The next evening when supper was prepared, Harding was not present. He
had bruised one hand so badly in the mine the previous day, that he was
forced to have it bound up and treated with liniments and had not worked
that day. Thinking he would be home soon the rest ate their suppers, but
it was an hour before he came. When he arrived he had a troubled look,
and being pressed to tell what had gone wrong, he stated that he had met
a group of five miners from the Sierra Nevada day shift, men whom they
all knew, who, without provocation, had commenced abusing him; jeering
him about joining with six or seven more miners, hiring a house and a
cook, and putting on airs; that finally they dared him to fight, and
when he offered to fight any one of them, they said it was a mere
"bluff," that he would not fight a woman unless she were sick, and
further declared their purpose at some future time to go up and "clean
out" the whole outfit.
Harding was the younger member of the Club; the rest knew about his
former life; how his father, joining the reckless throng of the early
days, lived fast, and suddenly died, just as the boy came from school;
how the young man had put aside his hopes, learned mining, and with a
brave purpose was working hard and dreaming of the time when he would
wipe away every reproach which rested on his father's memory.
To have him set upon by roughs, causelessly, was like a blow in the face
to every other member of the Club. When Harding had told his story,
Miller said: "Who did you say these men were, Harding?"
Harding told their names.
"Why, they are not miners at all," said Carlin. "They are a lot of
outside bruisers who have come here because there is going to be an
election this year, and they have got their names on a pay roll to keep
from being arrested as vagrants. You did just right, Harding, to get
away from them with your crippled hand without serious trouble."
"Indeed you did, Harding," said Brewster. "One street fight at your age
might ruin you for life."
"That is quite true," said Miller; "I am glad you had no fight."
Said Corrigan: "You offered to fight any one of the blackguards, and
whin they refused, you came away? It was the proper thing to do."
"Did you have any weapons with you, Harding?" asked Ashley.
"Not a thing in the world," was the reply.
"I am glad of that," said Ashley. "The temptation to wing one or two of
the brutes, would have been very great had you been 'fixed.'"
"I am glad it was no worse," said Wright. "You said it was down by the
California Bank corner?"
"No," replied Harding; "it was by the Fredericksburg Brewery corner, on
Union Street, just below C."
"You managed the matter first-rate, Harding," said Wright. "Do not think
any more about it."
Harding, thus reassured by his friends, felt better, but said if three
of the Club would go with him he would undertake to do his part to bring
hostilities to a successful close with the bullies.
Ashley and Corrigan at once volunteered, but Wright and Carlin
interfered and said it must not be, and Brewster expostulated against
any such thing.
Corrigan and Ashley caught a look and gesture from Wright which caused
them to subside, and Harding at length went out to supper.
When Harding came in from up town, Miller was making arrangements to go
out, as he said, to meet a broker as per agreement. As Harding went to
supper, Miller went out and Brewster resumed the reading of a book in
which he was engaged. The Professor, Colonel and Alex had not yet come
in.
Significant glances passed between the others, and soon Wright arose and
said: "Boys! the Emmetts drill to-night; suppose we go down to the
armory and look on for half an hour."
The rest all agreed that it would be good exercise, and quietly the four
men went out, Wright saying as he started: "Brewster, if the others
come, tell them we have just gone down to the Emmetts armory, and will
be back in half an hour or so."
The Professor and Alex shortly after came in, a little later the Colonel
and Miller. It was nearly an hour before the others returned. When they
did they were in the best possible humor; spoke of the perfectness of
the Emmetts' drill; told of something they had heard down town which was
droll, while Barney in particular was full of merriment over a speech
that had that day been made by a countryman of his, Mr. Snow, in a
Democratic convention, and insisted upon telling Brewster about it.
Brewster laid down his book and assumed the attitude of a listener.
"It was this way," said Barney. "The convintion had made all its
nominations, when it was proposed that on Friday nixt a grand
mass-ratification matin' should be hild at Carson City, the matin' to be
intinded for the inauguratin' of the campaign, where all the faithful
from surroundin' counties might mate and glorify, and thus intimidate
the inemy from the viry commincement.
"The proposition was carried by acclamation, and jist thin a mimber
sprang up and moved that the matin' should be a barbecue. This motion
likewise carried by an overwhilmin' vote. Whin the noise died away a
bit, my ould friend Snow, he of the boardin' house, arose and made a
motion. It was beautiful. Listen!
"'Mr. Spaker! Bain that the hift of the Dimocratic party do not ate
_mate_ of a Friday, I move yees, sir, that we make it a _fish_
barbecue.'"
A great laugh followed Barney's account of the motion, and then the
usual comparison of notes on stocks took place. Miller was sure that
Silver Hill was the best buy on the lode; Corrigan had been told by a
Gold Hill miner that Justice was looking mighty encouraging; the Colonel
had heard the superintendent of the Curry tell the superintendent of the
Belcher that he was in wonderfully kindly ground on the two thousand
foot level; the Professor had that day heard the superintendent of the
Savage declare that the water was lowering four feet an hour, while all
were wondering when the Sierra Nevada would break, as it was too high
for the development. By all is meant all but Brewster and Harding; they
never joined in any conversations about stocks.
At length the stock talk slackened, when Corrigan again referred to the
fish barbecue resolution. Naturally enough, the conversation drifted
into a discussion of the humor of the coast, when the Colonel said:
"There is not much pure humor on this coast. There is plenty of that
material called humor, which has a bitter sting to it, but that is not
the genuine article. The men here who think as Hood wrote, are not
plenty. I suspect the bitter twang to all the humor here comes from the
isolation of men from the society of women, from broken hopes, and it
seems to me is generally an attempt to hurl contempt, not upon the
individual at whom it is fired, but at the outrageous fortunes which
hedge men around. The coast has been running over with that sort of
thing, I guess since 'forty-nine.'
"A man here, fond of his wife and children, said to a friend a day or
two after they went away for a visit to California: 'Did you ever see a
motherless colt?'
"'Oh, yes,' was the reply.
"'Then,' said the man, 'you know just how I feel.'
"'Yes,' said the friend. 'I suppose you feel as though you are not worth
a dam.'
"I know a brother lawyer who is somewhat famous for getting the clients
whom he defends convicted. One morning he met a brother attorney, a wary
old lawyer, and said to him: 'I heard some men denouncing you this
morning and I took up your defense.'
"'What did you say?' the other asked.
"'Those men were slandering you and I took it upon myself to defend
you,' said the first lawyer.
"The old lawyer took the other by the arm, led him aside, then putting
his lips close to the ear of his friend, in a hoarse whisper said:
'Don't do it any more.'
"'I am going to lecture to-night at C----,' said a pompous man.
"'I am glad of it,' was the quick answer. 'I have hated the people there
for years. No punishment is too severe for them.'
"'I am particular who I drink with,' said a man curtly to another.
"'Yes?' was the answer. 'I outgrew that foolish pride long ago. I would
as soon you would drink with me as not.'
"'I do not require lecturing from you,' said a man. 'I am no reformed
drunkard.'
"'Then why do you not reform?' was the response.
"This coast is full of the echoes of such things."
The Professor spoke next. "I think," said he, "that there is more
extravagance in figures of speech on this coast than in any other
country. Marcus Shults had a difficulty in Eureka the other day, when I
was there. He told me about it. Said he: 'I told him to keep away; that
I was afraid of him. I wanted some good man to hear me say that, but I
had my eye on him every minute, and had he come a step nearer, why--when
the doctors would have been called in to dissect him they would have
thought they had struck a new lead mine.'"
Here Wright interrupted the Professor. "Marcus was from my State,
Professor. Did you ever hear him explain why he did not become a
fighter?"
The Professor answered that he never had, when Wright continued:
"Marcus never took kindly to hard work. Indeed, he seems to have
constitutional objections to it. As he tells the story, while crossing
the plains he made up his mind that, upon reaching California, he would
declare himself and speedily develop into a fighter. His words, when he
told me the story, were: 'They knew me back in Missouri, and I was a
good deal too smart to attempt to practice any such profession there,
but my idea was that California was filled with Yankees, and in that
kind of a community I would have an easy going thing. Well, I crossed
the Sierras and landed at Diamond Springs, outside of Placerville a few
miles, and when I had been there a short time I changed my mind.'
"Of course at this point some one asks him why he changed his mind,
whereupon he answers solemnly:
"'The first day I was there a State of Maine man cut the stomach out of
a Texan.'
"Marcus was with the boys during that first tough winter in Eureka. One
fearfully cold day a man was telling about the cold he had experienced
in Idaho. When the story was finished Marcus cast a look of sovereign
contempt upon the man and said:
"'You know nothing about cold weather, sir; you never saw any. You
should go to Montana. In Montana I have seen plenty of mornings when
were a man to have gone out of a warm room, crossed a street sixty feet
wide and shaken his head, his ears would have snapped off like icicles.'
"The stranger, overawed, retired."
Alex spoke next: "The other day Dan Dennison asked me to go and look at
a famous trotting horse that he has here. We went to the stable, and
when the stepper was pointed out I started to go into the stall beside
him, whereupon Dan caught me by the arm, drew me back, and said:
"'Be careful! Sometimes he deals from the bottom.'
"He stripped the covers from the horse and backed him out where I could
look at him. The horse was not a beauty by any means and I intimated my
belief of that fact to Dan.
"'No,' said Dennison. The truth is--' He hesitated a moment and then the
words came in a volley:
"'He's deformed with speed.'
"There is a lawyer down town, you all know him. He has a head as big as
the old croppings of the Gould and Curry, but like some other lawyers
that practice at the Virginia City bar (here he glanced significantly at
the Colonel), he is not an exceedingly bright or profound man. He was
passing a downtown office yesterday when a man, who chanced to be
standing in the office, said to the bookkeeper of the establishment:
"'Look at Judge ----. His head is bigger than Mount Davidson, but I am
told that where his brains ought to be there is a howling wilderness.'
"The bookkeeper stopped his writing, carefully wiped his pen, laid it
down, came out from behind his desk, came close up to the man who had
spoken to him, and said:
"'Howling wilderness? I tell you, sir, that man's head is an unexplored
mental Death Valley.'"
"Yes," said the Colonel, "his is a queer family. He has a brother who is
a journalist; he has made a fortune in the business. His great theme is
sketching the lives and characters of people."
"But has he made a fortune publishing sketches of that description?"
asked Miller.
"Oh, no," replied the Colonel; "he has made his money by refraining from
publishing them. People have paid him to suppress them."
"Colonel," asked Strong, "did it never occur to you that other fortunes
might be made the same way by people just exactly adapted to that style
of writing?"
"If it had," was the reply. "I should have considered that the field
here was fully occupied."
"You might write a sketch of your own career," suggested the Professor.
"Don't do it, Colonel," said Alex.
"Why not?" asked Ashley.
"There is a law which sadly interferes with the circulation of a certain
character of literature," said Alex.
"Alex," said the Colonel, "what a painstaking and delicate task it will
be, under that law, to write your obituary."
"There will be great risk in writing yours, Colonel," said Alex; "but it
will be a labor of love, nevertheless; a labor of love, Colonel."
"If you have it to do, Alex, don't forget my strongest characteristic,"
said the Colonel; "that lofty generosity, blended with a self-contained
dignity, which made me indifferent always to the slanders of bad men."
It was always a delight to the Club to get these two to bantering each
other.
Ashley here interposed and said: "You all know Professor ----. One night
in Elko, last summer, he was conversing with Judge F---- of Elko. Both
had been indulging a little too much; the Professor was growing
talkative and the Judge morose.
"The Professor was telling about the battle of Buena Vista, in which he,
a boy at the time, participated. In the midst of the description the
Judge interrupted him with some remark which the Professor construed
into an impeachment of his bravery.
"He leaned back in his chair and sat looking at the Judge for a full
minute, as if in an astonished study, and then in a tone most dangerous,
said:
"'I do not know how to classify you, sir. I do not know, sir, whether
you are a wholly irresponsible idiot, or an unmitigated and infamous
scoundrel, sir.'
"He was conscientious and methodical even in his wrath. He would not
pass upon the specimen of natural history before him until certain to
what species it belonged."
Said Miller: "Did you ever hear how Judge T---- of this city met a man
who had been saying disrespectful things about him, but who came up to
the Judge in a crowd and, with a smile, extended his hand? The Judge
drew back quickly, thrust both hands in his side pockets and said:
"'Excuse me, sir; I have just washed my hands.'"
"I heard something yesterday of a rough man whom you all know, Zince
Barnes," said the Professor, "which seemed to me as full of bitter humor
as anything I have heard on this mountain side. You know that politics
are running pretty high.
"Well, an impecunious man--so the story goes--called upon a certain
gentleman who is reported to be rich and to have political aspirations,
and tried to convince him that the expenditure of a certain sum of money
in a certain way would redound amazingly to the credit, political, of
the millionaire. The man of dollars could not see the proposition
through the poor man's magnifying glasses, and the patriot retired
baffled.
"A few minutes later, and while yet warm in his disappointment, he met
Zince Barnes, told him of the interview and closed by expressing the
belief that the millionaire was a tough, hard formation.
"'Hard!' said Zince. 'I should think so. The tears of widows and orphans
are water on his wheel.'"
At this Corrigan 'roused up and said: "Speakin' of figures of spache, I
heard some from a countrywoman of mine one bitter cowld mornin' last
March. It was early; hardly light. John Mackay was comin' down from the
Curry office on his way to the Con. Virginia office, and whin just
opposite the Curry works, he met ould mother McGarrigle, who lives down
by the freight depot. I was in the machane shop of the Curry works; they
were just outside, and there being only an inch boord and about ten feet
of space between us, I could hear ivery word plain, or rather I could
not help but hear. The conversation ran about after this style:
"'Mornin', Meester Mackay, and may the Lord love yees.'
"'Good morning, madam.'
"'How's the beautiful wife and the charmin' childers over the big
wathers, Mr. Mackay?'
"'They are all right.'
"'God be thanked intirely. Does yees know, Mr. Mackay, that in the hull
course of me life I niver laid eyes upon childer so beautiful loike
yees. Often and often I've tould the ould man that same. And they're
will, are they?'
"'Yes, they are first-rate. I had a cable from them yesterday.'
"'A tilligram, was it? Oh, but is not that wonderful, though! A missige
under the say and over the land to this barbarous place. It must have
come like the smile of the Good God to yees.'
"'Oh, I get them every day.'
"'Ivery day! And phat do they cost?'
"'Oh, seven or eight dollars; sometimes more. It depends upon their
length.'
"'Sivin or eight dollars! Oh, murther! But yees desarve it, Mr. Mackay.
What would the poor do without yees in this town, Mr. Mackay? Only
yisterday I was sayin' to the ould man, says I: "Mike, it shows the
mercy of God whin money is given to a mon like Mr. John Mackay. It's a
Providence he is to the city. God bless him." I did, indade.'
"By this time Mackay began to grow very ristless.
"'What can I do for you this morning, Mrs. McGarrigle?'
"'It's the ould mon, Lord love yees, Mr. Mackay. It's no work he's had
for five wakes, and it's mighty little we have aither to ait or to wear.
It's work I want for him.'
"'I am sorry, but our mines are full. Indeed, we are employing more men
than we are justified in doing.'
"'But Mr. Mackay, it's so poor we are, and so hard it is getting along
at all; put him on for a month and may all the saints bless yees.'
"'The city is full of poor people, madam. To determine what to do to
mitigate the distress here occupies half our time.'
"'Yis, but ours is a particular hard case intirely. I am dilicate
meself. I know I don't look so, but I am; and yees ought ter interpose
to help a poor countryman of yees own in trouble.'
"By this time Mackay was half frozen and thoroughly out of patience. In
his quick, sharp way he said: 'Madam, we cannot give all the men in the
country employment.'
"The mask of the woman was off in an instant. With a scorn and hate
unutterable she burst forth in almost a scrame.
"'Oh, yees can't. Oh, no! Yees forgits fen yees was poor your ownsilf,
ye blackguard. Refusin' a poor man work, and shakin the mountains and
churnin' the ocean avery day wid your siven and eight dollar missages.
Yees can't employ all the min in the counthry. Don't yees own the whole
counthry? And do yees think we'd apply to yees at all if we could find a
dacant mon in the worreld? May the divil fly away wid yees, and whin he
does yees may tell him for me if he gives a short bit for yer soul he'll
chate himself worse nor he's been chated since he bargained with Judas
Iscariot. Thake that, sur, wid me compliments, yees purse-proud
parvenu.'
"When the woman began to rave, Mackay walked rapidly away, but she niver
relaxed the scrame of her tirade until Mackay disappeared from sight.
Thin she paused for a moment, thin to herself she muttered, 'But I got
aven wid him oneway.' She thin turned and walked away toward her cabin.
"It was a case where money was no assistance to a man."
"There is a good deal of humor displayed in courts of justice at times,
is there not, Colonel?" asked Wright.
"Oh, yes," was the reply. "Anyone would think so who ever heard old
Frank Dunn explain to a court that the reason of his being late was
because he had no watch, and deploring meanwhile his inability to
purchase a watch because of the multitude of unaccountable fines which
His Honor had seen proper, from time to time, to impose upon him."
"In that first winter in Eureka," said Wright, "I strolled into court
one day when a trial was in progress.
"Judge D---- was managing one side and a volunteer lawyer the other. The
volunteer lawyer had the best side, and to confuse the court, Judge
D----, in his argument, misquoted the testimony somewhat. His opponent
interrupted and repeated exactly what the witness had testified to.
"Turning to his opponent, Judge D----, with a sneer, said:
"'I see, sir, you are very much interested in the result of this case.'
"'Oh, no,' was the response. 'I am doing this for pure love. I do not
make a cent in this case.'
"Then Judge D----, with still more bitterness, said:
"'That is like you. You try cases for nothing and cheat _good_ lawyers
out of their fees.'
"With a look of unfeigned astonishment the other lawyer said:
"'Well, what are _you_ angry about? How does that interfere with
_you_?'"
Here Brewster, who had been reading, laid down his book and said:
"I heard of a case as I came through Salt Lake City some years ago,
which, if not particularly humorous, revealed wonderful presence of mind
on the part of the presiding judge. It may be the story is not true, but
it was told in Salt Lake City as one very liable to be true.
"A miner, who had been working a placer claim in the hills all
summer--so the story ran--and who had been his own cook, barber,
chambermaid and tailor, came down to Salt Lake City to see the sights
and purchase supplies. He had dough in his whiskers, grease upon his
overalls, pine twigs in his hair, and altogether did not present the
appearance of a dancing master or a millionaire. Hardly had he reached
the city when he thought it necessary to take something in order to
'brace up.' One drink gave him courage to take another, and in forty
minutes he was dead drunk on the sidewalk.
"The police picked him up and tossed him into a cell in the jail,
disdaining to search him, so abject seemed his condition.
"Next morning he was brought before the Police Judge and the charge of
D. D. was preferred against him.
"'You are fined ten dollars, sir,' was the brief sentence of the Court.
The man unbuttoned two pairs of overalls and from some inner recess of
his garments produced a roll of greenbacks as big as a man's fist. It
was a trying moment for the Judge, but his presence of mind did not fail
him. He raised up from his seat, leaned one elbow on his desk and, as if
in continuation of what he had already said, thundered out: 'And one
hundred dollars for contempt of court.'
"The man paid the one hundred and ten dollars and hastily left the court
and the city."
Miller was the next to speak. Said he: "Once in Idaho I heard a specimen
of grim humor which entertained me immensely. There was a man up there
who owned a train of pack mules and made a living by packing in goods to
the traders and packing out ore to be sent away to the reduction works.
He was caught in a storm midway between Challis and Powder Flat. It was
mid-winter; the thermometer at Challis marked thirty-four degrees below
zero. He was out in the storm and cold two days and one night, and his
sufferings must have been indescribable. When safely housed and
ministered to at last a friend said to him: 'George, that was a tough
experience, was it not?'
"'Oh, regular business should never be called tough,' said he, 'but
since I began to get warm I have been thinking that, if I make money
enough, may be in three or four years I will get married, if I can
deceive some woman into making the arrangement. If I should succeed, and
if after a reasonable time a boy should be born to us, and if the
youngster should "stand off" the colic, teething, measles, whooping
cough, scarlet fever and falling down stairs, and grow to be ten or
twelve years old, and have some sense, if I ever tell him the story of
the past two days of my life and he don't cry his eyes out, I will beat
him to death, sure.'"
The Professor was reminded by the anecdote of something which transpired
in Belmont, Nevada, the previous winter. Said he: "I went to Belmont to
examine a property last winter and while there Judge ---- came in from a
prospecting trip down into the upper edge of Death Valley. I saw him as
he drove into town, and went to meet him. He was in no very good
spirits. On the way to his office he said: 'I was persuaded against my
better judgment to go on that trip. The thief who coaxed me away told a
wonderful story. He had been there; he had seen the mine, but had been
driven away by the Shoshones; he knew every spring and camping place. It
would be just a pleasure trip. So, like an idiot, I went with him. It
was twice as far as he said, and we got out of food; he could not find
one particular spring, and we were forty hours without water. We had to
camp in the snow, and the only pleasure I had in the whole journey was
in seeing my companion slip and sit down squarely on a Spanish bayonet
plant. It was a double pleasure, indeed; one pleasure to see him sit
down and another pleasure to see him get right up again without resting
at all, and with a look on his face as though a serious mistake had been
made somewhere.'
"By this time we had reached the Judge's office. On the desk lay a score
of letters which had been accumulating during his absence. Begging me to
excuse him for five minutes, he sat down and commenced to run through
his mail.
"Suddenly he stopped, seized a pen and wrote rapidly for two or three
minutes. Then he threw down the pen and begged my attention. First he
read a letter which was dated somewhere in Iowa. The writer stated that
he had a few thousand dollars, but had determined to leave Iowa and seek
some new field, and asked the Judge's advice about removing to Nevada. I
asked the Judge if he knew the man.
"'Of course not,' said he. 'He has found my name in some directory, and
so has written at random. He has probably written similar letters to
twenty other men. Possibly he is writing a book descriptive of the Far
West by an actual observer,' continued the Judge.
"'How are you going to reply?' I asked.
"'That is just the point,' he answered. 'I have written and I want you
to tell me if I have done about the right thing. Listen.'
"At this he read his letter. It was in these identical words:
MY DEAR SIR:--Your esteemed favor is at hand and after careful
deliberation I have determined to write to you to come to
Nevada. I cannot, in the brief space to which a letter must
necessarily be confined, enter into details; but I can assure
you that if you will come here, settle and invest your means,
the final result will be most happy to you. A few brief years
of existence here will prepare you to enjoy all the rest and
all the beatitudes which the paradise of the blessed can
bestow, and if, perchance, your soul should take the other
track, hell itself can bring you no surprises. Respectfully,
etc.
"He mailed the letter, but at last accounts the gentleman had not come
West."
"That," said Alex, "reminds me of Charley O----'s mining experience. An
Eastern company purchased a series of mines at Austin and made Charley
superintendent of the company at a handsome salary. Charley proceeded to
his post of duty, built a fine office and drew his salary for a year. He
did his best, too, to make something of the property, but it is a most
difficult thing to make a mine yield when there is no ore in it. The
result was nothing but 'Irish dividends' for the stockholders. It was in
the old days, before the railway came along.
"One morning, when the overland coach drove into Austin, a gentleman
dismounted, asked where the office of the Lucknow Gold and Silver
Consolidated Mining and Milling Company was, and being directed, went to
the office and without knocking, opened the door and walked in. Charley
was sitting with his feet on the desk, smoking a cigar and reading the
morning paper.
"'Is Mr. O---- in?' politely inquired the stranger.
"'I am Mr. O----,' responded Charley. The stranger unbuttoned his coat,
dived into a side pocket and drawing out a formidable envelope,
presented it to O----.
"Charley tore open the envelope and found that the letter within was a
formal notice from the secretary of the company that the bearer had been
appointed superintendent and resident manager of the L. G. and S. C. M.
& M. Co., and requesting O----to surrender to him the books and all
other property of the company. After reading the letter Charley looked
up and said to the stranger:
"'And so you have come to take my place?'
"'It seems so,' was the reply.
"'On your account I am awfully sorry,' said Charley.
"The stranger did not believe that he was in any particular need of
sympathy.
"'But you will not live six months here,' said Charley.
"The stranger was disposed to take his chances.
"This happened in August. Charley took the first stage and came in to
Virginia City. In the following December the morning papers here
contained a dispatch announcing that Mr. ----, superintendent of the
Lucknow Gold and Silver Consolidated Mining and Milling Company, was
dangerously ill of pneumonia. On the succeeding morning there was
another dispatch from Austin saying that Mr. ----, late superintendent
of the Lucknow Gold and Silver Consolidated Mining and Milling Company,
died the previous evening and that the body would be sent overland to
San Francisco, to be shipped from there to the East. Two days after
that, about the time the overland coaches were due, Charley was seen
wading through the mud down to the Overland barn. He went in and saw two
coaches with fresh mud upon them. The curtains of the first were rolled
up. The curtains of the second were buckled down close. O---- went to
the second coach, loosened one of the curtains and threw it back; then
reaching in and tapping the coffin with his knuckles, said: 'Didn't I
tell you? Didn't I tell you? You thought you could stop my salary and
still live. See what a fix it has brought you to!' And then he went
away. No one would ever have known that he had been there had not an
'ostler overheard him.
"Speaking of Austin, I think the remark made by Lawyer J. B. Felton of
Oakland, California, regarding the mines of Austin, was as cute as
anything I ever heard. When the mines were first discovered Felton was
induced to invest a good deal of money in them.
"The mines were three hundred and fifty miles from civilization, there
being no reduction works of any kind, and pure silver would hardly have
paid. So Felton did not realize readily from his investment. After some
months had gone by Felton was standing on Montgomery street, San
Francisco, one day when a long procession, celebrating St. Patrick's
day, filed past. Of course Erin's flag was 'full high advanced' in the
procession. Turning to a friend, Felton said: 'Can you tell why that
flag is like a Reese River mine?'
"The friend could not.
"Said Felton: 'It's composed mostly of sham rock and a blasted lyre!'"
Ashley was next to speak.
"After all," said he, "the funniest things are sometimes those which are
not meant to be funny at all. Steve Gillis, in a newspaper office down
town, perpetrated one the other day. An Eastern editor was here, and
when he found out how some of the men in the office were working he was
paralyzed, and said to Gillis:
"'There's ----, you will go into his room some day and find him dead. He
will go like a flash some time. No man can do what he is doing and stand
it.'
"'Do you think so?' asked Gillis.
"'Indeed I do; I know it,' said the man.
"'Then,' said Gillis, 'you ought to be here. You would see the most
magnificent funeral ever had in Virginia City.'"
By this time it was very late and the Club dispersed for the night.
Next morning Harding, who was reading the morning paper, came upon this
item:
A LIVELY SCRIMMAGE.
Last evening, about seven-thirty o'clock, there was a terrific
fight on Union Street, near the depot; four men against five.
It lasted but a few minutes, but the five men were dreadfully
beaten. No one seemed to know the origin of the fight. A boy
who was standing across the street says the men met, a few low
words passed between them, and then the fight ensued. The four
men, who seem to have been the assailants, hardly suffered any
damage, but the five others were so badly beaten that two of
them had to be carried home, while the other three had fearful
mansard roofs put upon them.
There were no arrests; indeed little sympathy was felt for the
injured men, for though at present at work in the mines, they
are known as bullies and roughs by trade.
No one seems to know who the victors were, except that they
were miners. One man told our reporter that he knew one of the
men by sight; that he was, he thought, a Gold Hill miner. No
weapons were drawn on either side, and no loud words were
spoken, but it was as fierce an encounter as has been seen here
since the old fighting days.
Harding looked up from the paper and said:
"Wright, what was it you said about the drill of the Emmett Guards, last
night?"
"They are splendid, those Emmetts," was the reply, with an imperturbable
face.