation was made by Crim at a few yards' distance from the head of the wagon in which I was stretched. In spite of the pain and thirst from which I was suffering, as well as my exhausted condition, I could not refrain from a hollow chuckle, knowing how much life there was yet in my body. At the same time, I could not but feel grateful to the Captain for his words. It was clear he did not intend my bones to be cleaned by a stray wolf or some carrion-devouring bird, whose scent might lead them to my carcass.

But I did not know how the villany of one man was watching for the chance of putting me out of the way.

My protection of poor Pigeon had made me an enemy in Rascall. He had heard what the doctor said, and went among the men, some of whom detested me on the score of the favor the Captain had accorded me, grumbling over the necessity of carrying "dead-weight!" In this kindly manner, he had disposed of me before I was fit for burial.

Through this fellow's instrumentality, I was, when the Captain happened to be at the head of the train, taken out of the wagon, and placed upon the earth, wrapped in a couple of blankets, with a small quantity of water beside me.

At this time, I was too weak even to utter a feeble remonstrance.

By a fortuitous circumstance, or I should possibly say a providential one, Brighton Bill came by shortly afterwards. In his astonishment he approached and spoke to me. I was utterly unable to make any reply. My friend—for in spite of his opinion in regard to my manner of settling accounts with the Indians, he proved himself a true one—hurried on to the Captain, whom he reached some quarter of an hour afterwards.

His rage, as well as that of most of my companions, was, as Bill subsequently told me, frightful. He grew absolutely livid with wrath, ordering an immediate halt, and coming back himself, to superintend my removal from my present couch to the wagon Rascall had taken me from.

"We'd better string this Rascall up, at once. He's a dirty varmint, and not worth shot or powder."

This was the expression of opinion of the silent individual, who had declared his gratification at "sarving under me." It would have been put in execution, there can be small doubt, if Captain Crim had not chanced to hear it. Nor, do I think he would deeply have grieved over this way of settling matters between me and Rascall. However, the position of the latter with regard to the cattle which has been earlier stated, prevented Crim's having any ostensible hand in such a condign punishment. He consequently suppressed this inclination on the part of my companions, giving the fellow, who for several hours kept out of his way, a severe reprimand, and adding a significant hint, that should I chance to recover, it would be well for him if he gave me a wide berth in future.

Singularly enough, from the hour in which Rascall had calculated to leave me behind the train—like a worn-out dog kicked from the door of a brutal master's dwelling—I began slowly to recover.

One might have supposed that the lesson he had received, in the way his conduct had been met with, both by the boys and our Captain, might have prevented any further exhibition of his dislike to me. However, this was not so. Some two days after, while I was still too weak to leave the wagon, he seized the opportunity of its being comparatively alone, to order me in an insolent manner to—

"Get out of it, and walk."

As I gave him no answer, he jumped into it for the purpose of beating me, doubtless, as he had formerly treated Pigeon. While his hand was lifted, however, he found himself covered with my six-shooter. Although too weak to walk, I was now strong enough to have pulled a trigger, and he saw I was.

"You had better get out of this, you infernal scoundrel! unless you prefer a bullet in your body."

Low and weak as my voice was, it was determined enough, to rid me of Rascall's presence. The way in which he vanished was so rapid, that had I been in a condition for it, one of my old peals of laughter would have accompanied the somersault with which his retreat from the wagon was effected.

We had reached Smoke Creek before I was enabled to rise and crawl, rather than walk, for the first time through the camp. Here we passed two days, only relieved by an attempt, on the part of the Indians, to stampede our stock. It seemed to me as if this attempt had settled the fact of my recovery. At any rate, I found myself again able to use my rifle with something of my old vitality.

Then we passed to Mud Springs, where we again rested for two days, the feed for the cattle being excellent.

From this place, our track was one of the meanest ever fashioned by God or man. Rough fragments of rock, deep gullies, rapid descents, and almost perpendicular rises, with occasional quagmires and tangled grease-wood, barred the road. We had to move over the ground with as great hesitation and caution as a fair dame displayed in navigating Broadway, during the snows of the last winter. It was possibly in the very worst part of this diabolical track, that we were confronted, as if by magic, with a red-skin.

He made signs of peace, and on being permitted to advance, presented Captain Crim with a paper from the Indian agent at Pyramid Lake. This Indian agent, like all the others of the class employed by our Government, was undoubtedly as little acquainted with the nature of the red man as any Member of Congress could well be. Phil Sheridan understands him a good deal better. Well, this document set forth that the bearer was a good Lo, and friendly disposed, recommending any emigrant-train who might encounter him, to give him biscuit, bread, tobacco, or any other such luxuries in their power to bestow. Of course, I do not vouch for the exact words of this precious paper.

Our Captain complied with the half-request and half-order, and the Lo left us.

Scarcely had we advanced a mile farther, than he appeared again at the head of our train, in the company of thirty or forty other Los, all mounted on the regular Indian pony. Let me here say, that a dirtier and filthier set of red-skins, I never saw. Had the wind set in our direction, I feel the perfume exhaled from their carcasses would have been overpowering. Once more displaying the paper he had before shown, they again commenced begging. More provisions were given them by Crim. Actually loaded down with bread, corned meat, flour, sugar, and other dainties adapted to tickle the aboriginal palate, they at last departed.

"Did you see, Cap!" I asked, "how, the red beggar to the right of the fellow was eying our horses?"

"Yes! We shall have a little trouble before long."

"Good Heavens! Then, why did you give the stinking devils what they asked for?"

"You see, Mose, the scoundrels showed me that worthless paper. To be sure, I might have done what many would, and peppered them at once. It would have saved us a few hours' time and trouble. However, if we have to go in for them, there will be some satisfaction in knowing it is entirely their own fault."

"Do you not see they have stopped at the turn of the darned track, Captain?"

"Yes, Mose, I do."

"You do not mean to give the thieving vagabonds, anything more?"

"Certainly I do, Mose." He said this, grimly fingering his rifle in an ominous manner. "But—"

"Well, Cap!"

"Look here. Just leave the vagabond who showed us the agent's dirty hieroglyphic, to me."

In another instant, yelling like demons, the Los dashed upon our line. By accident, it may be presumed, Captain Crim's rifle, with mine and a dozen others, were discharged; and in five minutes more not a living red-skin was to be seen, on either side or in front of us. In a country traversed by a road like this, pursuit was of course vain, although it was attempted.

It ought, however, to be here stated that, until this occasion, I never knew what a capital shot our leader was. He was essentially a modest man. Nevertheless, his bullet had crushed through the skull of Lo, "the poor Indian," immediately above his left eye.

Towards night we pitched our camp at the lower end of Honey Lake Valley, some three miles from the entrance of Susan River into the lake. Continuing from this spot for two days, towards the small town of Susanville, and fording the river with our horses, we turned them out to graze for the balance of the day.

It was while seated under a large cottonwood tree, with four or five of the boys, watching our stock, that I nearly squared accounts with Rascall. No apparent remains of the mountain-fever forced me to rest in the wagon at the close of a day's ride, and having crossed the stream with them, while keeping a watch upon the horses, I was indulging in the first hour or two's free conversation I had with any of them, for some time. Suddenly, Brighton Bill, who had hitherto remained silent, looked up.

"'Ow was hit, Mose?"

"How was what?" I inquiringly demanded from him.

"Why, 'ow was hit that villin Rascall didn't thrash you, as 'e did Pigeon, when 'e got hinto your wagon?"

As I was relating a somewhat ludicrously-exaggerated account of the somersault performed by him, when he saw my six-shooter peeping out from beneath the covering blanket, Rascall, who had crept up behind the tree under whose branches we were sitting, roared out with savage vehemence:

"You're a lying son of a ——"

No sooner had the blackguardly epithet left his lips, than I was on my feet. My pistol was at once in my hand, and I fired.

Fortunately for him, as I did so, Bill struck up my hand, and the ball passed over his head. The cowardly ruffian took to his heels, very much as if he fancied the devil himself was after him.

We afterwards found that he skulked round the town. Nor did he join the train again until it reached Mountain Meadows. If I can fairly estimate a man's thoughts by the expression of his face, I should candidly say that Captain Crim's features betrayed as little pleasure at seeing him again, as I undoubtedly felt. He had necessarily heard of this occurrence, although he never in any way alluded to it, when chancing to speak with me.

The natural excitement of this affair caused a relapse, and it became apparent that I must have some positive rest from the wear and tear of the journey. It was consequently decided that I should remain at Roop's Ranche, when we reached that place. With great kindness, Brighton Bill decided upon accompanying me there.

But at this time, the only suit of clothes I possessed were those I stood up in, and these had been, by travel, hardship, and exposure, reduced to so thoroughly a dilapidated condition, that each separate garment barely held together. In addition to this, they were worn out both at the knees and elbows. While I was disconsolately thinking of this, Bill had been occupied in looking through the various wagons. Suddenly I heard my name pealing joyously from his lips.

"Hi! Mose. Look 'ere!"

Yes! It was, unequivocally, a carpet-bag which belonged to me. My theatrical wardrobe had departed from me. Very probably this precious waif from my baggage contained all that I needed. Judge what my disgust must have been, when, on opening it, I drew forth one pair of corduroy knee-breeches, a scarlet waistcoat, and a long frieze coat. It was nothing, more nor less, than the complete stage costume of an Irish peasant, which I now remembered having stowed away in the carpet-bag, for the sake of packing my more reputable daily clothes where they might lie flat, without the chance of creasing more than necessary.

I was too weak to swear, and far too depressed in spirit even to grumble. These clothes were, at any rate, sound and whole. This was a point in their favor. So I decided upon wearing them.

On finding myself at the ranche, I was a decided object of curiosity and jeering comment to those with whom I was about to make my temporary home. Having very little money, and being still too weak to work, the immediate prospect was by no means a cheering one. While I was gazing round me, Governor Roop came by, and seized with no unnatural wonder at the unusual clothes of the new inhabitant, paused to question me. Had I been in good health at the time, it may be presumed that my tongue would readily have found words. Now, my teeth seemed to stick together, and my lips could not move. It appeared to me I was like some sailor stranded upon a strange shore, without any help, among treacherous and jeeringly inhospitable natives.

"On finding myself at the ranche, I was a decided object of curiosity and jeering comment to those with whom I was about to make my temporary home."—Page 92.

As this thought crossed me, a kindly hand was laid upon my shoulder, and a cheery voice cried out:

"My boy! you surely did not think I had forgotten you?"

It was Captain Crim who spoke. He had ridden into the town for the express purpose of recommending me to Governor Roop, with whom he was an old acquaintance. It would be useless, as well as a gross piece of vanity, were I here to relate all my late leader said of me. It will be enough to state here, his words were more than enough. The Governor gave him his ready assurance that I should want for nothing, until my former health and energy were completely restored.

Then, turning to me, he bade me follow him. On arriving at the only hotel in the place, he told the landlord to give me the best room in the house, and allow me to remain as long as I desired. The account was to be charged to himself.

It would be impossible for me to keep my engagement in San Francisco, on the tenth of the coming September. Indeed, I had requested Captain Crim, before quitting the train, to explain this to McGuire. As for my dear little wife, to whom I had written so hopefully from St. Joseph, what could I now say to her? I dared not write. In spite of Crim's kindness, and the even greater kindness of the Governor to a perfect stranger, that afternoon and evening were passed by me in a condition of extreme depression.

With the next morning, a happier state of mind came. For the first time in many weeks, I had slept in a decent bed. It was certainly not a palatial hotel, yet my breakfast was a better one, as well as more approximating to civilization, than any I had recently enjoyed. The sun shone through the curtainless windows in an inspiring way. The movement of the life around me was different from that which I had recently experienced. In fact, all, for the time, seemed new. The complete change had already comparatively reinvigorated me.

From this moment I began rapidly to recover my health, and in a few weeks was able to look around for such employment as the place could afford.

Nothing available could be found.

During this period, I had frequently met with miners and conversed with them. The chances and struggles of their life had a considerable attraction for me. At last I decided upon "prospecting" for gold. Success in this appeared to offer me the only possibility I could see of repaying Governor Roop what I had cost him (his kindness to me it would be impossible to repay) and leaving the ranche, like an honest man. After spending some two weeks with little or no success, I, at length, established what I believed to be a good claim in Light's CaÑon.

Honestly, I may say that I went to work with a will. Fortune, however, was long in coming. For many weeks, I made merely enough from my claim to whet my appetite for more.

Perseverance however generally pays. At last I made more than enough to pay my debts. A few days after accomplishing this, I had cancelled my debt to him who had so kindly befriended me. Then, as the winter had begun somewhat earlier than usual, with many thanks to the Governor, I located in Susanville, where I decided to remain until the spring.

The truth is, I had already tasted the keenest excitement I had yet found in life, because it is the most fluctuating and uncertain. The chances in gold-prospecting and gold-digging are so variable, that I defy any young man who has once tempted them, readily to put them from him. The poor devil who has been at it for months, and gained merely enough to sustain his existence, may, in a single afternoon, find his toil munificently rewarded. Like the gambler, he stakes. It is not money, so much as life and work. A single hour may possibly give him a thousand-fold the value of that which he, perchance, considers an almost worthless stake.