Although we did not immediately run into the expected thousands, nor did the promise of that first glorious day of discovery quite fulfil itself, nevertheless our new diggings turned out to be very rich. We fell into routine; and the days and weeks slipped by. Bagsby and one companion went out every day to hunt or to fish. We took turns at a vacation in camp. Every night we “blew” our day’s collection of sand, weighed the gold, and packed it away. Our accumulations were getting to be very valuable.

For a month we lived this idyllic life quite unmolested, and had gradually come to feel that we were so far out of the world that nothing would ever disturb us. The days seemed all alike, clear, sparkling, cloudless. It was my first experience with the California climate, and these things were a perpetual wonder to my New England mind.

Then one day when I was camp keeper, at the upper end of our long meadow, a number of men emerged from the willows and hesitated uncertainly. They were too far away to be plainly distinguishable, but I believed in taking no chances, so I fired my revolver to attract the attention of my companions. They looked up from their labour, saw the men, and promptly came into camp.

The group still hesitated at the edge of the thicket. 222 Then one of them waved something white. We waved in return; whereupon they advanced slowly in our direction.

As they neared we saw them to be Indians. Their leader held before him a stick to which had been tied a number of white feathers. As they approached us they began to leap and dance to the accompaniment of a weird rising and falling chant. They certainly did not look very formidable, with their heterogeneous mixture of clothing, their round, black, stupid faces and their straight hair. Most of them were armed simply with bows and arrows, but three carried specimens of the long Spanish musket.

Buck Barry promptly sallied out to meet them, and shook hands with the foremost. They then advanced to where we were gathered and squatted on the ground. They were certainly a villainous and dirty looking lot of savages, short, thickset, round faced, heavy featured, with coarse, black, matted hair and little twinkling eyes. A more brutish lot of human beings I had never seen; and I was almost deceived into thinking them too stupid to be dangerous. The leaders had on remnants of civilized clothing, but the rank and file were content with scraps of blanket, old ragged coats, single shirts, and the like. The oldest man produced a long pipe from beneath his blanket, filled it with a few grains of coarse tobacco, lighted it by means of a coal from our fire, puffed twice on it, and passed it to me. I perforce had to whiff at it also, though the necessity nearly turned my stomach. I might next have given it to one of our own party, but I did not want to deprive him 223 of my own first hand sensation, so I handed it back to another of the visitors for fresh inoculation, as it were. Evidently I had by accident hit on acceptable etiquette, as deep grunts of satisfaction testified. After we had had a whiff all around, the chief opened negotiations in Spanish. Most of us by now had learned enough of it from our intercourse with Don Gaspar and Vasquez to understand without interpretation.

The Indians said they wanted to trade.

We replied that we saw nothing they might trade with us.

In return they produced some roots and several small bags of pine nuts.

We then explained that we were reduced in ammunition, and had little food.

Don Gaspar here interpolated hastily, saying that in his judgment it would be absolutely necessary that we made some sort of a present to avoid the appearance of intending an affront. Buck Barry and Jones seemed instantly to accept this necessity.

“Give them two or three of the saddle blankets,” suggested Barry, after a moment’s thought. “We will have several light hosses going out; and if we have to pad the saddles we can git along with skins or something.”

We gave our visitors the blankets, therefore. They seemed well pleased, arose, and shortly made a primitive sort of a camp a short distance outside our stockade. We did no more washing that day. About five o’clock our hunters came in with the best meat of a blacktail deer. Bagsby listened attentively to our account of the interview. Then he took a hindquarter of the newly killed buck and 224 departed for the Indians’ camp, where he stayed for an hour.

“I don’t think they are out for meanness,” he announced when he returned. “They tell me this yere is on a sort of short cut from some of the Truckee lakes down to their villages. But we got to keep a sharp eye on our horses; and we got to stand guard to-night.”

Very early in the morning, when we were just up, several of the elders came over to tell us that some of the young men would stay to work for us, if we so desired. We replied that we had no goods with which to pay for work. Shortly after, the whole tribe vanished down river.

For two nights Bagsby insisted on standing guard, and on having some of us take turns at it. Then we declined flatly to do so any longer. The Indians had gone far downstream, as their trail indicated to our hunters, and had shown no signs of even hesitating on the way. We fell into our old routine, and laughed at Bagsby when he shook his head.

About this time Johnny and McNally, scrambling of a Sunday for the sake of a view, stumbled on a small ravine that came nearer realizing our hoped-for strike than anything we had yet seen. After “puddling out” a few potfuls of the pay dirt, we decided to move the cradles. It was not over a half mile from camp, but was out of sight of the stockade. The move was the occasion for a hot discussion. Bagsby wanted to reorganize, and we were reluctant.

“Thar ought to be two men in camp,” said he, “and 225 thar ought never to be less’n three together out hunting. And that’s my idee–that ye’re paying me money for.”

“That leaves us only four men to work the cradles,” I objected. “Four men out of nine working.”

“Well, thar won’t be no men out of nine a-workin’ if you don’t watch out,” predicted Bagsby. “You-all forgit this is a self-supportin’ community. We got to work for our living, as well as for gold.”

“The hunters might go out less,” suggested McNally.

“The miners might eat less, then,” replied Bagsby grimly. “This ain’t what you’d call the best sort of a game country.”

We came to it, of course, though with much grumbling. It seemed an almost excuseless waste of good energy; a heavy price in economic efficiency to pay for insurance against what seemed a very remote peril. But we did not know, and our uncertainty gave way.

“But hang it!” cried Johnny, “here’s more gold than a hundred men could begin to handle, and we’re wasting more than half our resources.”

“It do seem so,” agreed Yank with his accustomed slow philosophy. “But we can put in longer hours because we rest oftener.”

A week passed, and we had almost forgotten our chance visitors. One day the two Spaniards, Buck Barry and I were at the cradle; Bagsby, Yank, and McNally were the hunters for the day. Johnny and Missouri Jones kept camp.

We had had a most successful morning, and were just stacking our tools preparatory to returning to camp for 226 dinner. Buck Barry was standing near some small sage bushes at the upper end of the diggings. He was just in the act of lighting a freshly filled pipe, when he stopped as though petrified, the burning match suspended above the bowl of his pipe. Then he turned quickly toward the sage brush; and as he did so a bow twanged and an arrow sang past his head so close as actually to draw blood from the lobe of his ear. With a roar of anger Buck Barry raised his pickaxe and charged into the bush. We saw a figure rise from the ground, dash away, stumble flat. Before the man could get up again Buck Barry was upon him, and the pickaxe descended. At the same instant we heard a series of whoops and two shots in rapid succession from the direction of camp. Buck Barry came bounding out of the sage brush, and seized his rifle from under the bush where we had kept them.

“Come on!” he panted. “Let’s get out of this!”

We ran as hard as we could go for a hundred yards, or until we had reached the flat of the river bottom. Then we paused, uncertain as to just what next to do.

“Wait a minute,” said I. “I’ll just take a look,” and hurried up a little spur-knoll to the right. From that elevation I instantly caught sight of a crowd of Indians coming up the valley at full speed. Most of them were on horseback, but a number loped along on foot, keeping up with the animals. One look was enough. I raced down to my companions again; and we hastily took refuge in the only cover near enough to conceal us–a little clump of willows in a small, damp watercourse. There we crouched, rifles ready.

227I was terribly excited. The patter of the horses was now plainly audible, though, owing to the inequalities of the ground, they could not become visible farther than a hundred yards away. I trembled violently, and cursed myself for a coward, though I really do not think I was frightened. At any rate, I became deadly cool the moment the first savage appeared; and I drew a steady bead and toppled him off his horse before any one else had got in action. The shot brought them to a stand. They had, I think, expected to find us in our ravine, and were surprised. Immediately I dropped the butt of my rifle to the ground and began reloading. A shower of arrows flew toward us, but were deflected by the criss-cross of the willows. In fact, this lacework of stout branches seemed to be an excellent sort of armour against arrows. In the meantime my companions had each dropped his man; though Vasquez had better luck than skill, as his savage was only clipped in the leg. I fired once more, and elicited a howl. There could be no missing at the distance, unless a man quite lost his head; and personally I was too scared for that. Another shower of arrows rattled in the willows; then the band broke to right and left and raced away up the hills like mad. They had no courage, and lost stomach for the fight at once when they found us prepared.

We were astonished and delighted, for we had fully expected to be ridden down. As soon as we were quite certain this sudden retreat was not a ruse, we came out from our shelter. How many wounded had made off–if any–we could not tell. Three dead bodies lay on the 228 ground. To them we paid no attention, but, with many forebodings, hurried back to camp.

When we appeared in sight Missouri Jones ran out to meet us, his rifle over his arm.

“Where’s Johnny?” I cried.

“He was down at the river a-getting water,” said Jones, “and I ain’t seen him since.”

We all ran down to the edge of the river pool whence we drew our supply. For a moment our hearts stood still, for no Johnny was in sight. Then he arose dripping from the middle of the pool.

“This water’s cold,” he remarked conversationally. “I think I’ll come out. Anybody hurt?”

He waded ashore, and shook himself like a dog.

“I didn’t hear ’em until they were right on top of me; and I couldn’t get away without being seen,” said he; “so I just waded out and imitated a rock with my head.”

We roared with laughter by way of relief.

“It isn’t the first time, Johnny,” said I.

“That’s all right,” put in Missouri Jones. “This is no joke. They got three of our hosses.”

Then he told us his experience.

“I was just a-browning of the venison,” he explained, “when I happened to look up, and thar was three of our hosses running off, tails up, and a half dozen Injuns a hoss-back driving ’em. I let drive with old Betsey and Johnny’s gun, but they was about out of range. While I was looking after them about forty Injuns went past sky-hootin’. I suppose they thought the first lot had all the hosses, and so they didn’t stop. The rest of the hosses, luckily, was 229 asleep behind the cottonwoods. You bet I didn’t call their attention to myself.”

He exhibited the greatest satisfaction when he learned that we had accounted for four.

“That’s something like Injun fighting,” he observed, “though these are a pore, spiritless lot. The whole bag ain’t worth more than one of them good hosses.”

We did no more gold washing that day, but remained close in camp, consumed with anxiety for our companions. From time to time we fired a rifle, with the idea of warning them that something was amiss. The remaining half-dozen horses we ran into the corral.

Night fell and still the hunters did not return. We were greatly alarmed and distressed, but we could not think of anything to do, for we had not the least idea in what direction to look.

“Bagsby and Yank are old hands,” speculated Missouri Jones consolingly. “And the fact that Injuns is abroad would make them slow and careful.”

None of us felt like turning in. We all sat outside on the ground around a little fire.

Toward midnight we heard voices; and a moment later Yank and Bagsby strode in out of the darkness.

“Where’s McNally?” Yank instantly demanded. “Hasn’t he come in yet?”

We told him we had seen nothing of the missing man.

“Well, he’ll drift in pretty soon,” said Bagsby. “We lost him in the darkness not two hours back.”

They set to frying some venison steak. Excitedly and in antiphony Johnny and I detailed the day’s adventure. 230 Both the backwoodsmen listened in silence, but without suspending their cooking.

“They didn’t bother McNally,” Bagsby decided. “They’d drive those hosses away five or six miles before they’d stop; and McNally was with us just a little piece back. He’ll be in by the time the venison is cooked.”

But he was not; nor by an hour later. Then we decided that we must go out to look for him.

“We can’t see nothin’ till daylight,” said Bagsby, “but we can get started back for the last place we saw him.”

It was now about one o’clock in the morning. Bagsby appointed Vasquez, Missouri Jones, Buck Barry, Yank and myself to accompany him. Don Gaspar was suffering from a slight attack of malarial fever; and Johnny, to his vast disgust, was left to hold him company. We took each a horse, which we had to ride bareback and with a twisted rope “war halter.”

Bagsby led the way, and we followed closely nose to tail. It was an interesting and wonderful experience, had I had more attention to give it, for we rode mysteriously neck deep in velvet darkness over strange hills, and awful shapes rose mysteriously, and the sky silvered with stars like the glittering of little waves. But my mind was filled with dread and foreboding, and a great anxiety for our merry, blue-eyed companion, and a very considerable wonder as to how our guide managed to find his way.

He did not hesitate, however, as to direction; only occasionally he had to stop and cast back and around for a way through. Often, at a low command from him, we dismounted and led our animals.

231We proceeded thus for a long time–five or six miles, I should think. By the undefined feeling of dark space at either hand I judged we must be atop a ridge. Bagsby halted.

“It was somewhere on this ridge we left him,” said he. “I reckon now we’d just better set down and wait for dawn.”

Accordingly we dismounted and drew together in a little group. Over the top of the great ranges a gibbous moon rose slowly. By her dim light I could make out the plunge on either side our ridge, and the other dark ridges across the way. Behind us our horses occasionally stamped a hoof or blew softly through their noses.

I lay flat on my back, and idly counted the stars. Happening to glance sidewise, I caught the flicker of a distant light.

“Bagsby,” I whispered, “there’s a fire not more than a half mile away.”

He too lay down in order to get my angle of view.

“It’s not McNally,” he pronounced after a moment’s careful inspection, “for it’s too big a fire, and it’s a lot more than half a mile away. That’s a good big fire. I think it’s Injuns.”

“Probably the same gang that lifted our hosses!” cried Buck.

“Probably,” agreed Bagsby. He sat upright and peered at us through the dim moonlight. “Want to get after them?” he inquired.

“You bet!” said Buck emphatically, “They may have McNally, and if they haven’t, they’ve got our horses.”

232“There’s six of us and we can shore make it interesting for that lot,” agreed Yank. “Can we get to where they are?”

“I think so,” said Bagsby.

We rode for another hour, slanting down the mountainside toward the flickering fire. Every time a horse rolled a rock or broke a dried branch it seemed to me that the mountains reverberated from end to end. I don’t believe I allowed myself to weigh over six ounces all told. Finally we left the slope for the bottom of the valley.

“I’d rather be below their camp than above it. It’s going to be hard to get out this way,” complained Bagsby, “but it’s the best we can do.” He dismounted us, and we crept forward another half mile, leading our animals.

“This is as close as I dare take the hosses,” whispered Bagsby. “Vasquez, you stay here with them,” he said in Spanish, “and when I yell twice quick and sharp, you answer so we’ll know where to find you. Come on!”

We stole forward slowly. The fire leaped and flared beneath the widespread branches of a tree. Around it lay a half dozen or so recumbent shapes wrapped in blankets. How many more might be lying beyond the light circle we could not tell. Beyond them we saw dimly the forms of dozing horses. Obeying a signal from the old trapper, we circled the camp until we were on the same side as the animals. They raised their heads and blew softly at us; but we lay still, and shortly they quieted down.

“Now,” breathed Bagsby, “when I give the word, fire. And each man grab a horse by the picket rope, stampede the rest, and hustle back to Vasquez. Ready!”

233We raised our pieces, but before the command to fire was given, one of the sleepers threw aside his blanket, stretched himself and arose. It was a white man!

I confess that for a moment I turned physically sick.

“Hello!” called Bagsby, quite unmoved.

The white man seized his rifle, and the recumbent forms leaped to life.

“Who are you?” he demanded sharply. “Speak quick!”

“Keep yore ha’r on!” drawled the trapper, advancing into the light. “We’re perfectly respectable miners, out looking for a lost man; and we saw yore fire.”

The rest of us uttered a yell of joy and relief. One of the men who had been sleeping around the fire was McNally himself.

We drew together, explaining, congratulating. The strangers, six in number, turned out to be travellers from the eastern side of the ranges. They listened with interest and attention to our account of the Indian attack. McNally explained that he had been uncertain of his route in the dark; so that when he had caught sight of the fire he had made his way to it. We were still engaged in this mutual explanation when we were struck dumb by a long-drawn-out yell from the direction of our own horses.

“It is Vasquez,” explained Barry. “He wants to let us know where he is,” and he answered the yell.

But at that moment one of our own horses dashed up to the bunch of picketed animals and wheeled, trembling. Its rope bridle dangled broken from its head. Sam Bagsby darted forward to seize the hanging cord.

234“It’s cut!” he cried. “Quick! Out across the valley, boys!”

We followed him into the moonlight, grasping our rifles. A moment later a compact band swept toward us at full speed, our horses in the lead, their rope halters dangling, a dozen Indians on horseback following close at their heels and urging them on.

“Shoot, boys!” yelled Bagsby, discharging his own piece.

Our rifles cracked. It was impossible to take aim; and I am sure we hit nothing. But the horses swerved aside from the long fiery flashes, and so ran into the picketed lot and stopped. The Indians flew on through our scattered line without stopping, pursued by a sputter of shots from our Colt’s revolvers.

“A while ago I was sorry we had to stop above camp,” said Bagsby with satisfaction; “but it was a lucky thing for us. They had to come by us to git out.”

“And Vasquez?” Yank struck across our exultation.