CHAPTER EIGHT.
OUR HERO AND HIS FRIENDS START FOR THE DIGGINGS--THE CAPTAIN'SPORTRAIT--COSTUMES, AND SCENERY, AND SURPRISES--THE RANCHE BY THEROAD-SIDE--STRANGE TRAVELLERS--THEY MEET WITH A NEW FRIEND, AND ADOPTHIM--THE HUNTER'S STORY--LARRY OFFERS TO FIGHT A YANKEE--HIGH PRICES ANDEMPTY PURSES.
Ovid never accomplished a metamorphosis more striking or complete thanthat effected by Captain Bunting upon his own proper person. We havesaid, elsewhere, that the worthy captain was a big, broad man, with ashaggy head of hair, and red whiskers. Moreover, when he landed in SanFrancisco, he wore a blue coat, with clear brass buttons, blue vest,blue trousers, and a glazed straw hat; but in the course of a week heeffected such a change in his outward man, that his most intimate friendwould have failed to recognise him.
No brigand of the Pyrenees ever looked more savage--no robber of thestage ever appeared more outrageously fierce. We do not mean to saythat Captain Bunting "got himself up" for the purpose of making himselfconspicuous. He merely donned the usual habiliments of a miner; butthese habiliments were curious, and the captain's figure in them wasunusually remarkable.
In order that the reader may have a satisfactory view of the captain, wewill change the scene, and proceed at once to that part of the road tothe gold-fields which has now been reached by our adventurers.
It is a wide plain, or prairie, on which the grass waves like the watersof the sea. On one side it meets the horizon, on another it is boundedby the faint and far-distant range of the Sierra Nevada. Thousands ofmillions of beautiful wild-flowers spangle and beautify the soft greencarpet, over which spreads a cloudless sky, not a whit less blue andsoft than the vaunted sky of Italy. Herds of deer are grazing over thevast plain, like tame cattle. Wild geese and other water-fowl wingtheir way through the soft atmosphere, and little birds twitter joyouslyamong the flowers. Everything is bright, and green, and beautiful; forit is spring, and the sun has not yet scorched the grass to arusset-brown, and parched and cracked the thirsty ground, and banishedanimal and vegetable life away, as it will yet do, ere the hot summer ofthose regions is past and gone.
There is but one tree in all that vast plain. It is a sturdy oak, andnear it bubbles a cool, refreshing spring, over which, one could fancy,it had been appointed guardian. The spot is hundreds of miles from SanFrancisco, on the road to the gold-mines of California. Beneath thatsolitary oak a party of weary travellers have halted, to rest andrefresh themselves and their animals; or, as the diggers have it, totake their "nooning." In the midst of that party sits our captain, onthe back of a long-legged mule.
On his head is, or, rather, was--for he has just removed it, in order towipe the perspiration from his forehead--a brown felt wide-awake, verymuch battered in appearance, suggesting the idea that the captain hadused it constantly as a night-cap, which, indeed, is the fact. Nothingbut a flannel shirt, of the brightest possible scarlet, clothes theupper portion of his burly frame, while brown corduroys adorn the lower.Boots of the most ponderous dimensions engulf, not only his feet, buthis entire legs, leaving only a small part of the corduroys visible. Onhis heels, or, rather, just above his heels, are strapped a pair ofenormous Mexican spurs, with the frightful prongs of which he solacerated the sides of his unfortunate mule, during the first part ofthe journey, as to drive that animal frantic, and cause it to throw himoff at least six times a day. Dire necessity has now, however, taughtthe captain that most difficult and rarely-accomplished feat ofhorsemanship, to ride with the toes well in, and the heels well out.
Round Captain Bunting's waist is a belt, which is of itself quite astudy. It is made of tough cow-hide, full two and a half inches broad,and is fastened by a brass buckle that would cause the mouth of arobber-chief to water. Attached to it in various ways and places arethe following articles:--A bowie-knife of the largest size--not farshort of a small cutlass; a pair of revolving pistols, also large, andhaving six barrels each; a stout leathern purse; and a leathern bag oflarger dimensions for miscellaneous articles. As the captain has givenup shaving for many weeks past, little of his face is visible, exceptthe nose, eyes, and forehead. All besides is a rugged mass of red hair,which rough travel has rendered an indescribable and irreclaimablewaste. But the captain cares not: as long as he can clear a passagethrough the brushwood to his mouth, he says, his mind is easy.
Such is Captain Bunting, and such, with but trifling modifications, isevery member of his party. On Ned Sinton and his almost equallystalwart and handsome friend, Tom Collins, the picturesque costume ofthe miner sits well; and it gives a truly wild, dashing look to thewhole party, as they stand beneath the shade of that lovely oak,preparing to refresh themselves with biscuit and jerked beef, and pipesof esteemed tobacco.
Besides those we have mentioned, Larry O'Neil is there,--busy carryingwater in a bucket to the horses, and as proud of his Mexican spurs as ifthey were the golden spurs of the days of chivalry. Bill Jones isthere, with a blue instead of a red-flannel shirt, and coarse canvasducks in place of corduroys. Bill affects the sailor in other respects,for he scorns heavy boots, and wears shoes and a straw hat; but he iscompelled to wear the spurs, for reasons best known to his intenselyobstinate mule. There is also among them a native Californian,--a_vaquero_, or herd,--who has been hired to accompany the party to thediggings, to look after the pack-mules, of which there are two, and toassist them generally with advice and otherwise. He is a fine athleticfellow--Spanish-like, both in appearance and costume; and, in additionto bad Spanish, gives utterance to a few sounds, which _he_ calls"Encleesh." The upper part of his person is covered by the _serape_, orMexican cloak, which is simply a blanket, with a hole in its centre,through which the head of the wearer is thrust, the rest being left tofall over the shoulders.
Our travellers had reached the spot on which we now find them by meansof a boat voyage of more than a hundred miles, partly over the great bayof San Francisco, and partly up the Sacramento River, until they reachedthe city of Sacramento. Here they purchased mules and provisions forthe overland journey to the mines--a further distance of about a hundredand fifty miles,--and also the picks, shovels, axes, pewter plates,spoons, pans, and pannikins, and other implements and utensils that werenecessary for a campaign among the golden mountains of the SierraNevada. For these the prices demanded were so enormous, that when allwas ready for a start they had only a few dollars left amongst them.But being on their way to dig for gold, they felt little concern on thishead.
As the Indians of the interior had committed several murders a shorttime before, and had come at various times into collision with thegold-diggers, it was deemed prudent to expend a considerable sum on armsand ammunition. Each man, therefore, was armed with a rifle or carbine,a pistol of some sort, and a large knife or short sword. CaptainBunting selected a huge old bell-mouthed blunderbuss, having, as hesaid, a strong partiality for the weapons of his forefathers. Amongother things, Ned, by advice of Tom Collins, purchased a few simplemedicines; he also laid in a stock of drawing-paper, pencils, andwater-colours, for his own special use, for which he paid so large a sumthat he was ashamed to tell it to his comrades; but he was resolved notto lose the opportunity of representing life and scenery at thediggings, for the sake of old Mr Shirley, as well as for his ownsatisfaction. Thus equipped they set forth.
Before leaving San Francisco, the captain, and Ned, and Tom Collins hadpaid a final visit to their friend the merchant, Mr Thompson, andcommitted their property to his care--i.e. the hull of the good ship_Roving Bess_--the rent of which he promised to collect monthly--andNed's curious property, the old boat and the little patch of barrensand, on which it stood. The boat itself he made over, temporarily, toa poor Irishman who had brought out his wife with him, and was unable toproceed to the diggings in consequence of the said wife having falleninto a delicate state of health. He gave the man a written paperempowering him to keep possession until his return, and refused toaccept of any rent whereat the poor woman thanked him earnestly, withthe tears running down her p
ale cheeks.
It was the hottest part of an exceedingly hot day when the travellersfound themselves, as we have described, under the grateful shade of whatLarry termed the "lone oak."
"Now our course of proceeding is as follows," said Ned, at theconclusion of their meal--"We shall travel all this afternoon, and asfar into the night as the mules can be made to go. By that time weshall be pretty well off the level ground, and be almost within hail ofthe diggings--"
"I don't belave it," said Larry O'Neil, knocking the ashes out of hispipe in an emphatic manner; "sure av there _was_ goold in the country wemight have seed it by this time."
Larry's feelings were a verification of the words, "hope deferred makeththe heart sick." He had started enthusiastically many days before onthis journey to the gold regions, under the full conviction that on thefirst or second day he would be, as he expressed it, "riding throughfields of goold dust;" instead of which, day after day passed, and nightafter night, during which he endured all the agonies inseparable from a_first_ journey on horseback, and still not a symptom of gold was to beseen, "no more nor in owld Ireland itself." But Larry bore hisdisappointments like an Irishman, and defied "fortin' to put him out oftimper by any manes wotiver."
"Patience," said Bill Jones, removing his pipe to make room for theremark, "is a wirtue--that's wot I says. If ye can't make thingsbetter, wot then? why, let 'em alone. W'en there's no wind, crowd allcanvas and ketch wot there is. W'en there _is_ wind, why then, steeryer course; or, if ye can't, steer as near it as ye can. Anyhow, neverback yer fore-topsail without a cause--them's my sentiments."
"And very good sentiments they are, Bill," said Tom Collins, jumping upand examining the girth of his horse; "I strongly advise you to adoptthem, Larry."
"Wot a bottle o' wisdom it is," said O'Neil, with a look of affectedcontempt at his messmate. "Wos it yer grandmother, now, or yer greatwan, that edicated ye?--Arrah, there ye go! Oh, morther, ye'll break meheart!"
The latter part of this remark was addressed to his mule, which at thatmoment broke its laryat, and gambolled gaily away over the floweringplain. Its owner followed, yelling like a madman. He might as wellhave chased the wind; and it is probable that he would never havemounted his steed again had not the vaquero come to his aid. This man,leaping on his own horse, which was a very fine one, dashed after therunaway, with which he came up in a few minutes; then grasping the longcoil of line that hung at his saddle-bow, he swung it round once ortwice, and threw the lasso, or noose, adroitly over the mule's head, andbrought it up.
"Yer a cliver fellow," said Larry, as he came up, panting; "sure ye didit be chance?"
The man smiled, and without deigning a reply, rode back to the camp,where the party were already in the saddle. In a few minutes they weretrotting rapidly over the prairie.
Before evening closed, the travellers arrived at one of the road-sideinns, or, as they were named, ranches, which were beginning at this timeto spring up in various parts of the country, for the accommodation ofgold-hunters on their way to the mines. This ranche belonged to a manof the name of Dawson, who had made a few hundred dollars by digging,and then set up a grog-shop and house of entertainment, being wiseenough to perceive that he could gain twice as much gold by supplyingthe diggers with the necessaries of life than he could hope to procureby digging. His ranche was a mere hovel, built of sun-dried bricks, andhe dealt more in drinks than in edibles. The accommodation andprovisions were of the poorest description, but, as there was no otherhouse of entertainment near, mine host charged the highest possibleprices. There was but one apartment in this establishment, and littleor no furniture. Several kegs and barrels supported two long pineplanks which constituted at different periods of the day the counter,the gaming-table, and the _table d'hote_. A large cooking stove stoodin the centre of the house, but there were no chairs; guests wereexpected to sit on boxes and empty casks, or stand. Beds there werenone. When the hour for rest arrived, each guest chose the portion ofthe earthen floor that suited him best, and, spreading out his blankets,with his saddle for a pillow, lay down to dream of golden nuggets, or,perchance, of home, while innumerable rats--the bane of California--gambolled round and over him.
The ranchero, as the owner of such an establishment is named, was saidto be an escaped felon. Certainly he might have been, as far as hislooks went. He was surly and morose, but men minded this little, solong as he supplied their wants. There were five or six travellers inthe ranche when our party arrived, all of whom were awaiting thepreparation of supper.
"Here we are," cried the captain, as they trotted into the yard, "readyfor supper, I trow; and, if my nose don't deceive me, supper's aboutready for us."
"I hope they've got enough for us all," said Ned, glancing at the partyinside, as he leaped from the saddle, and threw the bridle to hisvaquero. "Halloo, Boniface! have ye room for a large party in there?"
"Come in an' see," growled Dawson, whose duties at the cooking stoverendered him indifferent as to other matters.
"Ah, thin, ye've got a swate voice," said Larry O'Neil, sarcastically,as he led his mule towards a post, to which Bill Jones was alreadyfastening his steed. "I say, Bill," he added, pointing to a little tinbowl which stood on an inverted cask outside the door of the ranche,"wot can that be for?"
"Dunno," answered Bill; "s'pose it's to wash in."
At that moment a long, cadaverous miner came out of the hut, andrendered further speculation unnecessary, by turning up his shirtsleeves to the elbow, and commencing his ablutions in the little tinbowl, which was just large enough to admit both his hands at once.
"Faix, yer mouth and nose ought to be grateful," said Larry, in anundertone, as he and Jones stood with their arms crossed, admiring theproceedings of the man.
This remark had reference to the fact that the washer applied the waterto the favoured regions around his nose and mouth, but carefully avoidedtrespassing on any part of the territory lying beyond.
"Oh! morther, wot nixt?" exclaimed Larry.
Well might he inquire, for this man, having combed his hair with apublic comb, which was attached to the door-post by a string, andexamined himself carefully in a bit of glass, about two inches indiameter, proceeded to cleanse his teeth with a _public tooth-brush_which hung beside the comb. All these articles had been similarly usedby a miner ten minutes previously; and while this one was engaged withhis toilet, another man stood beside him awaiting his turn!
"W'en yer in difficulties," remarked Bill Jones, slowly, as he enteredthe ranche, and proceeded to fill his pipe, "git out of 'em, if ye can.If ye can't, why wot then? circumstances is adwerse, an' it's o' no usea-tryin' to mend 'em. Only my sentiments is, that I'll delay washin'till I comes to a river."
"You've come from San Francisco, stranger?" said a rough-looking man, inheavy boots, and a Guernsey shirt, addressing Captain Bunting.
"Maybe I have," replied the captain, regarding his interrogator throughthe smoke of his pipe, which he was in the act of lighting.
"Goin' to the diggin's, I s'pose?"
"Yes."
"Bin there before?"
"No."
"Nor none o' your party, I expect?"
"None, except one."
"You'll be goin' up to the bar at the American Forks now, I calc'late?"
"Don't know that I am."
"Perhaps you'll try the northern diggin's?"
"Perhaps."
How long this pertinacious questioner might have continued his attack onthe captain is uncertain, had he not been suddenly interrupted by theannouncement that supper was ready, so he swaggered off to the corner ofthe hut where an imposing row of bottles stood, demanded a"brandy-smash," which he drank, and then, seating himself at the tablealong with the rest of the party, proceeded to help himself largely toall that was within his reach.
The fare was substantial, but not attractive. It consisted of a largejunk of boiled salt beef, a mass of rancid pork, and a tray of brokenship-biscuit. But hungry men are no
t particular, so the viands weredemolished in a remarkably short space of time.
"I'm a'most out o' supplies," said the host, in a sort of apologetictone, "an' the cart I sent down to Sacramento some weeks ago for more'snot come back."
"Better than nothin'," remarked a bronzed, weatherbeaten hunter, as hehelped himself to another junk of pork. "If ye would send out yer boyinto the hills with a rifle now an' again, ye'd git lots o' grizzlybars."
"Are grizzly-bears eaten here?" inquired Ned Sinton, pausing in the actof mastication, to ask the question.
"Eaten!" exclaimed the hunter, in surprise, "in coorse they is. They'reuncommon good eatin' too, I guess. Many a one I've killed an' eatenmyself; an' I like 'em better than beef--I do. I shot one up in thehills there two days agone, an' supped off him; but bein' in a hurry, Ileft the carcase to the coyotes." (Coyotes are small wolves.)
The men assembled round the rude _table d'hote_ were fifteen in number,including our adventurers, and represented at least six differentnations--English, Scotch, Irish, German, Yankee, and Chinese. Most ofthem, however, were Yankees, and all were gold-diggers; even the hunterjust referred to, although he had not altogether forsaken his formercalling, devoted much of his time to searching for gold. Some, like ourfriends, were on their way to the diggings for the first time; otherswere returning with provisions, which they had travelled to Sacramentocity to purchase; and one or two were successful diggers who had madetheir "piles,"--in other words, their fortunes--and were returning homewith heavy purses of gold-dust and nuggets.
Good humour was the prevailing characteristic of the party, for each manwas either successful or sanguinely hopeful, and all seemed to beaffected by a sort of undercurrent of excitement, as they listened to,or related, their adventures at the mines. There was only one seriousdrawback to the scene, and that was, the perpetual and terrible swearingthat mingled with the conversation. The Americans excelled in thiswicked practice. They seemed to labour to invent oaths, not for thepurpose of venting angry feelings, but apparently with the view ofgiving emphasis to their statements and assertions. The others sworefrom _habit_. They had evidently ceased to be aware that they wereusing oaths--so terribly had familiarity with sinful practices bluntedthe consciences of men who, in early life, would probably have trembledin this way to break the law of God.
Yes, by the way, there was one other drawback to the otherwisepicturesque and interesting group, and this was the spitting propensityof the Yankees. All over the floor--that floor, too, on which other menbesides themselves were to repose--they discharged tobacco-juice andspittle. The _nation_ cannot be too severely blamed and pitied for thisdisgusting practice, yet we feel a tendency, not to excuse, but to dealgently with _individuals_, most of whom, having been trained to spittingfrom their infancy, cannot be expected even to understand the abhorrencewith which the practice is regarded by men of other nations.
Nevertheless, brother Jonathan, it is not too much to expect that youought to respect the universal condemnation of your spittingpropensities--by travellers from all lands--and endeavour to _believe_that ejecting saliva promiscuously is a dirty practice, even althoughyou cannot _feel_ it. We think that if you had the moral courage topass a law in Congress to render spitting on floors and carpets acapital offence, you would fill the world with admiration and your ownbosoms with self-respect, not to mention the benefit that would accrueto your digestive powers in consequence thereof!
All of the supper party were clad and armed in the rough-and-ready stylealready referred to, and most of them were men of the lower ranks, butthere were one or two who, like Ned Sinton, had left a more polishedclass of mortals to mingle in the promiscuous crowd. These, in somecases, carried their manners with them, and exerted a modifyinginfluence on all around. One young American, in particular, namedMaxton, soon attracted general attention by the immense fund ofinformation he possessed, and the urbane, gentlemanly manner in which heconveyed it to those around him. He possessed in an eminent degreethose qualities which attract men at once, and irresistibly good nature,frankness, manliness, considerable knowledge of almost every subjectthat can be broached in general conversation, united with genuinemodesty. When he sat down to table he did not grasp everything withinhis reach; he began by offering to carve and help others, and when atlength he did begin to eat, he did not gobble. He "guessed" a little,it is true, and "calculated" occasionally, but when he did so, it was ina tone that fell almost as pleasantly on the ear as the brogue of oldIreland.
Ned happened to be seated beside Maxton, and held a good deal ofconversation with him.
"Forgive me, if I appear inquisitive," said the former, helping himselfto a handful of broken biscuit, "but I cannot help expressing a hopethat our routes may lie in the same direction--are you travellingtowards Sacramento city or the mines?"
"Towards the mines; and, as I observed that your party came from thesouthward, I suppose you are going in the same direction. If so, Ishall be delighted to join you."
"That's capital," replied Ned, "we shall be the better of having ourparty strengthened, and I am quite certain we could not have a moreagreeable addition to it."
"Thank you for the compliment. As to the advantage of a strong party, Ifeel it a safeguard as well as a privilege to join yours, for, to saytruth, the roads are not safe just now. Several lawless scoundrels havebeen roving about in this part of the country committing robberies andeven murder. The Indians, too, are not so friendly as one could wish.They have been treated badly by some of the unprincipled miners; andtheir custom is to kill two whites for every red-man that falls. Theyare not particular as to whom they kill, consequently the innocent arefrequently punished for the guilty."
"This is sad," replied Ned. "Are, then, all the Indian tribes at enmitywith the white men?"
"By no means. Many tribes are friendly, but some have been so severelyhandled, that they have vowed revenge, and take it whenever they canwith safety. Their only weapons, however, are bows and arrows, so thata few resolute white men, with rifles, can stand against a hundred ofthem, and they know this well. I spent the whole of last winter on theYuba River; and, although large bands were in my neighbourhood, theynever ventured to attack us openly, but they succeeded in murdering oneor two miners who strayed into the woods alone."
"And are these murders passed over without any attempt to bring themurderers to justice?"
"I guess they are not," replied Maxton, smiling; "but justice isstrangely administered in these parts. Judge Lynch usually presides,and he is a stern fellow to deal with. If you listen to what thehunter, there, is saying just now, you will hear a case in point, if Imistake not."
As Maxton spoke, a loud laugh burst from the men at the other end of thetable.
"How did it happen?" cried several.
"Out wi' the yarn, old boy."
"Ay, an' don't spin it too tight, or, faix, ye'll burst the strands,"cried Larry O'Neil, who, during the last half-hour, had been listening,open-mouthed, to the marvellous anecdotes of grizzlies and red-skins,with which the hunter entertained his audience.
"Wall, boys, it happened this ways," began the man, tossing off agin-sling, and setting down the glass with a violence that nearlysmashed it. "Ye see I wos up in the mountains, near the head waters o'the Sacramento, lookin' out for deer, and gittin' a bit o' gold now an'again, when, one day, as I was a-comin' down a gully in the hills, Icomes all of a suddint on two men. One wos an Injun, as ugly a sinneras iver I seed; t'other wos a Yankee lad, in a hole diggin' gold.Before my two eyes were well on them, the red villain lets fly an arrow,and the man fell down with a loud yell into the hole. Up goes my riflelike wink, and the red-skin would ha' gone onder in another second, butmy piece snapped--cause why? the primin' had got damp; an' afore I couldprime agin, he was gone.
"I went up to the poor critter, and sure enough it wos all up with him.The arrow went in at the back o' his neck. He niver spoke again. So Ilaid him in the grave he had dug for himself, and sot off to tell t
hecamp. An' a most tremendous row the news made. They got fiftyvolunteers in no time, and went off, hot-fut, to scalp the whole nation.As I had other business to look after, and there seemed more thanenough o' fightin' men, I left them, and went my way. Two days after, Ihad occasion to go back to the same place, an' when I comed in sight o'the camp, I guess there was a mighty stir.
"`Wot's to do?' says I to a miner in a hole, who wos diggin' away forgold, and carin' nothin' about it.
"`Only scraggin' an Injun,' he said, lookin' up.
"`Oh,' says I, `I'll go and see.'
"So off I sot, and there wos a crowd o' about two hundred miners round atree; and, jest as I come up, they wos puttin' the rope round the neckof a poor wretch of an old grey-haired red-skin, whose limbs trembled sothat they wos scarce able to hold him up.
"`Heave away now, Bill,' cried the man as tied the noose.
"But somethin' was wrong with the hitch o' the rope round the branch o'the tree, an' it wouldn't draw, and some time wos spent in puttin' itright. I felt sorter sorry for the old man, for his grave face was boldenough, and age more than fear had to do with the tremblin' o' his legs.Before they got it right again, my eye fell on a small band o'red-skins, who were lookin' quietly on; and foremost among them the veryblackguard as shot the man in the galley. I knew him at once by hisugly face. Without sayin' a word, I steps for'ard to the old Injun, andtakes the noose off his neck.
"`Halloo!' cried a dozen men, jumpin' at me. `Wot's that for?' `Scragthe hunter,' cries one. `Howld yer long tongues, an' hear what he's gotto say,' shouts an Irishman.
"`Keep your minds easy,' says I, mountin' a stump, `an' seize thatInjun, or I'll have to put a ball into him before he gits off'--for, yesee, I obsarved the black villain took fright, and was sneakin' awaythrough the crowd. They had no doubt who I meant, for I pinted straightat him; and, before ye could wink, he was gripped, and led under thetree, with a face paler than ever I saw the face o' a red-skin before.
"`Now,' says I, `wot for are ye scraggin' this old man?' So they toldme how the party that went off to git the murderer met a band o' injunscomin' to deliver him up to be killed, they said, for murderin' thewhite man. An' they gave up this old Injun, sayin' he wos the murderer.The diggers believed it, and returned with the old boy and two or threeothers that came to see him fixed off.
"`Very good,' says I, `ye don't seem to remimber that I'm the man whatsaw the murder, and told ye of it. By good luck, I've come in time topoint him out--an' _this is him_.' An' with that I put the noose roundthe villain's neck and drawed it tight. At that he made a great startto shake it off, and clear away; but before you could wink, he wasswingin' at the branch o' the tree, twinty feet in the air.
"Sarved him right," cried several of the men, emphatically, as thehunter concluded his anecdote.
"Ay," he continued, "an' they strung up his six friends beside him."
"Sarved 'em right too," remarked the tall man, whose partiality for thetin wash-hand basin and the tooth-brush we have already noticed. "If Ihad my way, I'd shoot 'em all off the face o' the 'arth, I would, rightaway."
"I'm sorry to hear they did that," remarked Larry O'Neil lookingpointedly at the last speaker, "for it only shewed they was greatermortherers nor the Injuns--the red-skins morthered wan man, but thediggers morthered six.
"An' who are _you_ that finds fault wi' the diggers?" inquired the tallman, turning full round upon the Irishman, with a tremendous oath.
"Be the mortial," cried the Irishman, starting up like aJack-in-the-box, and throwing off his coat, "I'm Larry O'Neil, at yersarvice. Hooroo! come on, av' ye want to be purtily worked off."
Instantly the man's hand was on the hilt of his revolver; but, before hecould draw it, the rest of the company started up and overpowered thebelligerents.
"Come, gentlemen," said the host of the ranche, stepping forward, "it'snot worth while quarrelling about a miserable red-skin."
"Put on your coat, Larry, and come, let's get ready for a start," saidNed; "you can't afford to fight till you've made your fortune at thediggings. How far is it to the next ranche, landlord?"
This cool attempt to turn the conversation was happily successful. Thenext ranche, he was told, was about ten miles distant, and the roadcomparatively easy; so, as it was a fine moonlight night, and he wasdesirous of reaching the first diggings on the following day as early aspossible, the horses and mules were saddled, and the bill called for.
When the said bill was presented, or rather, announced to them, ourtravellers opened their eyes pretty wide; they had to open their pursespretty wide too, and empty them to such an extent that there was notmore than a dollar left among them all!
The supper, which we have described, cost them two and a half dollars--about ten shillings and sixpence a head, including a glass of badbrandy; but not including a bottle of stout which Larry, in theignorance and innocence of his heart, had asked for, and which cost him_three dollars_ extra! An egg, also, which Ned had obtained, cost him ashilling.
"Oh, morther!" exclaimed Larry, "why didn't ye tell us the price beforewe tuck them?"
"Why didn't ye ax?" retorted the landlord.
"It's all right," remarked Maxton. "Prices vary at the diggings, as youshall find ere long. When provisions run short, the prices becomeexorbitant; when plentiful, they are more moderate, but they are never_low_. However, men don't mind much, for most diggers have plenty ofgold."
Captain Bunting and Bill Jones were unable to do more than sigh outtheir amazement and shake their heads, as they left the ranche andmounted their steeds; in doing which the captain accidentally, as usual,drove both spurs into the sides of his mule, which caused it to executea series of manoeuvres and pirouettes that entertained the company for aquarter of an hour, after which they rode away over the plain.
It was a beautiful country through which they now ambled pleasantly.Undulating and partially wooded, with fine stretches of meadow landbetween, from which the scent of myriads of wild-flowers rose on thecool night air. The moon sailed low in a perfectly cloudless sky,casting the shadows of the horsemen far before them as they rode, andclothing hill and dale, bush and tree, with a soft light, as if a cloudof silver gauze had settled down upon the scene. The incident in theranche was quickly banished, and each traveller committed himselfsilently to the full enjoyment of the beauties around him--beautieswhich appeared less like reality than a vision of the night.
The Golden Dream: Adventures in the Far West Page 8