There were nine of us–Bagsby, Yank, Johnny Fairfax, myself, Don Gaspar, Vasquez, McNally, Buck Barry, and Missouri Jones. We possessed, in all, just nine horses. Yank, Vasquez, Bagsby, and Jones drove eight of them out again to Sutter’s Fort for provisions–Don Gaspar’s beautiful chestnut refused to be a pack-horse on any terms. We took the opportunity of sending our accumulations of gold dust to Talbot for safekeeping. I do not know just how much my companions forwarded. Of course I could compute their shares; but had no means of telling just what deductions to allow for the delights of Hangman’s Gulch. For Talbot I laid aside as his share of our entire product of four hundred and eighty-six ounces a total of one hundred and ten ounces. This included the half of my own share, as agreed. Roughly speaking, the value of a partnership third, after Don Gaspar’s portion had been deducted, was a trifle over a thousand dollars for six weeks’ work. There seemed to us also an excellent chance to realize something on the two cradles. I went about among the miners, and without trouble got bids for a hundred dollars each. Johnny was by no means satisfied with this. He insisted that late in the afternoon we drag the formidable engines up the trail to the town, where he deposited them in the middle 204 of the street. There he proceeded to auction them; attracting the crowd by the simple expedient of firing his Colt’s revolver. The bidding was sluggish at first, but Johnny’s facetious oratory warmed it. The first cradle was knocked down at one hundred and sixty dollars. The second was about to go for approximately the same amount, when Johnny held up his hand.

“Gentlemen,” said he impressively, “I do not think you quite realize that for what you are bidding. This is no ordinary cradle, like the other. This is the very identical warranted genuine cradle into which that enormous lump of gold, weighing three and three-quarter ounces–the finest nugget ever unearthed at Hangman’s Gulch–was about to be shovelled by that largest and most enormous lump of a lad, the gentleman at my right, when seized upon and claimed as private property in accordance with the laws of these diggings. This is the very identical historical cradle! Now, how much am I bid!”

The crowd laughed–but it bid! We got two hundred and forty dollars for it.

Our purveyors returned the second day after. They reported prices very high at Sutter’s Fort, and a great congestion of people there; both of those ascending the river from San Francisco, and of overlanders. Prices had consequently gone up. Indeed, so high were all provisions that our hard-headed partners had contented themselves with buying only some coffee, dried beef, and flour. They had purchased also a further supply of powder and balls, and a rifle apiece for such of us as already had none. The weapons were very expensive; and we found 205 that our savings had been much eaten into. We collected our effects, packed them, as many of them as we were able, and sunk to sleep in a pleasing tingle of excitement.

Bagsby got us up long before daylight. The air was chilly, in contrast to the terrific heats to be expected later in the day, so we hastened to finish our packing, and at dawn were off.

Bagsby struck immediately away from the main road toward the north. The country we traversed was one of wide, woody bottoms separated by rocky hills. The trapper proved to be an excellent guide. Seemingly by a sort of instinct he was able to judge where a way would prove practicable for our animals down into or up out of the numerous caÑons and ravines. It was borne in on me very forcibly how much hampered we should have been by our inexperience had we tried it alone. The country mounted gradually. From some of the higher points we could see out over the lowlands lost in a brown heat-haze. Deer were numerous, and a species of hare, and the helmeted quail. The sun was very hot; but the air was curiously streaked with coolness and with a fierce dry heat as though from an opened furnace door. All the grass was brown and crisp. Darker and more abrupt mountains showed themselves in the distance, with an occasional peak of white and glittering snow.

Until about three o’clock we journeyed through a complete solitude. Then we came upon some men digging in a dry wash. They had piled up a great heap of dirt from a hole. We stopped and talked to them; and discovered that they were working what they called “dry diggings.” The 206 pay dirt they excavated from wherever they found it piled it in a convenient place, and there left it until the rains should permit its washing. They claimed their dirt would prove to be very rich; but I thought myself that they were labouring in great faith. Also we learned what Bagsby had known right along, but which he had not bothered to tell us; that we were now about to cross the main Overland Trail.

We stopped that night near the road, and at a wayside inn or road house of logs kept by a most interesting man. He served us an excellent meal, including real eggs, and afterward joined us around the fire. He was an Italian, short, strongly built, with close curly hair, a rollicking, good-natured face, and with tiny gold rings in his ears. Johnny and he did most of the talking, while we listened. No part of the civilized world seemed to have been unvisited by this pair. Johnny mentioned Paris, our host added an intimate detail as to some little street; London appeared to be known to them from one end to the other; Berlin, Edinburgh, St. Petersburg even; and a host of other little fellows whose names I never knew before and cannot remember now. They swapped reminiscences of the streets; the restaurants, and the waiters and proprietors thereof; the alleys and byways, the parks and little places. I knew, in a general way, that Johnny had done the grand tour; but the Italian with his gold earrings and his strong, brown, good-humoured peasant face puzzled me completely. How came he to be so travelled? so intimately travelled? He was no sailor; that I soon determined.

The two of them became thoroughly interested; but 207 after a time the native courtesy of the Italian asserted itself. He evidently thought we might feel left out of it; though I think the others were, like myself, quite fascinated.

“You lika music?” he smiled at us engagingly. “I getta my Italian fiddle? No?”

He arose at our eager assent, pushed aside a blanket that screened off one end of the log cabin, and produced his “Italian fiddle”–a hand-organ!

At once the solution of the wide wandering among the many cities, the intimate knowledge of streets and of public places burst upon my comprehension. I could see our host looking upward, his strong white teeth flashing in an ingratiating fascinating smile, his right arm revolving with the crank of his organ, his little brown monkey with the red coat and the anxious face clambering-

Next morning we crossed the Overland Trail, and plunged into a new country of pines, of high hills, of deep caÑons, and bold, rocky ridges. The open spaces we had left behind, and the great heats. Water flowed in almost every ravine, and along its courses grew green grass and wild flowers. Every little while we would come upon openings in the forest, clear meadows spangled with blossoms; or occasionally we would skirt high bald knobs of rock around which was stiff brush. For some miles we could journey at ease through clear woods, then would encounter a gash in the earth into which, at some expense of trial, we would have to find a way. At first every stream bed was dotted with the red shirts of miners. They became fewer as we advanced, until finally the last pair had been left behind. We camped that night at the edge of one of the meadows, 208 beneath pine trees. The air turned very chilly. We built ourselves a fire of dried branches from the trees. In the meadow the horses cropped eagerly at the lush green feed, their bells tinkling pleasantly.

Nothing more remote could be imagined. Nevertheless Bagsby, Don Gaspar, and Vasquez were not satisfied. They consulted at length and apart; then Bagsby announced that sentries must stand watches. We grumbled at this, but Bagsby was firm, and as we had agreed to obey his commands we did so now. Don Gaspar explained to us later that the Mexican thieves would trail a party like ours for days, awaiting the chance to make off with the horses. Bagsby also chose the sentinels, selecting himself, Yank, Vasquez, and Missouri Jones. Once wrapped in my warm blanket I found myself selfishly glad that my experience had not been considered worth trusting.

The third day we occupied in surmounting a tremendous ridge of mountains. We climbed for hours, working our way up by zigzag and long slants through the pines, the rocky outcrops, the ledges, and the stiff brush that made up the slope. It was hard work; and it seemed to have no end. We arrived at last on a knife-edge summit. Here the trees were fewer. We looked abroad over the country we had traversed, and that which lay before us–a succession of dark, dim, undulating ridges with caÑons and valleys between, slanting from the great ranges at the right to brown rolling hills and the heat-covered, half-guessed plains. Immediately below us, very far down, was a toy-like valley, with low hills, and flat places, and groves of elfin trees, and a twisting bottle green river with white rapids.

209“Thar’s the Porcupine,” Bagsby told us briefly.

We took a look, then plunged into the tangles and difficulties of the descent. Just at sundown, our knees bending under us, we came off that terrific slant to a grateful wide flat, grown with scattered oaks, and covered with fine brown grass. A little spring stream wandered through the meadow toward the river on the other side of the valley.

We camped right there, dumping the packs from the horses almost anyhow. After a hearty meal, we rolled ourselves immediately into our blankets and fell into a grateful sleep to the tune of the distant river murmuring over the shingle.