THE INDIANS
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. 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 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 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 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 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.
I 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 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 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. 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.
We 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."
"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!"
We 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.
"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.