CHAPTER XVII.
THE RESPECTABLE PILE AND AN IDLE WINTER--ONLY ONE STREET--GAMBLING AND DRINKING--A WESTERN COMMUNIST--"KEERDS"--A STICKY WRIST--EIGHT HUNDRED PER CENT--NORTH OR SOUTH--A BLOW FOR THE OLD FLAG--NECK OR NOTHING--A COMPULSORY COLD BATH--NOT VERY MUCH DAMAGED--UNABLE TO GET COMPENSATION.
After a somewhat brief rest, Harry Arnold, with Bill and myself,determined upon returning to Honey Lake Valley. Nothing worthy of noticeoccurred until we reached Susanville, except that we travelled by night,and lay in camp during the day, to avoid the chance of discovery by anyscouting party of Indians.
It was now late in the year, and as, after hearing the danger I had run,my wife was unwilling that I should so soon leave her again, wedetermined, with the balance of the Rangers whom we had left on theHumboldt, to pass this winter in comparative rest. That is to say, wewould hunt deer for the market in Virginia City, and set a few traps.
The probability is that we arrived at this conclusion, from the factthat we had all of us more or less made money during the past year.Those of us who had been mining nearer home had done sufficiently well;while, in addition to what the three of us had been paid as guides byColonel Connor, we had gathered a very reasonable pile of gold-dustwhile in the neighborhood of Idaho. Consequently, we were all of usdisposed to enjoy the proceeds of our toil, and do as little hard workas possible.
My first business was, of course, to see to the comfort of the littlewoman whom I had been again absent from, for so many months.
Indeed, there was some surprise on the part of my friends to find me nowand then declining, not only to join their hunting expeditions, but inaddition sometimes refusing to form one in their raids upon the Faro andMonte banks which were run in various saloons, one of the most notoriousbeing that in Burkett's Saloon, kept going by Heap and Hale, the JohnChamberlains of Susanville. It will, probably, not astonish my readersto hear that these raids were by no means altogether flattering in theirresults to the skill and good fortune of the Rangers.
There is one anecdote which will not prove unamusing. It is, indeed, socharacteristic of the inner life of the place, as well as of the generalinner life of the mining districts, that I cannot refrain fromrecounting it.
Up to the present time, I have neglected to describe Susanville. It wasby no means a large city, according to the Eastern notion of what a cityshould be. Nor, possibly, did it enjoy an over and above large share ofcivilized respectability.
A single street contained the whole of its actual business population.And of what was this whole visible street composed? Almost entirely offrame buildings for the retail of ardent spirits; in other words, ofdrinking-saloons. "Good Old Bourbon," "The Best Cognac," "Capital Rye,"and other inviting appellations, of the same class, were the onlyevident appeals to those who chanced to pass through it, for theircustom. Occasionally, indeed, you might find a liquor-store which in ameasure protected a different class of business. In the front of one,you might find piles of ready-made clothing. Within another were all theappliances for three-card Monte or Faro. Here, were cigars and tobacco.This one, also, did duty as a corner-grocery.
These places were generally left to their own care, from the hour atwhich they were closed until the following morning.
The honesty of frontier-life protected them from being broken into.
At this time there was living in Susanville an aged settler named PascalTaylor, but more commonly known as "Old Zac." He was an independent sortof Communist. Did he need chicken for a pot-pie, he would appropriatethe fowls of his fellow-settlers without the slightest scruple. If heneeded a new pair of pantaloons, it was equally indifferent to himwhether he made a requisition upon the piles of clothes in front of thestore of a dealer of such articles, or upon the dwellings of his nearestneighbors. However, let me do him justice. When detected, he wouldinvariably repay the injured party in kind, by appropriating anotherarticle of the same sort and bringing it to him.
In fact, he might be termed a continual debtor to life, paying, fromtime to time, by incurring another debt. Whether at the close of hiscareer his account with life might be balanced, must, nevertheless,remain a matter of considerable doubt.
Tom Long was the owner of one of the drinking-saloons, I have mentioned,as composing the line of street or road which was named Susanville. Hisresidence was on the hill rising from one side of the line ofliquor-shanties in which its regular inhabitants made money. One night,old "Zac" was standing beside the spot where Tom was dispensing liquor.He was a favorite of Tom's. For what reason he was so, it would beimpossible to say. But Tom employed him to do up odd "chores" for him,and occasionally assisted him in a way which in the East might have beenstigmatized as "red-hot" charity. In Susanville, it was not consideredso. Old "Zac" was a privileged person. Well, the truth is, Tom was tiredwith the employment of the day. He wanted to quit business and retire tohis home. Turning to "Zac," he pushed out the bottle and a tumbler.
"Take a drink, Zac?"
"You bet--" responded the recipient of Tom's bounty. "I say," hecontinued, lifting the Old Rye to his lips, "here's long life to you."
"I want to go home."
"Why in thunder don't yu go, then?"
"Zac, I think I will, if you'll 'tend business for me."
"You bet!"
"Thank you, Zac! Here's the key of the door. Mind you lock it in abouthalf an hour, and open it again, to-morrow morning." As Tom concluded,he took a fair dose of Rye himself, to render his skin impervious to thenight air. In this he was imitated by old Zac. Then putting on his coat,and taking his hat, he quitted the saloon with a cheery "Good-night, oldboy!"
Now, "Zac" had no intention of remaining long after his friend andpatron had gone. He had rinsed out the two glasses he and Tom had justemptied, and was on his way to the door, when four of us stepped in.
"Eh, Zac! whar's Tom?"
"Gon to hum."
"Wall, you'll du!" exclaimed Butch'. "Jest, shet the doors."
"Hi'll see to hit better than 'e will, by ha blamed sight!" saidBrighton Bill.
At the moment he said this, he was striding to the back-door of thesaloon, which he very coolly locked and put the huge key in one of hispockets. No sooner was this done, than, returning to the front entrance,he performed the same operation.
Butch' had meanwhile seated himself at a square deal table in one of thecorners of the room.
"Whar are the keerds?"
"Here--you bet!"
Ben Painter produced the pack, and was speedily, with myself and Bill,seated at the other three sides of the table. Our gold was produced, andlaid beside us. At that time, as now, paper money was an unknownquantity in California. Then we began to play.
During the whole afternoon, we had been drinking. Necessarily, afterplaying for some fifteen minutes, we felt somewhat dry. Butch' possiblyfelt drier than any of us. At any rate, he was the one who cried out:
"Bring up the licker, Zac!"
The old fellow brought us the Rye and four glasses on a tray. We drank.But when he had again removed the glasses and held out his hand for thefour "bits," or twenty-five-cent pieces, habit required, hisunprincipled customer produced a revolver which he very deliberatelycocked and laid down upon the table beside him.
"D'yu see that?"
"You bet--Mr. Hasbrouck."
"Wall, then! don't stick out yure paws for money but bring along thelicker when we ask for it."
Old "Zac's" lower jaw dropped as he looked in the face of him who spoke.There was a general shout or rather scream of laughter from the threeother card-players. The face of Butch' was, however, as inflexible as ifit had been hewn from granite.
"What du yu mean?" was the question at length propounded.
"Exsag'ly what I say. Jest mind your business, and we'll mind ourn."
After this, we continued playing.
California had, before this time, a monopoly of such rough and possiblydishonest jests. The very men who would have scorned implicatingthemselves in any
business swindle, saw no harm, in occasionally, whenunder the influence of liquor, perpetrating a joke of this description.When younger, Taylor himself may have been an accomplice in some of thesame sort. He walked back to the bar, with a countenance as grave asthat of a man who is going to the gallows.
Speedily another round of drinks was ordered. This was followed byanother and another.
Occasionally I glanced at him, and saw the hard lines of his countenancegrowing longer and longer. At last, about one o'clock, when we had beenplaying for some three hours and the log on the hearth had burnt down toscarcely more than a white mass of wood, which would have blistered anyhand that touched it even while it threw out no heat, we felt the placegrowing cold. Old "Zac's" face lost its melancholy at the moment whenBen Painter sang out, with a lusty shiver:
"Put another log on the fire, Zac!"
"Whar am I to git one?"
"What d'yer mean?"
"You bet, Mr. Painter! I hain't got the key. How in thunder am I to gofur wood?"
The old fellow was quite right. How in thunder could he go to thewood-pile, while the door was locked? It was dangerous to let him havethe key. He might run to Tom Long's, and inform him of our use of thecontents of his cellar, without cashing up. Tom Long was by no meanssuch a pacifically disposed individual as his temporary substitute. Asimilar thought to this evidently suggested itself to the mind ofBrighton Bill. Rising from his seat, he said:
"Hi'll go with 'im, and may H'i be blamed hif the hold rip bolts."
Some time elapsed before the fresh log made its appearance, and the doorwhich Bill had opened was once more locked. The log was placed upon theembers by old "Zac," and, in a brief time, the cheerful blaze from itwas again warming the chilly temperature of the saloon.
We recommenced playing. Presently more drinks were called for.
As before, the old fellow brought them. This time, however, he had notplaced the glasses upon a tray. He brought them two in each hand.Leaning across the table he placed the first two between Butch' and me.The other two were planted between Painter and Brighton Bill. As Ichanced to look at him, shortly after, I saw the roughly rigid lines ofhis mouth actually curving into a smile. When another round of drinkswere demanded, they were brought in the same fashion, but placedbetween Brighton Bill and Butch', and between Painter and myself.
Shortly after this, it struck me that my pile of eagles had lessenedmore than it should have done.
I and Bill had, however, been losing. The probability was that I had notnoticed how rapidly my money was going. Nevertheless, when drinks wereagain called for I saw old "Zac's" wrists on Butch's money andPainter's, as the two glasses were set down, between them and theremaining two players. When Long's substitute left the table, it wasclear fewer gold pieces laid between them and us than had been heapedthere before. I was on the trail and followed it with my eyes. When Ihad detected, however, the means of which the shrewd old vagabond hadavailed himself to get even with us, I was too much amused to turnState's evidence, even in the row which ultimately arose betweenBrighton Bill and Butch', from the former accusing the latter ofconcealing his winnings. Bill had lost about as much as I had. He was,nevertheless, unaware that his crony, for such next to myself Butch'Hasbrouck was, had lost equally in amount, although more in proportion,than he had himself.
The astute "Zac" Taylor had managed to prolong his apparently enforcedembassy to the wood-pile, until he had been able to cover the lowersides of his wrists with pitch.
This shrewd dodge had enabled him to pay Tom Long or himself, seven oreight times more than the amount due the former for the liquor we hadbeen consuming. Every time he stretched across the table to place twoglasses upon it, or repeated the action by my side, his wrists wouldrest upon two of our piles of gold pieces. Each time, one or twohalf-eagles were secured by the pitch with which the old scamp hadanointed the side of his wrists necessary for this shrewd trick. Theconsequence was, that, for the only time in my life when such an unusualchance occurred, the whole of the four players were almost dead-broke.
"Each time one or two half-eagles were secured by thepitch with which the old scamp had anointed the sides of his wristsnecessary for this shrewd trick."--_Page 248._]
But for the quantity of rye we had all of us been swallowing, the othersmust have seen through this impudent operation as I had done.
If so, it may be a matter of question whether "Zac's" undeniablepopularity would have saved him from an entire coating of the pitch hehad so acutely employed. Relishing the trick, I, however, held my peace.Possibly, had it occurred when flush times had passed, or before theyhad begun with me, I might have acted differently.
Early in the next spring, as our funds had almost touchedlow-water-mark, the boys held a council of war, and it was decided upon,without a single dissenting voice, that we should once more try our luckupon the Humboldt River.
Accordingly we started to the mines, there. For the first time we met inthis locality with indifferent success, or rather with no success atall. We, therefore, decided upon prospecting at a further distance, andrepaired to Austin. Here we found the mines less promising even thanthose we had just left, and pushed on to Belmont in the hope of doingbetter. A similar want of fortune pursued us to this place.
One evening as we were sitting in camp, in no very agreeable mood, asrespected the world and things in general, a bright idea struck one ofus.
"Look here, boys!" he said. "Haven't you ever thought of fighting ag'inSecesh?"
"May Hi be blamed," exclaimed Brighton Bill, "hif you 'aven't 'it hit!What's the h'use of prospecting hand digging where we don't git nothing.Hi'm game for heither side. Let's go h'in, Cap!"
"I'm not exactly game for either side, Bill!" was my reply; "but for theold Stars and Stripes, I think I'd like to take a turn."
"So would I. It will be some variety, old fellow, in any case, 'thoughI'd as soon fight it out on either side," said Painter.
"So would I. Ye're right, Ben!" ejaculated Butch' Hasbrouck.
"We'll put it to the vote, which side we go in for, Mose," quietly saidArnold.
Not one of us declined fighting. It was merely a question as to whichside the fight was to be entered upon. A brief discussion had the resultof our taking Harry's advice. The old flag, however, carried the largestnumber of votes. We were to strike a blow for the Union.
After we had determined upon this, the next thing which presented itselfto our consideration, was the line of travel it would be best for us totake. We had a fair stock of coffee, sugar and jerked meat. This would,however, be insufficient, if we intended to cross the continent. Weshould have, consequently, to direct our march through a section inwhich game would be tolerably plentiful. My suggestion was that weshould pass through the Paranagut country and the southern part of Utah,until we struck the Colorado River. From that point our line of marchwould be clear enough.
"Have yer ever been through that part, Mose?" asked Butch'.
"No."
"Then yer've a darned good nose for game, I will say."
"And red-skins, too," said Arnold, "if we are to believe all we hear."
"Whar thar's game, ye're sure to find the skunks," exclaimed Paintersententiously.
And so, the first part of our route was settled without much difficulty.
Next morning we broke up camp, and after a few days of hard travelling,struck the south fork of the Colorado. Game had been scarcer than we hadsupposed. However, it was absolutely necessary that we should herereplenish our stock of provisions. The jerked meat began to run low, andwe had no more than a single day's rations of coffee on hand. A halt fora few days was therefore proposed, during which we might devote our timeto hunting, and laying in sufficient meat for us to continue our routeto the East.
On the second morning after we had camped, I started alone up the river.
After ascending it for some three or four miles, I crossed and brokefrom it towards the south. In a brief space of time, I spotted anantelope, and was creeping up
to it, against the wind, when almost closeto me, beneath a large rock which had hitherto concealed it, I caughtsight of another. My rifle was in a moment at my shoulder, and with nomore trouble than it takes in telling it, I rolled him over.
This had occurred in the afternoon, and as I should have to carry theanimal back with me, I thought it might be as well to retrace my steps.
Tying its feet together, I accordingly slung the dead antelope upon myback and started on my return.
The side of the Colorado in which our camp had been pitched, swept downto its banks with a park-like slope, although its herbage and the treeswith which it was broken up, were wilder and more luxuriant than such aqualifying epithet might lead the reader to suppose they were. On theside to which I had crossed, the stream was bounded by an almostperpendicular wall of cliff, about sixty or seventy feet in height.Calculating that I should readily find some spot at which to descend, Ihad taken my way almost in a beeline to the spot opposite ourcamping-ground. Scarcely had I covered more than a mile in thisdirection than, happening to turn my head to the left, I saw a number ofred-skins rushing towards me.
So thoroughly unmolested had our party been by Indians, since we hadleft Belmont, that I had entirely forgotten Arnold's warning hint abouttheir presence in this part of the country. Indeed, I had not eventhought about them lately, so apparently secure from their presence didwe seem to be.
Here, however, they were, and plenty of them. Dropping the antelope inorder to save myself, I took to my heels.
On arriving at the top of the cliff, immediately opposite the camp, Ifound no place at which I could manage to reach the bottom. The side ofthe cliff appeared to be one unbroken wall of rock.
Dashing up the river along the summit, at a little distance above Ifound a small notch in its face, haply, worn by some one of the numerousrivulets which seam the hills and mountains in winter. This afforded ameans of partially sliding down or dropping to the level of the stream.The boys, on the opposite side of the Colorado, discerned me just as Ihad discovered this. They also saw the Indians, who were graduallyclosing upon me, and a volley of balls rattled amongst them.
At the same time, I had dropped upon my knee behind a rock, and givenone of them a very conclusive hint, that, on his part, at least, anyfurther pursuit of me must be useless.
But my discharge had scarcely rung upon the ear, than two red-skins hadseized me.
They had attempted to cut me off, and my unlucky wish to take a hand inthe play of my friends, had given them the chance of succeeding. In thestruggle my rifle was kicked over the brink of the precipice, and fellinto the river. I had dashed one of the Indians from me, and had grippedthe other by the throat, when they were joined by two more. Forcing meupon the ground, they speedily tied my hands together, and dragging mefrom behind the rock to the brow of the cliff, in plain sight of theboys, threw me over.
The next thing I remember was the voice of Brighton Bill.
"H'it's ha blamed good chance," he said to some one who was standing byhim, "'e didn't smash 'is 'ead hon the rocks, or 'e'd this time be hagoner. H'i guess 'e'll go 'ome now, hand give hup wanting to fight forHuncle Sam."
"He'd do the old boy more good by ridding the country of them cussed reddevils, than by any other way," was the reply of Butch'.
Bill had seen my body flying over the face of the precipice. He was anexcellent swimmer, and, almost as I struck the water, had plunged inafter me. When I heard what Hasbrouck said, I endeavored to speak, butfor some moments could not manage to make a single word audible; whilethe boys, seeing the motion of my lips, were crowding round me, anduttering every class of kind comfort, and not unchristianly profanetenderness. When, at length, I was able to find utterance, it was toHasbrouck I spoke.
"You are about right, Butch'. We'll first wipe out some of these cursedApaches."
"How do you feel now, Mose?" asked Arnold, upon whose knee I found myhead was resting.
"Not very much damaged," I replied, as I managed to sit up, "except bythe loss of my rifle."
"Hif that's hall," said Bill joyously, "Hi'm blowed hif you're much'urt. H'as for your gun, Painter can tell you h'if hit's much hout hofgeer."
"It only got a good wetting," was Ben's answer. "It war wuss for thecartridges than 't war for the barrel."
Like a practical man, he had been employed in taking it to pieces,drying and cleaning it, after Bill had dived for it and brought it toland with him.
"Now, tell us, how you got into this darned scrape, old boy?"
In compliance with Arnold's request, I gave them a thorough narration,and as the moon had risen and it evidently promised to be a clear night,in another hour some half of the Rangers crossed the Colorado to lookafter the antelope, and if they could to pick off one or two of myassailants. However, they succeeded in finding neither antelope norApaches. The last had carried off not only all of their own scalps, butalso the carcass of the game I had counted on for our supper.
We remained in this part of the country for some little time.
Nevertheless, we scared up no more red-skins. The Apaches, perhaps, hadmore respect for our rifles than the Bannocks lately had. Possibly,also, they were, at the time, not in force between Prescott and theColorado. In any case, we saw nothing of them, and were unable to punishthem for their disturbance of our hunting. In addition to this, wekilled very little game, and at length crossed from Prescott down theGila River to Fort Yuma. Thence, after remaining in its neighborhood fora few days, we returned and followed up the Colorado, through the Mojavaand Navajos settlements, occupied by partially civilized red-skins,until, late in September, we once more found ourselves in the Honey LakeValley.
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