CHAPTER XXXIX

THE VIGILANTES (_continued_)

Catlin dwelt in a detached room back of the Empire, together with one of

the other professional gamblers. We lounged around the corner of the

Empire building. The door of the cabin was shut. Outside we hung back,

hesitating and a little uncertain. None of us was by nature or training

a man of violence, and we experienced the reluctance of men about to

plunge into cold water. Nobody was more than pardonably afraid, and of

course we had every intention of seeing the affair through. Then

suddenly in the actual face of the thing itself my excitement drained

from me like a tide receding. My nerves steadied, my trembling stilled.

Never had I felt more cool in my life. Drawing my revolver, I pushed

open the door and entered the building.

Catlin was in the act of washing his face, and him I instantly covered

with my weapon. His companion was still abed. On my entrance the latter

had instinctively raised on his elbow, but immediately dropped back as

he saw the figures of my companions darkening the door.

"Well, gentlemen?" demanded Catlin.

"You must come with us," I replied.

He showed no concern, but wiped carefully his face and hands.

"I will be ready in a minute," said he, throwing aside the towel, and

rolling down his shirt sleeves. He advanced toward a bench on which his

coat had been flung. "I'll be with you as soon as I can put on my coat."

I glanced toward that garment and saw the muzzle of a revolver peeping

out from beneath it.

"I'll hand your coat to you," said I quickly. Catlin turned deadly pale,

but spoke with his usual composure.

"What am I wanted for?" he inquired.

"For being a road agent, a thief, and an accessory to robberies and

murders," I replied.

"I am innocent of all--as innocent as you are."

"There is no possibility of a mistake."

"What will you do with me?"

"Your sentence is death," I told him.

For a single instant his dark face lit up.

"You think so?" he flashed.

"Hurry!" urged one of my companions.

With one man on either side and another behind, revolvers drawn, we

marched our prisoner in double-quick time past the rear of the stores

and saloons to the agreed rendezvous. There we found Danny Randall and

his committee with Morton. Within the next few moments, in rapid

succession, appeared the others with Scar-face Charley, Crawford, and

Jules.

The camp was already buzzing with excitement. Men poured out from the

buildings into the streets like disturbed ants. Danny thrust his

prisoners into the interior of the cabin, and drew us up in two lines

outside. He impressed on us that we must keep the military formation,

and that we were to allow no one to approach. Across the road about

twenty yards away he himself laid a rope.

"That's the dead-line," he announced. "Now you keep the other side!"

In no time a mob of five hundred men had gathered. They surged

restlessly to and fro. The flash of weapons was everywhere to be seen.

Cries rent the air--demands, threats, oaths, and insults so numerous and

so virulent that I must confess my heart failed me. At any instant I

expected the mob to open fire; they could have swept us away with a

single volley. To my excited imagination every man of that multitude

looked a ruffian. We seemed alone against the community. I could not

understand why they did not rush us and have it over with. Yet they

hesitated. The fact of the matter is that the desperadoes had no

cohesion, no leaders; and they knew what none of us knew--namely, that a

good many of that crowd must be on our side. The roar and turmoil and

heat of discussion, argument, and threat rose and fell. In one of the

lulls an Irish voice yelled:

"Hang them!"

The words were greeted by a sullen assenting roar. Five hundred hands,

each armed, were held aloft. This unanimity produced an instant silence.

"Hang who?" a truculent voice expressed the universal uncertainty.

"Hang the road agents!" yelled back the little Irishman defiantly.

"Bully for you, Irish; that took nerve!" muttered Johnny, at my elbow.

Fifty threats were hurled at the bold speaker, and the click of gunlocks

preceded a surge in his direction. Then from the mob went up a sullen,

formidable muttering of warning. No individual voice could be

distinguished; but the total effect of dead resistance and determination

could not be mistaken. Instantly, at the words so valiantly uttered, the

spirit of cohesion had been born. The desperadoes checked in surprise.

We had friends. How many or how strong no one could guess; but they were

there, and in case of a battle they would fight.

On our side the line was a dead, grim silence. We stood, our weapons

ready, rigidly at attention. Occasionally one or the other of us

muttered a warning against those who showed symptoms of desiring to

interfere.

In the meantime, three of our number had been proceeding methodically

with the construction of a gallows. This was made by thrusting five

small pine butts, about forty feet long, over a cross beam in the gable

of the cabin and against the roof inside. Large drygoods boxes were

placed beneath for the trap.

About this time Danny Randall, who had been superintending the

construction, touched me on the shoulder.

"Fall back," he said quietly. "Now," he instructed several of us, after

we had obeyed this command, "I want you to bring out the prisoners and

hold them in plain view. In case of rescue or attempted escape, shoot

them instantly. Don't hesitate."

"I should think they would be safer inside the cabin," I suggested.

"Sure," agreed Danny, "but I want them here for the moral effect."

We entered the cabin. The five prisoners were standing or sitting.

Scar-face Charley was alternately blaspheming violently, upbraiding his

companions, cursing his own luck, and uttering frightful threats against

everybody who had anything to do with this. Crawford was watching him

contemptuously and every once in a while advising him to "shut up!"

Jules was alternately cursing and crying. Morton sat at one side quite

calm and very alert. Catlin stared at the floor.

The moment we entered Catlin ran over to us and began to plead for his

life. He, better than the rest, with the possible exception of Morton,

seemed to realize the seriousness of his plight. From pleadings, which

we received in silence, he changed to arguments concerning his

innocence.

"It is useless," replied one of our men. "That affair is settled and

cannot be changed. You are to be hanged. You cannot feel worse about it

than I do; but I could not help it if I would."

Catlin stood for a moment as though overwhelmed; then he fell on his

knees before us and began to plead rapidly.

"Not that!" he cried. "Anything but that! Do anything else you want to

with me! Cut off my ears and cut out my tongue! Disable me in any way!

You can certainly destroy my power for harm without taking my life!

Gentlemen! I want to live for my wife--my poor absent wife! I want time

to settle my affairs! O God! I am too wicked to die. I cannot go

bloodstained and unforgiven into the presence of the Eternal! Only let

me go, and I will leave the country forever!"

In the meantime Scar-face Charley and Crawford were cursing at us with

an earnestness and steadiness that compelled our admiration.

"Oh, shut up, Catlin!" cried Crawford at last. "You're going to hell,

and you know it; but I'll be there in time to open the gate for you."

"Don't make a fool of yourself," advised Charley; "there's no use being

afraid to die."

Morton looked around at each of us in turn.

"I suppose you know you are proceeding against a regularly constituted

officer of the law?" he reminded us. Receiving no reply, he beckoned me.

"Can I speak to you alone a moment?" he asked.

"I will send for our leader," I replied.

"No," said he, "I want no leader. You'll do as well."

I approached him. In an anxious tone he asked:

"Is there any way of getting out of this scrape? Think well!"

"None," said I firmly. "You must die."

With revolvers drawn we marched them outside. A wild yell greeted their

appearance. The cries were now mixed in sentiment. A hundred voices

raised in opposition were cried down by twice as many more. "Hang 'em!"

cried some. "No, no, banish them!" cried others. "Don't hang them!" and

blood-curdling threats. A single shot would have brought on a pitched

battle. Somehow eventually the tumult died down. Then Morton, who had

been awaiting his chance, spoke up in a strong voice.

"I call on you in the name of the law to arrest and disperse these

law-breakers."

"Where is Tom Cleveland?" spoke up a voice.

The appeal, which might otherwise have had its effect, was lost in the

cries, accusations, and counter-accusations that arose like a babel.

Morton made no further attempt. He better than any one realized, I

think, the numerical superiority against him.

The preparations were at length completed. Danny Randall motioned us to

lead forward the prisoners. Catlin struggled desperately, but the others

walked steadily enough to take their places on the drygoods boxes.

"For God's sake, gentlemen," appealed Crawford in a loud tone of voice,

"give me time to write home!"

"Ask him how much time he gave Tom Cleveland!" shouted a voice.

"If I'd only had a show," retorted Crawford, "if I'd known what you were

after, you'd have had a gay time taking me."

There was some little delay in adjusting the cords.

"If you're going to hang me, get at it!" said Jules with an oath; "if

not, I want you to tie a bandage on my finger; it's bleeding."

"Give me your coat, Catlin," said Crawford; "you never gave me anything

yet; now's your chance."

Danny Randall broke in on this exchange.

"You are about to be executed," said he soberly. "If you have any dying

requests to make, this is your last opportunity. They will be carefully

heeded."

Scar-face Charley broke in with a rough laugh.

"How do I look, boys, with a halter around my neck?" he cried.

This grim effort was received in silence.

"Your time is very short," Danny reminded him.

"Well, then," said the desperado, "I want one more drink of whiskey

before I die."

A species of uneasy consternation rippled over the crowd. Men glanced

meaningly at each other, murmuring together. Some of the countenances

expressed loathing, but more exhibited a surprised contempt. For a

confused moment no one seemed to know quite what to do or what answer to

make to so bestial a dying request. Danny broke the silence incisively.

"I promised them their requests would be carefully heeded," he said.

"Give him the liquor."

Somebody passed up a flask. Charley raised it as high as he could, but

was prevented by the rope from getting it quite to his lips.

"You ----" he yelled at the man who held the rope. "Slack off that rope

and let a man take a parting drink, can't you?"

Amid a dead silence the rope was slacked away. Charley took a long

drink, then hurled the half-emptied flask far out into the crowd.

To a question Crawford shook his head.

"I hope God Almighty will strike every one of you with forked lightning

and that I shall meet you all in the lowest pit of hell!" he snarled.

Morton kept a stubborn and rather dignified silence. Catlin alternately

pleaded and wept. Jules answered Danny's question:

"Sure thing! Pull off my boots for me. I don't want it to get back to my

old mother that I died with my boots on!"

In silence and gravely this ridiculous request was complied with. The

crowd, very attentive, heaved and stirred. The desperadoes, shouldering

their way here and there, were finding each other out, were gathering in

little groups.

"They'll try a rescue!" whispered the man next to me.

"Men," Danny's voice rang out, clear and menacing, "do your duty!"

At the words, across the silence the click of gunlocks was heard as the

Vigilantes levelled their weapons at the crowd. From my position near

the condemned men I could see the shifting components of the mob freeze

to immobility before the menace of those barrels. At the same instant

the man who had been appointed executioner jerked the box from beneath

Catlin's feet.

"There goes one to hell!" muttered Charley.

"I hope forked lightning will strike every strangling----" yelled

Crawford. His speech was abruptly cut short as the box spun from under

his feet.

"Kick away, old fellow!" said Scar-face Charley. "Me next! I'll be in

hell with you in a minute! Every man for his principles! Hurrah for

crime! Let her rip!" and without waiting for the executioner, he himself

kicked the support away.

Morton died without a sign. Catlin, at the last, suddenly calmed, and

met his fate bravely.

Before the lull resulting from the execution and the threat of the

presented weapons could break, Danny Randall spoke up.

"Gentlemen!" he called clearly. "The roster of the Vigilantes is open.

Such of you as please to join the association for the preservation of

decency, law, and order in this camp can now do so."

The guard lowered their arms and moved to one side. The crowd swept

forward. In the cabin the applicants were admitted a few at a time.

Before noon we had four hundred men on our rolls. Some of the bolder

roughs ventured a few threats, but were speedily overawed. The community

had found itself, and was no longer afraid.

PART IV

THE LAW

CHAPTER XL

THE RAINS

No sooner had this radical clean-up of the body politic been consummated

than the rains began. That means little to any but a Californian. To him

it means everything. We were quite new to the climate and the

conditions, so that the whole thing was a great surprise.

For a month past it had been threatening. The clouds gathered and piled

and blackened until they seemed fairly on the point of bursting. One

would not have given two cents for his chances of a dry skin were he to

start on a journey across the street. Yet somehow nothing happened. Late

in the afternoon, perhaps, the thunderous portents would thin. The

diffused light would become stronger. Far down in the west bars of

sunlight would strike. And by evening the stars shone brilliantly from a

sky swept clear. After a dozen repetitions of this phenomenon we ceased

to pay any attention to it. Somebody named it "high fog," which did well

enough to differentiate it from a genuine rain-bringing cloud. Except

for that peculiar gourd that looks exactly like a watermelon, these

"high fogs" were the best imitation of a real thing I have ever seen.

They came up like rain clouds, they looked precisely like rain clouds,

they went through all the performances of rain clouds--except that

never, never did they rain!

But the day of the Vigilante execution the sky little by little turned

shimmering gray; so that the sun shining from it looked like silver; and

the shadows of objects were diffused and pale. A tepid wind blew gently

but steadily from the southeast. No clouds were visible at first; but

imperceptibly, around the peaks, filmy veils formed seemingly out of the

gray substance of the very sky itself. How these thickened and spread I

did not see; but when I came out of the Bella Union, after a long and

interesting evening of discussion, I found no stars; and, as I stood

looking upward, a large warm drop splashed against my face.

Sometime during the night it began to rain in earnest. We were awakened

by its steady drumming on the canvas of our tent.

"My Lord! but she sure is _raining_!" said Johnny across the roar

of sound.

"Don't tech the canvas!" warned Old. "If you do, she'll leak like a

spout where you teched her!"

"Thank heaven, that high fog scared us into ditching around the tent,"

said Cal fervently.

But our satisfaction was short-lived. We had ditched the tent, to be

sure, but we had badly underestimated the volume of a California

downpour.

Before many minutes had passed Johnny gave a disgusted snort.

"I'm lying in a marsh!" he cried.

He struck a light, and we all saw the water trickling in a dozen little

streams beneath the edge of the tent.

"We're going to be ruined!" cried Johnny comically.

He arose, and in doing so brushed his head violently against the

slanting canvas roof. Almost immediately thereafter the rays of the

lantern were reflected from tiny beads of water, like a sweat, appearing

as though by magic at that spot. They swelled, gathered, hesitated, then

began to feel their way slowly down the dry canvas. The trickle became a

stream. A large drop fell straight down. Another followed.

"Anybody need a drink?" inquired Cal.

"I'm sorry!" said Johnny contritely.

"You needn't be," I consoled him. "The whole thing is going to leak, if

this keeps up."

"What's the matter with going over to the Morena cabin?" queried Yank.

We hesitated a little. The events of the day had affected us all more

deeply than we liked to acknowledge; and nobody but Yank much liked the

idea of again entering that bloodstained abode.

"We'd drown getting there," said Cal at last. "I move some of you

fellows with two good arms rustle out and fix that ditch." He laughed.

"Nothing like having a hole in you to get out of work."

We took his advice, and managed to turn the flood, though we got very

wet in the process.

Then we returned to the tent, changed our clothes, crept into our

blankets, and wrapped ourselves close. The spot brushed by Johnny's head

dripped steadily. Otherwise our roof shed well. The rain roared straight

down with steady, deadly persistency.

"She can't keep this up long, anyway; that's a comfort," muttered Johnny

sleepily.

Couldn't she? All next morning that flood came down without the let-up

of even a single moment. It had all the volume and violence of a black

thunderstorm at its height; only the worst of the thunderstorm lasts but

a few moments, while this showed no signs of ever intending to end. Our

stout canvas continued to turn the worst of it, but a fine spray was

driven through, to our great discomfort. We did not even attempt to

build a fire, but sat around wrapped in our damp blankets.

Until about two of the afternoon the deluge continued. Our unique topic

of conversation was the marvel of how it could keep it up! We could not

imagine more water falling were every stream and lake in the mountains

to be lifted to the heavens and poured down again.

"Where the devil does it all come from?" marvelled Old, again and again.

"Don't seem like no resevoy, let alone clouds, could hold so much!"

"And where does it go to?" I supplemented.

"I reckon some of those plains people could tell you," surmised Yank

shrewdly.

At two o'clock the downpour ceased as abruptly as though it had been

turned off at a spigot. Inside of twenty minutes the clouds had broken,

to show beyond them a dazzling blue sky. Intermittent flashes and bands

of sunlight glittered on the wet trees and bushes or threw into relief

the black bands of storm clouds near the horizon.

Immensely cheered, we threw aside our soggy blankets and sallied forth.

"Great Christmas!" cried Johnny, who was in the advance. "Talk about

your mud!"

We did talk about it. It was the deepest, most tenacious, slipperiest,

most adhesive mud any fiend ever imagined. We slid and floundered as

though we had on skates; we accumulated balls of it underfoot; and we

sank disconcertingly half-leg deep at every third step. Our first

intention had been to go up to town; but we soon revised that, and went

down to the Morena cabin instead, with the idea of looking after the two

horses. The beasts, very shaggy underneath and plastered above, stood

humped up nose to tail. We looked into the cabin. The roof had leaked

like a sieve; and the interior was dripping in a thousand places.

"Reckon even the tent was better after all," acknowledged Yank, looking

with disfavour on the muddy floor.

We returned to the tent and made shift to get a fire going. After

cooking some hot food, we felt better, and set about drying our

blankets. In the canon we could hear the river roaring away hollowly.

"I'll bet she's on the rampage!" said Old.

"I'll bet she's got my cradle and all of my tools!" I cried, struck with

a sudden thought.

And then, about as we commenced to feel cheerful and contented again,

the scattered black clouds began to close ranks. One by one the patches

of blue sky narrowed and disappeared.

"Why!" cried Cal in astonishment, "I believe it's getting ready to rain

again!"

"Shucks!" replied Old, "It can't. There ain't no more rain."

Nevertheless there was, and plenty of it. We spent that second night

shifting as little as possible so as not to touch a new cold place in

our sodden blankets, while the waters roared down in almost a solid

sheet.

This lasted the incredible period of four days! Nobody then knew

anything about measuring rainfall; but, judging by later experience, I

should say we must have had close to seven inches. There was not much we

could do, except to get wetter and wetter, although we made shift to

double up at night, and to use the extra blankets thus released to make

a sort of double roof. This helped some.

The morning of the fifth day broke dazzlingly clear. The sky looked

burnished as a blue jewel; the sunlight glittered like shimmering metal;

distant objects stood out plain-cut, without atmosphere. For the first

time we felt encouraged to dare that awful mud, and so slopped over to

town.

We found the place fairly drowned out. No one, in his first year,

thought of building for the weather. Barnes's hotel, the Empire and the

Bella Union had come through without shipping a drop, for they had been

erected by men with experience in the California climate; but almost

everybody else had been leaked upon a-plenty. And the deep dust of the

travel-worn overland road had turned into a morass beyond belief or

description.

Our first intimation of a definite seasonal change came from our old

friend Danny Randall, who hailed us at once when he saw us picking our

way gingerly along the edge of the street. In answer to his summons we

entered the Bella Union.

"I hope you boys weren't quite drowned out," he greeted us. "You don't

look particularly careworn."

We exchanged the appropriate comments; then Danny came at once to

business.

"Now I'm going to pay off you three boys," he told the express

messengers, "and I want to know what you want. I can give you the dust,

or I can give you an order on a San Francisco firm, just as you choose."

"Express business busted?" asked Johnny.

"It's quit for the season," Danny Randall told him, "like everything

else. In two weeks at most there won't be a score of men left in Italian

Bar." He observed our astonished incredulity, smiled, and continued:

"You boys came from the East, where it rains and gets over it. But out

here it doesn't get over it. Have you been down to look at the river?

No? Well, you'd better take a look. There'll be no more bar mining done

there for a while. And what's a mining camp without mining? Go talk to

the men of '48. They'll tell you. The season is over, boys, until next

spring; and you may just as well make up your minds to hike out now as

later. What are you laughing at?" he asked Johnny.

"I was just thinking of our big Vigilante organization," he chuckled.

"I suppose it's true that mighty few of the same lot will ever get back

to Italian Bar," agreed Danny, "but it's a good thing for whatever

community they may hit next year."

Johnny and Old elected to take their wages in dust; Cal decided on the

order against the San Francisco firm. Then we wandered down to where we

could overlook the bar itself.

The entire bed of the river was filled from rim to rim with a rolling

brown flood. The bars, sand-spits, gravel-banks had all disappeared.

Whole trees bobbed and sank and raised skeleton arms or tangled roots as

they were swept along by the current or caught back by the eddies; and

underneath the roar of the waters we heard the dull rumbling and

crunching of boulders rolled beneath the flood. A crowd of men was

watching in idle curiosity. We learned that all the cradles and most of

the tools had been lost; and heard rumours of cabins or camps located

too low having been swept away.

That evening we held a very serious discussion of our prospects and

plans. Yank announced himself as fit to travel, and ready to do so,

provided he could have a horse; the express messengers were out of a

job; I had lost all my tools, and was heartily tired of gold washing,

even had conditions permitted me to continue. Beside which, we were all

feeling quite rich and prosperous. We had not made enormous fortunes as

we had confidently anticipated when we left New York, but we were all

possessed of good sums of money. Yank had the least, owing to the fact

that he had been robbed of his Porcupine River product, and had been

compelled for nearly three months to lie idle; but even he could count

on a thousand dollars or so sent out from Hangman's Gulch. I had the

most, for my digging had paid me better than had Johnny's express

riding. But much of my share belonged of right to Talbot Ward.

Having once made up our minds to leave, we could not go too soon. A

revulsion seized us. In two days the high winds that immediately sprang

up from the west had dried the surface moisture. We said good-bye to all

our friends--Danny Randall, Dr. Rankin, Barnes, and the few miners with

whom we had become intimate. Danny was even then himself preparing to

return to Sonoma as soon as the road should be open to wagons. Dr.

Rankin intended to accompany him, ostensibly because he saw a fine

professional opening at Sonoma, in reality because in his shy, hidden

fashion he loved Danny.

Nobody objecting, we commandeered the two horses that had belonged to

the Morenas. One of them we packed with our few effects, and turned the

other over to Yank. Thus, trudging afoot, Johnny and I saw our last of

Italian Bar. Thirty years later I rode up there out of sheer curiosity.

Most of the old cabins had fallen in. The Bella Union was a drear and

draughty wreck. The Empire was used as a stable. Barnes's place and

Morton's next door had burned down. Only three of the many houses were

inhabited. In two of them dwelt old men, tending small gardens and

orchards. I do not doubt they too were Forty-niners; but I did not stop.

The place was full of too many ghosts.

CHAPTER XLI

WE GO OUT

We made our way out of the hills without adventure worth noting. The

road was muddy, and a good deal washed. In fact, we had occasionally to

do considerable manoeuvring to find a way at all around the landslides

from the hills above.

As we descended we came upon traces of the great exodus that was taking

place from the hills. All the miners were moving out. We found discarded

articles of camp equipment; we passed some people without any equipment

at all. Sick men lay under bushes without covering, or staggered

painfully down the muddy trails. Many were utterly without food. If it

rained, as it did from frequent showers, they took it as cheerfully as

they could. This army of the unsuccessful was a striking commentary on

the luck of the mines.

Robbers most singularly lacked. I did not hear of a single case of

violence in all the rather slow journey out. The explanation did not

seem difficult, however. Those who travelled alone had nothing worth the

taking; while those who possessed gold went in numbers too strong to be

attacked. The road agents had gone straight to the larger cities. Nor,

must I confess, did I see many examples of compassion to the

unfortunate. In spite of the sentimental stories that have been

told--with real enough basis in isolated fact, probably--the time was

selfish. It was also, after eliminating the desperadoes and blacklegs,

essentially honest. Thus one day we came upon a wagon apparently

deserted by the roadside. On it was a rudely scrawled sign:

"_Will some kind person stay by my wagon. I am in distress looking for

my oxen. Please do not take anything, for I am poor, and the property is

not mine._"

Nothing had been touched, as near as I could make out. We travelled by

easy stages, and by a roundabout route, both because the road was bad,

and because we wanted to see the country. On our way we passed several

other small camps. A great many Chinese had come in, and were engaged in

scratching over the abandoned claims. In fact, one man told me that

sometimes it was worth while to file on some of the abandoned claims

just to sell them to these patient people! As we descended from the

mountains we naturally came upon more and more worked-out claims. Some

had evidently been abandoned in disgust by men with little stamina; but,

sometimes, with a considerable humour. An effigy clad in regulation

gambler's rig, including the white shirt, swayed and swung slowly above

the merest surface diggings. Across the shirt front these words were

written:

"_My claim failed!_"

And then below them:

"_Oh, Susannah! don't you cry for me!

I'm a-living dead in Californi-ee_"--

which was very bad as doggerel, but probably very accurate as to its

author's state of mind.

One afternoon we turned off on a trail known to Old, and rode a few

miles to where the Pine family had made its farm. We found the old man

and his tall sons inhabiting a large two-roomed cabin situated on a

flat. They had already surrounded a field with a fence made of split

pickets and rails, and were working away with the tireless energy of the

born axemen at enclosing still more. Their horses had been turned into

ploughing; and from somewhere or other they had procured a cock and a

dozen hens. Of these they were inordinately proud, and they took great

pains to herd them in every night away from wildcats and other beasts.

We stayed with them four days, and we had a fine time. Every man of them

was keenly interested in the development of the valley and the discovery

of its possibilities. We discussed apples, barley, peaches, apricots,

ditches, irrigation, beans, hogs, and a hundred kindred topics, to

Johnny's vast disgust. I had been raised on a New England farm; Yank had

experienced agricultural vicissitudes in the new country west of the

Alleghanies; and the Pines had scratched the surface of the earth in

many localities. But this was a new climate and a new soil to all of us;

and we had nothing to guide us. The subject was fascinating. Johnny was

frankly bored with it all, but managed to have a good time hunting for

the game with which the country abounded.

For a brief period Yank and I quite envied the lot of these pioneers who

had a settled stake in the country.

"I wish I could go in for this sort of thing," said Yank.

"Why don't you?" urged old man Pine. "There's a flat just above us."

"How did you get hold of this land?" I inquired curiously.

"Just took it".

"Doesn't it belong to anybody?"

"It's part of one of these big Greaser ranchos," said Pine impatiently.

"I made a good try to git to the bottom of it. One fellar says he owns

it, and will sell; then comes another that says _he_ owns it and

won't sell. And so on. They don't nohow use this country, except a few

cattle comes through once in a while. I got tired of monkeying with them

and I came out here and squatted. If I owe anybody anything, they got to

show me who it is. I don't believe none of them knows themselves who it

really belongs to."

"I'd hate to put a lot of work into a place, and then have to move out,"

said I doubtfully.

"I'd like to see anybody move me out!" observed old man Pine grimly.

Farther up in the hills they were putting together the framework of a

sawmill, working on it at odd times when the ranch itself did not demand

attention. It was built of massive hewn timbers, raised into place with

great difficulty. They had no machinery as yet, but would get that later

out of their first farming profits.

"There ain't no hurry about it anyway," explained Pine, "for as yet

there ain't no demand for lumber yereabouts."

"I should say not!" exploded Johnny with a derisive shriek of laughter,

"unless you're going to sell it to the elks and coyotes!"

Pine turned toward him seriously.

"This is all good land yere," said he, "and they'll want lumber."

"It looks mighty good to me," said Yank.

"Well, why don't you settle?" urged Pine.

"And me with fifteen hundred good dollars?" replied Yank. "It ain't such

an everlasting fortune; but it'll git me a place back home; and I've had

my fun. This country is too far off. I'm going back home."

To this sentiment Johnny and I heartily agreed. It is a curious fact

that not one man in ten thousand even contemplated the possibility of

making California his permanent home. It was a place in which to get as

rich as he could, and then to leave.

Nevertheless we left our backwoods friends reluctantly; and at the top

of the hill we stopped our two horses to look back on the valley. It

lay, with its brown, freshly upturned earth, its scattered broad oaks,

its low wood-crowned knolls, as though asleep in the shimmering warm

floods of golden sunshine. Through the still air we heard plainly the

beat of an axe, and the low, drowsy clucking of hens. A peaceful and

grateful feeling of settled permanence, to which the restless temporary

life of mining camps had long left us strangers, filled us with the

vague stirrings of envy.

The feeling soon passed. We marched cheerfully away, our hopes busy with

what we would do when we reached New York. Johnny and I had accumulated

very fair sums of money, in spite of our loss at the hands of the

robbers, what with the takings at Hangman's Gulch, what was left from

the robbery, and Italian Bar. These sums did not constitute an enormous

fortune, to be sure. There was nothing spectacular in our winnings; but

they totalled about five times the amount we could have made at home;

and they represented a very fair little stake with which to start life.

We were young.

We found Sacramento under water. A sluggish, brown flood filled the town

and spread far abroad over the flat countryside. Men were living in the

second stories of such buildings as possessed second stories, and on the

roofs of others. They were paddling about in all sorts of improvised

boats and rafts. I saw one man keeping a precarious equilibrium in a

baker's trough; and another sprawled out face down on an India rubber

bed paddling overside with his hands.

We viewed these things from the thwarts of a boat which we hired for ten

dollars. Our horses we had left outside of town on the highlands.

Everywhere we passed men and shouted to them a cheery greeting.

Everybody seemed optimistic and inclined to believe that the flood would

soon go down.

"Anyway, she's killed the rats," one man shouted in answer to our call.

We grinned an appreciation of what we thought merely a facetious reply.

Rats had not yet penetrated to the mines, so we did not know anything

about them. Next day, in San Francisco, we began to apprehend the man's

remark.

Thus we rowed cheerfully about, having a good time at the other fellow's

expense. Suddenly Johnny, who was steering, dropped his paddle with an

exclamation. Yank and I turned to see what had so struck him. Beyond the

trees that marked where the bank of the river ought to be we saw two

tall smokestacks belching forth a great volume of black smoke.

"A steamer!" cried Yank.

"Yes, and a good big one!" I added.

We lay to our oars and soon drew alongside. She proved to be a side

wheeler, of fully seven hundred tons, exactly like the craft we had

often seen plying the Hudson.

"Now how do you suppose they got her out here?" I marvelled.

She was almost completely surrounded by craft of all descriptions; her

decks were crowded. We read the name _McKim_ on her paddle boxes.

A man with an official cap appeared at the rail.

"Bound for San Francisco?" I called to him.

"Off in two minutes," he replied.

"What's the fare?"

"Forty dollars."

"Come on, boys," said I to my comrades, at the same time seizing a

dangling rope.

"Hold on!" cried Yank. "How about our two horses and our blankets, and

this boat?"

I cast my eye around, and discovered a boy of fourteen or fifteen in the

stern of a neat fisherman's dory a few feet away.

"Here!" I called to him. "Do you want two good horses and some

blankets?"

"I ain't got any money."

"Don't need any. These are free. We're going down on this boat. You'll

find the outfit under the big white oak two miles above the forks on the

American. They're yours if you'll go get them."

"What do you want me to do?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Two things: return this boat to its owner--a man named Lilly who

lives----"

"I know the boat," the boy interrupted.

"The other is to be sure to go up to-day after those horses. They're

picketed out."

"All right," agreed the boy, whose enthusiasm kindled as his belief in

the genuineness of the offer was assured.

I seized a rope, swung myself up to the flat fender, and thence to the

deck.

"Come on!" I called to Yank and Johnny, who were hesitating. "It'll cost

more than those horses and blankets are worth to wait."

Thereupon they followed me. The boy made fast our boat to his own. Five

minutes later we were dropping down the river.

"This is what I call real luxury," said Johnny, returning from an

inspection of our craft. "There's a barroom, and a gambling layout, and

velvet carpets and chairs, mirrors, a minstrel show, and all the

fixings. Now who'd expect to run against a layout like this on the

river?"

"What I'd like to know is how they got her out here," said I. "Look at

her! She's a river boat. A six-foot wave ought to swamp her!"

We thought of a half dozen solutions, and dismissed them all. The

discussion, however, served its purpose in inflaming our curiosity.

"I'm going to find some one who knows," I announced at last.

This was not so easy. The captain was of course remote and haughty and

inaccessible, and the other officers were too busy handling the ship and

the swarming rough crowd to pay any attention to us. The crew were new

hands. Finally, however, we found in the engine room a hard bitten

individual with a short pipe and some leisure. To him we proffered our

question.

"Sailed her," said he.

"Around the Horn?" I cried.

He looked at me a bitter instant.

"The sailing wasn't very good across the plains, _at that time_,"

said he.

Little by little we got his story. I am not a seafaring man, but it

seems to me one of the most extraordinary feats of which I have ever

heard. The lower decks of the _McKim_ had been boarded up with

heavy planks; some of her frailer gimcracks of superstructure had been

dismantled, and then she had been sent under her own power on the long

journey around the Horn. Think of it! A smooth-water river boat, light

draught, top heavy, frail in construction, sent out to battle with the

might of three oceans! However, she made it; and after her her sister

ship, the _Senator_, and they made money for their owners, and I am

glad of it. That certainly was a gallant enterprise!

She was on this trip jammed full of people, mostly those returning from

the mines. A trip on the _McKim_ implied a certain amount of

prosperity, so we were a jolly lot. The weather was fine, and a bright

moon illuminated the swollen river. We had drinkers, songsters,

debaters, gamblers, jokers, and a few inclined to be quarrelsome, all of

which added to the variety of the occasion. I wandered around from one

group to another, thoroughly enjoying myself, both out on deck and in

the cabins. It might be added that there were no sleepers!

Along toward midnight, as I was leaning on the rail forward watching the

effect of the moon on the water and the shower of sparks from the twin

stacks against the sky, I was suddenly startled by the cry of "man

overboard," and a rush toward the stern. I followed as quickly as I was

able. The paddle wheels had been instantly reversed, and a half dozen

sailors were busily lowering a boat. A crowd of men, alarmed by the

trembling of the vessel as her way was checked, poured out from the

cabins. The fact that I was already on deck gave me an advantageous

post; so that I found myself near the stern rail.

"He was leaning against the rail," one was explaining excitedly, "and it

give way, and in he went. He never came up!"

Everybody was watching eagerly the moonlit expanse of the river.

"I guess he's a goner," said a man after a few moments. "He ain't in

sight nowhere."

"There he is!" cried a half dozen voices all at once.

A head shot into sight a few hundred yards astern, blowing the silvered

water aside. The small boat, which was now afloat, immediately headed in

his direction, and a moment later he was hauled aboard amid frantic

cheers. The dripping victim of the accident clambered to the deck.

It was Johnny!

He was beside himself with excitement, sputtering with rage and uttering

frantic threats against something or somebody. His eyes were wild, and

he fairly frothed at the mouth. I seized him by the arm. He stared at

me, then became coherent, though he still spluttered. Johnny was

habitually so quietly reserved as far as emotions go that his present

excitement was at first utterly incomprehensible.

It seemed that he had been leaning against the rail, watching the

moonlight, when suddenly it had given way beneath his weight and he had

fallen into the river.

"They had no business to have so weak a rail!" he cried bitterly.

"Well, you're here, all right," I said soothingly. "There's no great

harm done."

"Oh, isn't there?" he snarled.

Then we learned how the weight of the gold around his waist had carried

him down like a plummet; and we sensed a little of the desperate horror

with which he had torn and struggled to free himself from that dreadful

burden.

"I thought I'd burst!" said he.

And then he had torn off the belt, and had shot to the surface.

"It's down there," he said more calmly, "every confounded yellow grain

of it." He laughed a little. "Broke!" said he. "No New York in mine!"

The crowd murmured sympathetically.

"Gol darn it, boys, it's rotten hard luck!" cried a big miner with some

heat. "Who'll chip in?"

At the words Johnny recovered himself, and his customary ease of manner

returned.

"Much obliged, boys," said he, "but I've still got my health. I don't

need charity. Guess I've been doing the baby act; but I was damn mad at

that rotten old rail. Anyway," he laughed, "there need nobody say in the

future that there's no gold in the lower Sacramento. There is; I put it

there myself."

The tall miner slowly stowed away his buckskin sack, looking keenly in

Johnny's face.

"Well, you'll have a drink, anyway," said he.

"Oh, hell, yes!" agreed Johnny, "I'll have a drink!"

CHAPTER XLII

SAN FRANCISCO AGAIN

We drew up to San Francisco early in the afternoon, and we were, to put

it mildly, thoroughly astonished at the change in the place. To begin

with, we now landed at a long wharf projecting from the foot of

Sacramento Street instead of by lighter. This wharf was crowded by a

miscellaneous mob, collected apparently with no other purpose than to

view our arrival. Among them we saw many specialized types that had been

lacking to the old city of a few months ago--sharp, keen, businesslike

clerks whom one could not imagine at the rough work of the mines;

loafers whom one could not imagine at any work at all; dissolute,

hard-faced characters without the bold freedom of the road agents; young

green-looking chaps who evidently had much to learn and who were

exceedingly likely to pay their little fortunes, if not their lives, in

the learning. On a hogshead at one side a street preacher was

declaiming.

Johnny had by now quite recovered his spirits. I think he was helped

greatly by the discovery that he still possessed his celebrated diamond.

"Not broke yet!" said he triumphantly. "You see I was a wise boy after

all! Wish I had two of them!"

We disembarked, fought our way to one side, and discussed our plans.

"Hock the diamond first," said Johnny, who resolutely refused to borrow

from me; "then hair-cut, shave, bath, buy some more clothes, grub,

drink, and hunt up Talbot and see what he's done with the dust we sent

down from Hangman's."

That program seemed good. We strolled toward shore, with full intention

of putting it into immediate execution. "Immediate" proved to be a

relative term; there was too much to see.

First we stopped for a moment to hear what the preacher had to say. He

was a tall, lank man with fine but rather fanatical features, dressed in

a long black coat, his glossy head bare. In spite of the numerous

counter-attractions he had a crowd; and he was holding it.

"You're standing on a whiskey barrel!" called some one; and the crowd

yelled with delight.

"True, my friend," retorted the preacher with undaunted good nature,

"and I'll venture to say this is the first time a whiskey barrel has

ever been appropriated to so useful a purpose. The critter in it will do

no harm if it is kept underfoot. Never let it get above your feet!"

A boat runner, a squat, humorous-faced negro with flashing teeth and a

ready flow of language, evidently a known and appreciated character,

mounted the head of a pile at some little distance and began to hold

forth in a deep voice on the advantages of some sort of an excursion on

the bay. A portion of the preacher's crowd began to drift in the

direction of the new attraction.

"Ho! ho! ho!" cried the preacher suddenly in tremendous volume. "Ho! All

ye who want to go to heaven, now's your time! A splendid line of

celestial steamers will run for a few days from San Francisco to the

port of Glory, a country every way superior to California, having in it

the richest gold diggings ever discovered, the very streets of the city

being paved with gold. In that country are oceans of lager beer and

drinks of every kind, all free; pretty women also, and pleasures of

endless variety exceeding the dreams of Mohammed as far as the

brightness of the meridian sun exceeds the dim twinkle of the glowworm!

Program for the voyage: embarkation amid the melody of the best band in

the world; that music that so attracted you this morning not to be

mentioned in comparison. Appropriate entertainments for each week day,

to be announced daily. Each Sunday to be celebrated, first, with a grand

feast, closing with a rich profusion of beer, champagne, good old port,

whiskey punch, brandy smashes, Tom and Jerry, etc. Second, a game of

cards. Third, a grand ball in upper saloon. Fourth, a dog fight. Fifth,

a theatrical performance in the evening. If I could truthfully publish

such an ad as that I think about two sermons would convert this city."

The crowd had all turned back to him, laughing good-humouredly. The

preacher stretched out his long bony arm, and held forth. His talk was

against gambling, and it had, I am afraid, but little real effect.

Nevertheless he was listened to; and at the end of his talk everybody

contributed something to a collection.

At the land end of the wharf we ran into the most extraordinary

collection of vehicles apparently in an inextricable tangle, that was

further complicated by the fact that most of the horses were only half

broken. They kicked and reared, their drivers lashed and swore, the

wagons clashed together. There seemed no possible way out of the mess;

and yet somehow the wagons seemed to get loaded and to draw out into the

clear. Occasionally the drivers were inclined to abandon their craft and

do battle with the loaded ends of their whips; but always a peacemaker

descended upon them in the person of a large voluble individual in whom

I recognized my former friend and employer, John McGlynn. Evidently John

had no longer a monopoly of the teaming business; but, as evidently,

what he said went with this wild bunch.

Most of the wagons were loading goods brought from the interiors of

storehouses alongside the approach to the wharf. In these storehouses we

recognized the hulls of ships, but so shored up, dismantled, and cut

into by doors and stories that of their original appearance only their

general shapes remained. There was a great number of these storehouses

along the shore, some of them being quite built about by piles and

platforms, while two were actually inland several hundred feet. I read

the name _Niantic_ on the stern of one of them; and found it to

have acquired in the landward side a square false front. It was at that

time used as a hotel.

"Looks as if they'd taken hold of Talbot's idea hard," observed Yank.

"Say!" cried Johnny, "will one of you drinking men kindly take a look

and inform me if I've gone wrong?"

This remark was called forth by the discovery, as we neared the shore,

of hordes of rats. They were large, fat, saucy rats; and they strolled

about in broad daylight as if they owned the place. They sat upright on

sacks of grain; they scampered across the sidewalks; they scuttled from

behind boxes; they rustled and squeaked and fought and played in

countless droves. The ground seemed alive with them. It was a most

astonishing sight.

"And will you look at that dog!" cried Yank disgustedly.

Across an open doorway, blinking in the sun, lay a good-looking fox

terrier. His nose was laid between his paws, and within two yards of

that nose a large brown rat disported itself with a crust of bread.

"My Lord!" cried Johnny, his sporting blood aboil. "Here, pup, sic 'em!

sic 'em!" He indicated the game urgently. The fox terrier rolled up one

eye, wagged his stub tail--but did not even raise his nose.

"No use," observed the dog's owner, who had appeared in the doorway.

"What's the matter with him?" demanded Johnny indignantly; "is he sick?"

"No, he ain't sick," replied the owner sadly; "but he ain't got no use

for rats. I bought him for damn near his weight in gold dust when the

_Panama_ came in last month. He was the best ratter you ever see. I

reckon he must've killed a million rats the first week. But, Lord! he

got sick of rats. I reckon a rat could go right up and pull his whiskers

now, and he'd never mind."

We condoled with the _blase_ dog, and moved on.

"Same old mud," observed Yank.

The place was full of new buildings, some of them quite elaborate

two-story structures of brick; and elevated plank sidewalks had taken

the place of the old makeshifts. Although the Plaza was still the centre

of town, the streets immediately off it had gained considerable dignity

and importance. There were many clothing stores, nearly all kept by

Jews, and a number of new saloons and gambling houses. As we were

picking our way along we ran into an old acquaintance in the person of

the captain of the _Panama_. He recognized us at once, and we drew

up for a chat. After we had exchanged first news Johnny asked him if he

knew of a place where a fair price could be raised on the diamond.

"Why, the jewellery store is your ticket, of course," replied the

captain.

"So there's a jewellery store, too!" cried Johnny.

"And a good one," supplemented the captain. "Come along; I'll take you

to it."

It _was_ a good one, and carried a large stock of rings, chains,

pins, clocks, watches, and speaking trumpets. The latter two items were

the most prominent, for there were hundreds of watches, and apparently

thousands of speaking trumpets. They stood in rows on the shelves, and

depended in ranks from hooks and nails. Most of them were of silver or

of silver gilt; and they were plain, chased, engraved, hammered, or

repoussed, with always an ample space for inscription. After Johnny had

concluded a satisfactory arrangement for his diamond, I remarked on the

preponderance of speaking trumpets. The man grinned rather maliciously

at our captain.

"They are a very favourite article for presentation by grateful

passengers after a successful sea trip," he said smoothly.

At this our captain exploded.

"Are they?" he boomed. "I should think they were! I've got a dozen of

the confounded things; and as I've just got in from a trip, I'm

expecting another any minute. Good Lord!" he cried as a group of men

turned in at the door. "Here come some of my passengers now. Come along,

let's get out of this!"

He dragged us out a back door into a very muddy back alley, whence we

floundered to dry land with some difficulty.

"That was a narrow escape!" he cried, wiping his brow. "Let's go get a

drink. I know the best place."

He led us to a very ornate saloon whose chief attraction was the fact

that its ceiling was supported on glass pillars! We duly admired this

marvel; and then wandered over to the polished mahogany bar, where we

were joined by the half dozen loafers who had been lounging around the

place. These men did not exactly join us, but they stood expectantly

near. Nor were they disappointed.

"Come, let's all take a drink, boys!" cried the captain heartily.

They named and tossed off their liquor, and then without a word of

farewell or thanks shambled back to their roosting places.

"What's the matter, Billy?" demanded the captain, looking about

curiously. "Where's your usual crowd?"

"They're all down at the Verandah," replied the barkeeper, passing a

cloth over the satiny wood of the bar. "Dorgan's got a girl tending bar.

Pays her some ungodly wages; and he's getting all the crowd. He'd better

make the most of it while it lasts. She won't stay a week."

"Why not?" I asked curiously.

"Married; sure," replied the barkeeper briefly.

"And the glass pillars will always be here; eh, Billy?" suggested the

captain. "Nevertheless I believe we'll just wander down and look her

over."

"Sure," said Billy indifferently; "that's where all the rest are."

The Verandah, situated on the Plaza, was crowded to the doors. Behind

the bar slaved a half dozen busy drink-mixers. The girl, and a very

pretty girl she was, passed the drinks over the counter, and took in the

dust.

"She's straight," observed the captain sagaciously, after inspection;

"if she wasn't there wouldn't be such a gang. The other sort is plenty

enough."

We did not try to get near the bar, but after a few moments regained the

street. The captain said farewell; and we hunted up, by his direction,

the New York Tonsorial Emporium. There we had five dollars' worth of

various things done to us; after which we bought new clothes. The old

ones we threw out into the street along with a vast collection of others

contributed by our predecessors.

"Now," said Johnny, "I feel like a new man. And before we go any farther

I have a little duty to perform."

"Which is?"

"Another drink at the sign of the Glass Pillars, or whatever they call

the place."

"We don't want anything more to drink just now," I protested.

"Oblige me in this one treat," said Johnny in his best manner.

We entered the Arcade, as the bar was called. At once the loafers moved

forward. Johnny turned to them with an engaging air of friendliness.

"Come on, boys, let's all take a drink!" he cried.

The glasses were poured. Johnny raised his. The others followed suit.

Then all drained them simultaneously and set down the empty glasses.

"And now," went on Johnny in the same cheerful, friendly tone, "let's

all pay for them!"

The loafers stared at him a moment. One growled menacingly, but fell

silent under his clear glance. One or two others forced a laugh. Under

Johnny's compelling eye they all paid. Billy, behind the bar, watched

with sardonic amusement. When Johnny proffered his dust, the barkeeper

thrust it back.

"My treat here," said he briefly.

"But----?" objected Johnny.

"It's a privilege."

"If you put it that way, I thank you, sir," said Johnny in his grandest

manner; and we walked out. "Those bums made me tired," was his only

comment to us. "Now let's go hunt up Talbot. I'll bet my extinct

toothbrush that he's a well-known citizen around here."

Johnny's extinct toothbrush was perfectly safe. The first man of whom we

inquired told us where our friend lived, and added the gratuitous

information that the Ward Block was nearing completion. We looked up the

hotel, a new one on Montgomery Street. The clerk spoke with respect of

Talbot, and told us we would probably find him at one of the several

places of business he mentioned, or at the Ward Block. We thanked him,

and went direct to the Ward Block first. All of us confessed to a great

desire to see that building.

It was to be a three-story brick structure, and was situated at one

corner of the Plaza. We gazed upon it with appropriate awe, for we were

accustomed to logs and canvas; and to some extent we were able to

realize what imported bricks and the laying of them meant. The foreman

told us that Talbot had gone out "Mission way" with Sam Brannan and some

others to look at some property, and would not be back until late.

Johnny and I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering about. Yank

retired to the soft chairs of one of the numerous gambling places. His

broken leg would not stand so much tramping.

We had lots of fun, and many interesting minor adventures and

encounters, none of which has any particular bearing here. The town had

spread. Most of the houses were of the flimsied description. Many people

were still living in tents. The latter flopped and tugged in the strong

wind. Some men had merely little cot tents, just big enough to cover the

bed. An owner of one of these claimed stoutly that they were better than

big tents.

"They don't get blowed away by the wind, and they're fine to sleep

under," he asserted, "and a man cooks outside, anyway."

"How about when it rains?" I asked him.

"Then I go down to the Verandah or the Arcade or Dennison's Exchange and

stay there till she quits," said he.

In the evening, as Talbot had not yet returned, we wandered from one

place of amusement to another. The gambling places were more numerous,

more elaborate, more important than ever. Beside the usual rough-looking

miners and labourers, who were in the great majority, there were small

groups of substantial, grave, important looking men conferring. I

noticed again the contrast with the mining-camp gambling halls in the

matter of noise; here nothing was heard but the clink of coin or the

dull thud of gold dust, a low murmur of conversation, or an occasional

full-voiced exclamation.

Johnny, who could never resist the tables, was soon laying very small

stakes on _monte_. After a time I tired of the close air and heavy

smoke, and slipped away. The lower part of the town was impossible on

account of the mud, so I made my way out along the edge of the hills.

The moon was sailing overhead. The shadows of the hills hung deep in the

hollows; and, abroad, a wide landscape slept in the unearthly radiance.

A thousand thousand cheerful frogs piped up a chorus against the

brooding moon-stillness they could not quite break. After the glare of

the Arcade and the feverish hum and bustle of the busy new city, this

still peace was almost overpowering. I felt, somehow, that I dared not

give way to it all at once, but must admit its influence trickle by

trickle until my spirit had become a little accustomed. Thus gradually I

dropped into a reverie. The toil, excitement, strain, striving of the

past eight or nine months fell swiftly into the background. I relaxed;

and in the calm of the relaxation for the first time old memories found

room.

How long I had tramped, lost in this dreaming, I did not know; but at

some point I must have turned back, for I came to somewhere near the end

of Sacramento Street--if it could be said to have an end--to find the

moon far up toward the zenith. A man overtook me, walking rapidly; I

caught the gleam of a watch chain, and on a sudden impulse I turned

toward him.

"Can you tell me what time it is?" I asked.

The man extended his watch in the moonlight, and silently pointed to its

face--with the muzzle of a revolver!

"Half-past twelve," said he.

"Good Lord!" I cried with a shout of laughter. "Do you take me for a

robber, Talbot?"

CHAPTER XLIII

THE GOLDEN WEB

He thrust away his watch and the pistol and with a shout of joy seized

both my hands.

"Well! well! well! well!" he cried over and over again. "But I _am_

glad to see you! I'd no idea where you were or what you were doing! Why

couldn't you write a man occasionally?"

"I don't know," said I, rather blankly. "I don't believe it ever

occurred to us we _could_ write."

"Where are the others? Are they with you?"

"We'll look them up," said I.

Together we walked away, arm in arm. Talbot had not changed, except that

he had discarded his miner's rig, and was now dressed in a rather quiet

cloth suit, a small soft hat, and a blue flannel shirt. The trousers he

had tucked into the tops of his boots. I thought the loose, neat costume

very becoming to him. After a dozen swift inquiries as to our welfare,

he plunged headlong into enthusiasms as to the town.

"It's the greatest city in the world!" he cried; then catching my

expression, he added, "or it's going to be. Think of it, Frank! A year

ago it had less than a thousand people, and now we have at least forty

thousand. The new Commercial Wharf is nearly half a mile long and cost

us a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, but we raised the money in ten

minutes! We're going to build two more. And Sam Brannan and a lot of us

are talking of putting down plank roads. Think what that will mean! And

there's no limit to what we can do in real estate! Just knock down a few

of these hills to the north----"

He stopped, for I was laughing.

"Why not drain the bay?" I suggested. "There's a plenty of land down

there."

"Well," said Talbot in a calmer manner, "we won't quite do that. But

we'll put some of those sand hills into the edge of the bay. You wait

and see. If you want to make money, you just buy some of those

waterfront lots. You'll wake up some morning to find you're a mile

inland."

I laughed again; but just the other day, in this year 1899, I rode in a

street car where fifty years ago great ships had lain at anchor.

We discovered Johnny and Yank, and pounded each other's backs, and had

drinks, and generally worked off our high spirits. Then we adjourned to

a corner, lit cigars--a tremendous luxury for us miners--and plunged

into recital. Talbot listened to us attentively, his eyes bright with

interest, occasionally breaking in on the narrator to ask one of the

others to supplement some too modestly worded statement.

"Well!" he sighed when we had finished. "You boys have certainly had a

time! What an experience! You'll never forget it!" He brooded a while.

"I suppose the world will never see its like again. It was the chance of

a lifetime. I'd like--no I wouldn't! I've lived, too. Well, now for the

partnership. As I understand it, for the Hangman's Gulch end of it, we

have, all told, about five thousand dollars--at any rate, that was the

amount McClellan sent down to me."

"That's it," said I.

"And the Porcupine Flat venture was a bad loss?"

"The robbers cleaned us out there except for what we sent you," I agreed

regretfully.

"Since which time Yank has been out of it completely?"

"Haven't made a cent since," acknowledged Yank cheerfully, "and I owe

something to Frank, here, for my keep. Thought I had about fifteen

hundred dollars, but I guess I ain't."

"At Italian Bar," went on Talbot, "how much did you make?"

"Doesn't matter what I made," interposed Johnny, "for, as Frank told

you, it's all at the bottom of the Sacramento River."

"I did pretty well," said I, and pulled out two hundred and sixteen

ounces.

"About three thousand dollars," computed Talbot. "You're the plutocrat,

all right. Well, I've done pretty well with this end of the partnership,

too. I think--but I guess we'd better take a fresh day to it. It must be

ungodly late. Good Lord, yes! Three o'clock!"

Nobody would have thought so. The place seemed nearly as full as ever.

We accompanied Talbot to his hotel, where he managed, after some

difficulty, to procure us a cot apiece.

Our sleep was short; and in spite of our youth and the vitality we had

stored in the healthy life of the hills we felt dragged out and tired.

Five hours' sleep in two days is not enough. I was up a few minutes

before the rest; and I sat in front of the hotel basking in the sun like

a lizard. The let-down from the toil and excitement of the past months

still held me. I thought with lazy satisfaction of the two thousand-odd

dollars which was my share of our partnership. It was a small sum, to be

sure; but, then, I had never in my life made more than twelve dollars a

week, and this had cost me nothing. Now that definitely I had dropped

overboard my hopes of a big strike, I unexpectedly found that I had

dropped with them a certain feeling of pride and responsibility as well.

As long as I had been in the mining business I had vaguely felt it

incumbent on me to do as well as the rest, were that physically

possible. I was out of the mining business. As I now looked at it, I had

been mighty well paid for an exciting and interesting vacation. I would

go back to New York at a cost of two or three hundred dollars, and find

some good opening for my capital and ability.

Talbot appeared last, fresh and smiling. Breakfast finished, he took us

all with him to the new brick building. After some business we adjourned

once more to the Arcade. There Talbot made his report.

I wish I could remember it, and repeat it to you verbatim. It was worth

it. But I cannot; and the most I can do is to try to convey to you the

sense of that scene--we three tanned, weather-beaten outlanders

listening open-mouthed to the keen, competent, self-assured magician who

before our eyes spun his glittering fabric. Talbot Ward had seized upon

the varied possibilities of the new city. The earnings on his first

scheme--the ship storehouses, and the rental of the brick building on

Montgomery Street, you will remember--amounted net, the first month, I

believe, to some six thousand dollars. With his share of this money he

had laid narrow margins on a dozen options. Day by day, week by week,

his operations extended. He was in wharves, sand lots, shore lots,

lightering, plank roads, a new hotel. Day after day, week after week, he

had turned these things over, and at each turn money had dropped out.

Sometimes the plaything proved empty, and then Talbot had promptly

thrown it away, apparently without afterthought or regret. I remember

some of the details of one deal:

"It looked to me," said Talbot, "that somebody ought to make a good

thing in flour, the way things were going. It all comes from South

America just now, so enough capital ought to be able to control the

supply. I got together four of the big men here and we agreed with the

agents to take not less than a hundred and fifty thousand barrels nor

more than two hundred thousand barrels at fourteen dollars. Each firm

agreed to take seven hundred thousand dollars' worth; and each agreed to

forfeit one hundred thousand dollars for failure to comply. Flour could

be held to twenty-five to thirty dollars a barrel; so there was a good

thing."

"I should think so," I agreed. "Where did you come in?"

"Percentage of the profits. They took and sold quite a heap of flour at

this rate--sixty thousand barrels to be exact--on which there was a net

profit of seven hundred thousand dollars. Then one of those freak things

happened that knocked us all silly. Flour just dropped down out of

sight. Why? Manipulation. They've got a smart lot out here. The mines

had flour enough for the time being; and the only thing that held the

price up was the uncertainty of just where the flour was coming from in

the future. Well, the other crowd satisfied that uncertainty, and our

flour dropped from about twenty-five dollars down to eight. We had sold

sixty thousand barrels, and we had ninety thousand to take on our

contract, on each one of which we were due to lose six dollars. And the

other fellows were sitting back chuckling and waiting for us to unload

cheap flour."

"What was there to do?"

Talbot laughed. "I told our crowd that I had always been taught that

when a thing was hot, to drop it before I got burned. If each firm paid

its forfeit it would cost us four hundred thousand dollars. If we sold

all the flour contracted for at the present price, we stood to lose

nearer six hundred thousand. So we simply paid our forfeits, threw over

the contract, and were three hundred thousand ahead."

"But was that fair to the flour people?" I asked doubtfully.

"Fair?" retorted Talbot. "What in thunder did they put the forfeit

clause in for if it wasn't expected we might use it?"

As fast as he acquired a dollar, he invested it in a new chance, until

his interests extended from the Presidio to the waterfront of the inner

bay. These interests were strange odds and ends. He and a man with his

own given name, Talbot H. Green, had title in much of what is now

Harbour View--that is to say, they would have clear title as soon as

they had paid heavy mortgages. His shares in the Commercial Wharf lay in

the safes of a banking house, and the dollars he had raised on them were

valiantly doing duty in holding at bay a pressing debt on precariously

held waterfront equities. Talbot mentioned glibly sums that reduced even

the most successful mining to a child's game. The richest strike we had

heard rumoured never yielded the half of what our friend had tossed into

a single deal. Our own pitiful thousands were beggarly by comparison,

insignificant, not worth considering.

Of all the varied and far-extending affairs the Ward Block was the

flower. Talbot owned options, equities, properties, shares in all the

varied and numerous activities of the new city; but each and every one

of them he held subject to payments which at the present time he could

by no possibility make. Mortgages and loans had sucked every immediately

productive dollar; and those dollars that remained were locked tight

away from their owner until such time as he might gain possession of a

golden key. This did not worry him.

"They are properties that are bound to rise in value," he told us. "In

fact, they are going up every minute we sit here talking. They are

futures."

Among other pieces, Talbot had been able to buy the lot on the Plaza

where now the Ward Block was going up. He paid a percentage down, and

gave a mortgage for the rest. Now all the money he could squeeze from

all his other interests he was putting into the structure. That is why I

rather fancifully alluded to the Ward Block as the flower of all

Talbot's activities.

"Building is the one thing you have to pay cash for throughout," said

Talbot regretfully. "Labour and materials demand gold. But I see my way

clear; and a first-class, well-appointed business block in this town

right now is worth more than the United States mint. That's cash coming

in for you--regularly every month. It will pay from the start four or

five times the amount necessary to keep everything else afloat. Jim

Reckett has taken the entire lower floor at thirty thousand. The offices

upstairs will pay from a thousand a month up and they are every one

rented in advance. Once we get our rents coming in, the strain is

relieved. I can begin to take up my mortgages and loans, and once that

is begun we are on the road to Millionaireville."

Once more he recapitulated his affairs--the land on the Plaza two

hundred thousand; the building eighty thousand; the Harbour View lands

anything they might rise to, but nearly a quarter million now; ten

thousand par value of the wharf stock already paying dividends; real

estate here and there and everywhere in the path of the city's growth;

shares in a new hotel that must soon touch par; the plank road--as we

jotted down the figures, and the magic total grew, such trifling little

affairs as gold mines dropped quite below the horizon. We stared at

Talbot fascinated.

And then for the first time we learned that the five thousand dollars we

had sent down from Hangman's Gulch, and the sum left from the robbery,

was not slumbering in some banker's safe, but had been sent dancing with

the other dollars at Talbot's command.

"I didn't know just what you fellows intended," said he, "but we were

partners up there at the mines, and I concluded it would be all right.

You didn't mean----"

"Sure not!" broke in Johnny heartily. "You're welcome to mine."

"Same here," agreed Yank and I.

And then Talbot let us see that he considered us to that extent partners

in the business.

"I have the date it arrived," he told us, "and I know just how much

actual capital I had myself at that time. So I'm computing your shares

in the venture on that basis. It comes to about one tenth apiece for

Yank and Johnny. Frank and I have an agreement already."

Johnny stared at the paper on which the totals had been pencilled.

"Not any!" he protested vehemently. "It isn't fair! You've made this

thing by sheer genius, and it isn't fair for me to take a tenth of it on

the strength of a measly little consignment of gold dust. You give me

your note for a thousand dollars--or whatever the sum is--at interest,

if you want to, and that's all that is coming to me."

"I feel the same," said Yank.

"Boys," argued Talbot earnestly, "that doesn't go. That five thousand

saved me. It came at a time when I had to have money or go down. I had

been to every bank, to every firm, to every man in town, and I couldn't

raise ten cents more. If you refuse this thing, you will be doing

something that----"

"Oh, hush up, Tal!" broke in Johnny gruffly; "if that's how you

feel----"

"It is."

"It is now," said Johnny firmly, "10:30 A.M., but I'm going to have

bubbles. If you fellows don't want me all drunk and dressed up, you've

got to help me drink them."

CHAPTER XLIV

PLUTOCRATS!

We felt very elated--and rather small. Talbot had alone and without, so

to speak, moving from his tracks, made a fortune, while we, after going

through many hardships, adventures, and hard work, had returned almost

penniless. One of our first tasks was to convince Talbot of the

injustice to himself in giving us shares based on a proportionate money

investment. We made him see, after a while, that his own genius counted

for something in the matter. He then agreed, but reluctantly, to reduce

our shares to a twentieth each, and included me in this, despite our

previous agreement. If we had adhered to that, my proportion would have

been nearer a fortieth.

This having been decided--after considerable argument--we settled down

to wait for the completion of the Ward Block. Once the rents from that

structure should begin to come in, it was agreed we should take out

ready money enough to return East. The remainder, less Talbot's

expenses, would of course have to go back into releasing all the other

interests. The formal opening had been arranged for the first of

January.

In the meantime we loafed magnificently, and lived on my money. Now that

our futures were all assured, Yank and Johnny condescended to temporary

loans. Occasionally we could help Talbot in some of the details of his

varied businesses, but most of the time we idled. I do think we deserved

a rest.

Our favourite occupation was that of reviewing our property. To this end

we took long tramps over the hills, hunting painstakingly for obscure

corner stakes or monuments that marked some one of our numerous lots. On

them we would gaze solemnly, although in no manner did they differ from

all the other sage-brush hill country about them. In a week we knew

accurately every piece of property belonging to Our Interests, and we

had listed every other more intangible equity or asset. One of Johnny's

favourite feats was to march Yank and me up to a bar, face us, and

interrogate us according to an invariable formula. We must have

presented a comical sight--I with my great bulk and round, fresh face

alongside the solemn, lank, and leathery Yank; both of us drawn up at

attention, and solemn as prairie dogs.

"How much is one twentieth of two thousand thousand?" inquired Johnny.

"One hundred thousand," Yank and I chorused.

"Is that a plutocrat?" demanded Johnny cryptically.

"It is!" we cried.

Our sense of our own financial importance being thus refreshed, we

advanced in rigid military formation to the bar and took our drinks. Two

million dollars was the amount we had chosen as representing the value

of Our Interests. In deciding upon this figure we considered ourselves

very moderate in refusing to add probable future increment. It might

also be added that we equally neglected to deduct present liabilities.

Nobody ever guessed what this mysterious performance of ours meant, but

every one came to expect it and to be amused by it. In a mild way we and

our fool monkeyshines came to be a well-known institution.

Having nothing else to do, we entered heartily into the life and

pleasures of the place, and we met many of the leading citizens. Some of

them have since become historical personages. Talbot was hand in glove

with most of them, and in and out of dozens of their schemes. There was

David Broderick, a secretive, dignified, square-cut, bulldog sort of a

man, just making his beginning in a career that was to go far. I

remember he was then principally engaged in manufacturing gold coins and

slugs and buying real estate.[A] His great political rival, Dr. Gwin the

Southerner, I also met; and Talbot H. Green, then and for some time

later, one of the most liked and respected of men, but whose private

scandal followed him from the East and ruined him; and Sam Brannan, of

course, the ex-elder of the Mormons; and Jim Reckett, the gambler; and

W. T. Coleman, later known as Old Vigilante, and a hundred others. These

were strong, forceful men, and their company was always interesting.

They had ideas on all current topics, and they did not hesitate to

express those ideas. We thus learned something of the community in which

we had been living so long.

We heard of the political difficulties attendant on the jumble of

military and unauthorized civil rule; of the convention at Monterey in

September, with its bitterly contested boundary disputes; of the great

and mooted question as to whether California should be "slave" or

"free"; of the doubt and uncertainty as to the status of California-made

law pending some action by the Federal Congress; of how the Federal

Congress, with masterly inactivity and probably some slight skittishness

as to mingling in the slavery argument, had adjourned without doing

anything at all! So California had to take her choice of remaining under

military governorship or going ahead and taking a chance on having her

acts ratified later. She chose the latter course. San Jose was selected

as the capital. Nobody wanted to serve in the new legislature; men

hadn't time. There was the greatest difficulty in getting assemblymen.

The result was that, with few exceptions, the first legislature of

fifty-two members was composed of cheap professional politicians from

the South, and useless citizens from elsewhere. This body was then in

session. It was invariably referred to as "The Legislature of the

Thousand Drinks." I heard discussed numberless schemes for its control

for this or that purpose; many of them, it seemed to me, rather

unscrupulous.

These big men of the city talked of other things besides politics. From

them I heard of the state of commercial affairs, with its system of

consignments and auctions, its rumours of fleet clipper ships, its

corners of the market, its gluttings with unforeseen cargoes of

unexpected vessels, and all the other complex and delicate adjustments

and changes that made business so fascinating and so uncertain. All

these men were filled with a great optimism and an abiding enthusiasm

for the future. They talked of plank roads, of sewers, of schools,

churches, hospitals, pavements, fills, the razing of hills, wharves,

public buildings, water systems; and they talked of them so soberly and

in such concrete terms of accomplishment that the imagination was

tricked into accepting them as solid facts. Often I have gone forth from

listening to one of these earnest discussions to look about me on that

wind-swept, sandblown, flimsy, dirty, sprawling camp they called a city,

with its half dozen "magnificent" brick buildings that any New England

village could duplicate, and have laughed wildly until the tears came,

over the absurdity of it. I was young. I did not know that a city is not

bricks but men, is not fact but the vitality of a living ideal.

There were, of course, many other men than those I have named, and of

varied temperaments and beliefs. Some of them were heard of later in the

history of the state. Terry, James King of William, Stephen J. Field,

General Richardson were some of those whose names I remember. They were,

in general, frank and open in manner, ready to offer or take a joke, and

on terms of good-natured comradeship with each other; and yet somehow I

always felt behind it all a watchful reservation. This was indefinable,

but it indubitably existed. The effect on me was an instinct that these

men would remain good-natured, laughing, joking, intimate, just as long

as nothing happened to make them otherwise. They were a pack, hunting in

full cry the same quarry; but were one of them to fall out, the rest

would sweep on without a backward glance. As an individual human being

no one of them was in reality important to any other. They pursued the

same aims, by much the same methods, and they could sometimes make use

of each other to the advantage of both. In the meantime, since they as

the prominent men of a mixed community must possess qualities in common,

they found each other mutually agreeable. Many called themselves

friends; but I much doubt if the friendship that would render aid at a

sacrifice was very common. Every man played his own game.

In the town outside we made many other acquaintances, of all classes of

society. In 1849 no social stigma, or very little, attached to any open

association. Gamblers were respectable citizens, provided they ran

straight games. The fair and frail sisterhood was well represented. It

was nothing against a man, either in the public eye or actually, to be

seen talking, walking, or riding with one of these ladies; for every one

knew them. There were now a good many decent women in town, living

mainly with their husbands and children very quietly among the sandhills

on the edges of the town. One saw little of them unless he took the

trouble to search them out. We did so, and thus struck up acquaintance

with a half dozen very pleasant households, where occasionally my New

England heart was gladdened by a genuine homebaked New England pie.

These people had children and religious beliefs; and for the one and the

other they had organized churches and schools, both of which were well

attended. Furthermore, such institutions were contributed to by many of

the business men who never entered their doors. This respectable life

was stronger than is generally known. It was quiet and in the

background, and under the deep shadow cast by the glaring light of

downtown, but it was growing in solidity and strength.

Among the others we came across the preacher we had seen holding forth

on the wharf. He was engaged, with the assistance of two men of the

Methodist persuasion, in building a church. The three had themselves cut

and hewed the timbers. Mr. Taylor, for that was his name, explained to

me that, having no money, that seemed the the only way to get a church.

He showed us his own place, a little shack not unlike the others, but

enclosed, and planted with red geraniums, nasturtiums and other bright

things.

"As far as I know," he told us with pride, "that is the first garden in

San Francisco."

In the backyard he had enclosed three chickens--two hens and a cock.

"I paid eighteen dollars for them," said he.

We looked at each other in startled astonishment. The sum appeared a

trifle extravagant considering the just-acknowledged impecuniosity of

the church. He caught the glance.

"Boys," he said quaintly, "San Francisco is a very lonesome place for

the godly. The hosts of sin are very strong, and the faithful are very

few. Mortal flesh is weak; and mortal spirit is prone to black

discouragement. When I bought those chickens I bought eighteen dollars'

worth of hope. Somehow Sunday morning seems more like the Sabbath with

them clicking around sleepy and lazy and full of sun."

We liked him so much that we turned to at odd times and helped him with

his carpenter work. While thus engaged he confided to us his intention

to preach against the gambling the next Sunday in the Plaza. We stopped

hammering to consider this.

"I shouldn't, if I were you," said I. "The gamblers own the Plaza; they

are respected by the bulk of the community; and they won't stand any

nonsense. They none of them think anything of shooting a man in their

places. I don't think they will stand for it. I am afraid you will be

roughly handled."

"More likely shot," put in Johnny bluntly.

"Well, well, boys, we'll see," said Taylor easily.

Nor could we move him, in spite of the fact that, as we came to see his

intention was real, we urged very earnestly against it.

"Well, if you will, you will," Johnny conceded at last, with a sigh.

"We'll see what we can do to get you a fair show."

"Now that is just what I don't want you to do," begged the old man

earnestly. "I want no vain contention and strife. If the Lord desires

that I preach to these sinners, He will protect me."

In the end he extorted from us a reluctant promise not to mingle in the

affair.

"He's just _looking_ for trouble," muttered Johnny, "and there's no

doubt he'll find it. The gamblers aren't going to stand for a man's

cussing 'em outright on their own doorsteps--and I don't know as I blame

them. Gambling isn't such a terrible, black, unforgivable sin as I see

it."

"That's because you're ahead of the game, Johnny," drawled Yank.

"Just the same the old fool is wrong," persisted Johnny, "and he's as

obstinate as a mule, and he makes me mad clean through. Nevertheless

he's a good old sort, and I'd hate to see him hurt."

The news spread abroad, and there was much speculation as to what would

happen. In general the sentiment was hostile to the preacher. It was

considered an unwarrantable interference with freedom for any man to

attempt to dictate the conduct of another. Everybody agreed that

religion was all right; but by religion they meant some vague utterance

of platitudes. On the appointed Sunday a very large crowd gathered in

the Plaza. Nobody knew just what the gamblers intended to do about it.

Those competent citizens were as close mouthed as ever. But it was

understood that no nonsense was to be permitted, and that this annoying

question must be settled at once and fully. As one man expressed it:

"We'll have these fellows caterwauling all over the place if we don't

shut down on them right sharp off quick."

Taylor arrived about ten o'clock and proceeded briskly to the pork

barrel that had been rolled out to serve as a pulpit. He faced a

lowering, hostile mob.

"Gentlemen," said he, "if some means of communication existed by which

the United States could this morning know that street preaching was to

be attempted in the streets of San Francisco, the morning papers, badly

informed as to the temper and disposition of the people of this new

country, would feel themselves fully justified in predicting riot, if

not actual bloodshed. Furthermore, I do not doubt that the greater

dailies would hold their forms open to report the tragedy when news of

it should come in. But we of the West know better than that. We know

ourselves rough and ready, but we know ourselves also to be lovers of

fair play. We know that, even though we may not agree with a man, we are

willing to afford him a fair hearing. And as for rioting or bloodshed,

we can afford to smile rather than become angry at such wide

misconception of our decency and sense of fair dealing."

Having in this skilful fashion drawn the venom from the fangs of the

mob, he went directly ahead at his sermon, hammering boldly on his major

thesis. He finished in a respectful silence, closed his Bible with a

snap, and strode away through the lane the crowd opened for him.

Truth to tell, there was much in the sermon. Gambling, although

considered one of the respectable amusements, undoubtedly did a great

deal of harm. Men dropped their last cents at the tables. I remember one

young business man who had sold out his share in his firm for ten

thousand dollars in cash and three notes for five thousand each. He had

every intention of taking this little fortune back to his family in the

East, but he began gambling. First, he lost his ten thousand dollars in

cash. This took him just two days. After vacillating another day, he

staked one of the notes, at a discount, of course. This he lost. A

second note followed the first; and everybody confidently expected that

the third would disappear in the same fashion. But Jim Reckett, who was

a very good sort, took this man aside, and gave him a good talking-to.

"You confounded fool," said he, "you're barred from my tables. My advice

to you is to go to your old partners, tell them what an ass you've made

of yourself, and ask them to let you have a few thousand on that last

note. And then you leave on to-day's Panama steamer. And, say, if they

won't do it, you come to me."

The young fellow took this advice.

The Panama steamers were crowded to the rail. Indeed, the exodus was

almost as brisk as the immigration, just at this time of year. A

moderate proportion of those going out had been successful, but the

great majority were disappointed. They were tired, and discouraged, and

homesick; and their minds were obsessed with the one idea--to get back.

We who remained saw them go with considerable envy, and perhaps a good

deal of inner satisfaction that soon we were to follow. Of the thousands

who were remaining in California, those who had definitely and

permanently cast their lot with the country were lost in the crowd. The

rest intended to stay another year, two years, perhaps even three; but

then each expected to go back.

[Footnote A: Broderick actually manufactured coins with face value of $5

and $10 containing but $4 and $8 worth of gold. The inscription on them

was simply that of the date, the location, and the value. They passed

everywhere because they were more convenient than dust, and it was

realized that only the last holders could lose.]

CHAPTER XLV

THE CATASTROPHE

So things went along for a month. Christmas drew near. Every joint in

town was preparing for a big celebration, and we were fully in the mood

to take part in it. The Ward Block was finished. From top to bottom it

had been swept and cleared. Crowds came every day to admire the varnish,

the glass, the fireplaces, the high plastered walls; to sniff the clean

new smell of it. Everybody admitted it to be the finest building in the

city. Yank, Johnny, and I spent most of our time proudly showing people

around, pointing out the offices the various firms intended to occupy.

Downstairs Jim Reckett was already installing some of the splendours

that were to make the transplanted El Dorado the most gorgeous gambling

place in town. Here the public was not admitted. The grand opening, on

New Year's day, was not thus to lose its finest savour.

On Christmas eve we went to bed, strangely enough, very early. All the

rest of the town was celebrating, but we had been busy moving furniture

and fixtures, had worked late in order to finish the job, and were very

tired. By this time we were so hardened that we could sleep through any

sort of a racket, so the row going on below and on both sides did not

bother us a bit. I, personally, fell immediately into a deep slumber.

The first intimation of trouble came to me in my sleep. I dreamed we

were back on the Porcupine, and that the stream was in flood. I could

distinctly hear the roar of it, as it swept by; and I remember Johnny

and myself were trying desperately to climb a big pine tree in order to

get above the encroaching waters. A wind sprang up and shook the pine

violently. I came slowly to waking consciousness, the dream fading into

reality. Yank was standing by my cot, shaking me by the shoulder. He was

fully dressed, and carried his long rifle.

"Get up!" he told me. "There's a big fire one or two doors away, and

it's headed this way."

Then I realized that the roar of the flames had induced my dream.

I hastily slipped on my clothes and buckled my gold belt around my

waist. The fire was humming away in a steady crescendo, punctuated by

confused shouts of many men. Light flickered redly through the cracks of

the loosely constructed hotel building. I found Johnny awaiting me at

the door.

"It's a hummer," he said; "started in Denison's Exchange. They say three

men have been killed."

The Plaza was black with men, their faces red with the light of the

flames. A volunteer crew were busily darting in and out of the adjacent

buildings, carrying out all sorts of articles and dumping them in the

square.

"There's no water nearer than the bay," an acquaintance shouted in our

ears. "There ain't much to do. She'll burn herself out in a few

minutes."

The three buildings were already gutted. A sheet of fire sucked straight

upward in the still air, as steadily as a candle flame, and almost as

unwavering. It was a grand and beautiful spectacle. The flimsy

structures went like paper. Talbot saw us standing at a little

elevation, and forced his way to us.

"It will die down in five minutes," said he. "What do you bet on

Warren's place? Do you think she'll go?"

"It's mighty hot all around there," said I doubtfully.

"Yes, but the flames are going straight up; and, as you say, it will

begin to die down pretty soon," put in Johnny.

"The walls are smoking a little," commented a bystander judicially.

"She's a fine old bonfire, anyway," said Talbot.

Fifteen or twenty men were trying to help Warren's place resist the

heat. They had blankets and pails of water, and were attempting to

interpose these feeble defences at the points most severely attacked.

Each man stood it as long as he could, then rushed out to cool his

reddened face.

"Reminds me of the way I used to pop corn when I was a kid," grinned a

miner. "I wouldn't care for that job."

"Just the same, they'll save it," observed Talbot judicially.

Almost coincident with his words a long-drawn _a-ah_! burst from

the crowd. A wandering gust of wind came in from the ocean. For the

briefest instant the tall straight column of flame bent gracefully

before it, then came upright again as it passed. In that instant it

licked across the side wall of Warren's place, and immediately Warren's

place burst into flame.

"Hard luck!" commented Talbot.

The firefighters swarmed out like bees from a disturbed hive.

"Our hotel next," said Johnny.

"That's safe enough; there's a wide lot between," I observed.

A fresh crew of firefighters took the place of the others--namely, those

personally interested in saving the hotel.

"Lucky the night is so still," said Talbot.

We watched Warren's place burn with all the half guilty joy of those who

are sorry; but who are glad to be there if it has to happen. Suddenly

Talbot threw up his head.

"Feel that breeze?" he cried.

"Suction into the fire," suggested Johnny.

But Talbot shook his head impatiently, trying to peer through the glare

into the sky.

It was a very gentle breeze from the direction of the ocean. I could

barely feel it on my cheek, and it was not strong enough as yet to

affect in the slightest the upward-roaring column of flame. For a moment

I was inclined to agree with Johnny that it was simply a current of air

induced by the conflagration. But now an uneasy motion began to take

place in the crowd. Men elbowed their way here and there, met,

conferred, gathered in knots. In less than a minute Talbot signalled us.

We made our way to where he was standing with Sam Brannan, Casey, Green,

and a few others.

"Thank God the wind is from the northwest," Talbot said fervently. "The

Ward Block is safely to windward, and we don't need to worry about that,

anyway. But it is a wind, and it's freshening. We've got to do something

to stop this fire."

As though to emphasize the need for some sort of action, a second and

stronger puff of wind sent whirling aloft a shower of sparks and brands.

We started at double quick in the direction of the flimsy small

structures between the old El Dorado and the Parker House. Some men,

after a moment, brought ropes and axes. We began to tear down the

shanties.

But before we had been at work five minutes, the fire began to run. The

wind from the sea increased. Blazing pieces of wood flew through the air

like arrows. Flames stooped in their stride, and licked up their prey,

and went on rejoicing. Structures one minute dark and cold and still

burst with startling suddenness and completeness into rioting

conflagration. Our little beginning of a defence was attacked and

captured before we had had time to perfect it. The half dozen shanties

we had pulled to the ground merely furnished piled fuel. Somewhat

demoralized, we fell back, and tried, rather vaguely, to draw a second

line of defence. The smoke and sparks suffocated and overwhelmed us, and

the following flames leaped upon us as from behind an ambush. Some few

men continued gropingly to try to do something, but the most of us were

only too glad to get out where we could catch a breath.

Almost immediately, however, we were hurried back by frantic merchants.

"Save the goods!" was the cry.

We laboured like slaves, carrying merchandise, fixtures, furniture,

anything and everything from the darkened interiors of buildings to the

open spaces. I worked as I had never worked before, and not once did I

know whose property I thus saved. At first I groped in the darkness,

seizing what I could; then gradually, like the glow of a red dawn, a

strange light grew, showing dimly and ruddily the half-guessed features

of the place. It glowed, this light, increasing in power as heating

metal slowly turns red. And then the flames licked through; and dripping

with sweat, I abandoned that place to its enemy.

All sense of time and all sense of locality were lost. The world was a

strange world of deep, concealing shadows and strong, revealing glares,

and a mist of smoke, and hurrying, shouting, excited multitudes.

Sometimes I found myself in queer little temporary eddies of stillness,

where a certain calm and leisure seemed to have been insulated. Then for

a brief moment or so I rested. Occasionally I would find myself with

some stranger, and we would exchange brief exclamatory remarks.

"Whole city is going!"

"Looks like it."

"Hear a roof fell in and killed twenty men."

"Probably exaggerated."

"Probably. Don't catch me under no falling roofs! When she gets afire, I

get out."

"Same here."

"Well, I suppose we ought to try to do _something_."

"Suppose so."

And we would go at it again.

At the end of two or three hours--no man can guess time in such a

situation--the fire stopped advancing. I suppose the wind must have

changed, though at the time I did not notice it. At any rate, I found

myself in the gray dawn looking rather stupidly at a row of the frailest

kind of canvas and scantling houses which the fire had sheared cleanly

in two, and wondering why in thunder the rest of them hadn't burned!

A dense pall of smoke hung over the city, and streamed away to the south

and east. In the burned district all sense of location had been lost.

Where before had been well-known landmarks now lay a flat desert. The

fire had burned fiercely and completely, and, in lack of food, had died

down to almost nothing. A few wisps of smoke still rose, a few coals

glowed, but beside them nothing remained to indicate even the laying out

of the former plan. Only over across a dead acreage of ashes rose here

and there the remains of isolated brick walls. They looked, through the

eddying mists and smoke, like ancient ruins, separated by wide spaces.

I gazed dully across the waste area, taking deep breaths, resting, my

mind numb. Then gradually it was borne in on me that the Plaza itself

looked rather more empty-sided than it should. A cold hand gripped my

heart. I began to skirt the smouldering embers of the shanties and

wooden warehouses, trying to follow where the streets had been. Men were

prowling about everywhere, blackened by smoke, their clothing torn and

burned.

"Can you make out where Higgins's store was?" one of them hailed me. "I

had a little shanty next door, and some gold dust. Figure I might pan it

out of the ashes, if I could only find the place."

I had no time to help him, and left him prowling around seeking for a

landmark.

The Plaza was full of people. I made my way to the northerly corner,

and, pushing a passage through the bystanders, contemplated three

jagged, tottering brick walls, a heap of smouldering debris, and a

twisted tangle of iron work. This represented all that remained of the

Ward Block. The change of wind that had saved the shanties had destroyed

our fortune!

CHAPTER XLVI

THE VISION

Within ten hours men were at work rebuilding. Within ten days the burned

area was all rebuilt. It took us just about the former period of time to

determine that we would be unable to save anything from the wreck; and

about the latter period for the general public to find it out.

Talbot made desperate efforts for a foothold, and in succession

interviewed all the big men. They were sorry but they were firm. Each

had been hard hit by the fire; each had himself to cover; each was

forced by circumstances to grasp every advantage. Again, they were

sorry.

"Yes, they are!" cried Talbot; "they just reach out and grab what ought

to be my profits! Well, it's the game. I'd do the same myself."

By that night we knew that Talbot had lost every piece of property he

owned--or thought he owned. The destruction of the Ward Block swept away

every cent of income, with the exception of the dividends from the Wharf

Company stock. These latter could not begin to meet the obligations of

interest and agreed payments on the other property.

The state of affairs became commonly known in about ten days simply

because, in those rapid times, obligations were never made nor money

lent for longer periods than one month. At the end of each thirty days

they had to be renewed. Naturally Talbot could not renew them.

We knew all that long in advance, and we faced the situation with some

humour.

"Well, boys," said Talbot, "here we are. About a year ago, as I remember

it, our assets were a bundle of newspapers and less than a hundred

dollars. Haven't even got a newspaper now, but I reckon among us we

could just about scrape up the hundred dollars."

"I've got nearer twenty-seven hundred in my belt," I pointed out.

An embarrassed silence fell for a moment; then Talbot spoke up, picking

his words very carefully.

"We've talked that over, Frank," said he, "and we've come to the

conclusion that you must keep that and go home, just as you planned to

do. You're the only man of us who has managed to keep what he has made.

Johnny falls overboard and leaves his in the bottom of the Sacramento;

Yank gets himself busted in a road-agent row; I--I--well, I blow soap

bubbles! You've kept at it, steady and strong and reliable, and you

deserve your good luck. You shouldn't lose the fruits of your labour

because we, each in our manner, have been assorted fools."

I listened to this speech with growing indignation; and at its

conclusion I rose up full of what I considered righteous anger. My

temper is very slow to rouse, but when once it wakes, it takes

possession of me.

"Look here, you fellows!" I cried, very red in the face, they tell me.

"You answer me a few questions. Are we or are we not partners? Are we or

are we not friends? Do you or do you not consider me a low-lived,

white-livered, mangy, good-for-nothing yellow pup? Why, confound your

pusillanimous souls, what do you mean by talking to me in that fashion?

For just about two cents I'd bust your fool necks for you--every one of

you!" I glared vindictively at them. "Do you suppose I'd make any such

proposition to any of you--to ask you to sneak off like a whipped cur

leaving me to take the----"

"Hold on, Frank," interposed Talbot soothingly. "I didn't mean----"

"Didn't you?" I cried. "Well, what in hell did you mean? Weren't you

trying to make me out a quitter?" I had succeeded in working loose my

heavy gold belt, and I dashed it on the table in front of them. "There!

Now you send for some gold scales, right now, and you divide that up!

Right here! Damn it all, boys," I ended, with what to a cynical

bystander would have seemed rather a funny slump into the pathetic, "I

thought we were all real friends! You've hurt my feelings!"

It was very young, and very ridiculous--and perhaps (I can say it from

the vantage of fifty years) just a little touching. At any rate, when I

had finished, my comrades were looking in all directions, and Talbot

cleared his throat a number of times before he replied.

"Why, Frank," he said gently, at last, "of course we'll take it--we

never dreamed--of course--it was stupid of us, I'll admit. Naturally, I

see just how you feel----"

"It comes to about seven hundred apiece, don't it?" drawled Yank.

The commonplace remark saved the situation from bathos, as I am now

certain shrewd old Yank knew it would.

"What are you going to do with your shares, boys?" asked Talbot after a

while. "Going back home, or mining? Speak up, Yank."

Yank spat accurately out the open window.

"I've been figgering," he replied. "And when you come right down to it,

what's the use of going back? Ain't it just an idee we got that it's the

proper thing to do? What's the matter with this country, anyway--barring

mining?"

"Barring mining?" echoed Talbot.

"To hell with mining!" said Yank; "it's all right for a vacation, but it

ain't noways a white man's stiddy work. Well, we had our vacation."

"Then you're not going back to the mines?"

"Not any!" stated Yank emphatically.

"Nor home?"

"No."

"What then?"

"I'm going to take up a farm up thar whar the Pine boys is settled, and

I'm going to enjoy life reasonable. Thar's good soil, and thar's water;

thar's pleasant prospects, and lots of game and fish. What more does a

man want? And what makes me sick is that it's been thar all the time and

it's only just this minute I've come to see it."

"Mines for you, Johnny, or home?" asked Talbot.

"Me, home?" cried Johnny; "why----" he checked himself, and added more

quietly. "No, I'm not going home. There's nothing there for me but a

good time, when you come right down to it. And mines? It strikes me that

fresh gold is easy to get, but almighty hard to keep."

"You never said a truer word than that, Johnny," I put in.

"Besides which, I quit mining some time ago, as you remember," went on

Johnny, "due to an artistic aversion to hard work," he added.

"Any plans?" asked Talbot.

"I think I'll just drift up to Sonoma and talk things over with Danny

Randall," replied Johnny vaguely. "He had some sort of an idea of

extending this express service next year."

"And you?" Talbot turned to me.

"I," said I, firmly, "am going to turn over my share in a business

partnership with you; and in the meantime I expect to get a job driving

team with John McGlynn for enough to pay the board bill while you

rustle. And that goes!" I added warningly.

"Thank you, Frank," replied Talbot, and I thought I saw his bright eye

dim. He held silent for a moment. "Do you know," he said suddenly, "I

believe we're on the right track. It isn't the gold. That is a bait, a

glittering bait, that attracts the world to these shores. It's the

country. The gold brings them, and out of the hordes that come, some,

like us, will stick. And after the gold is dug and scattered and all but

forgotten, we will find that we have fallen heirs to an empire."

THE END

NOTE

The author desires fully to acknowledge his indebtedness to the

following writers, from whose books he has drawn freely, both for

historical fact, incidents, and the spirit of the times:

Tuthill--History of California.

Foster--The Gold Regions of California.

Stillman--Seeking the Golden Fleece.

Taylor--El Dorado.

Delano--Life on the Plains.

Shinn--Mining Camps.

Brooks--Four Months Among the Gold Finders.

Johnson--Sights in the Gold Region and Scenes by the Way.

Bostwicks--Three Years in California.

Shaw--Ramblings in California.

Hittell--History of San Francisco.

Bates--Four Years on the Pacific Coast.

Taylor--California Life Illustrated.

Marryatt--Mountains and Molehills.

James--The Heroes of California.

Hunt--California the Golden.

Haskins--The Argonauts of California.

Bell--Reminiscences of a Ranger.

Royce--California.

Eldredge--Beginnings of San Francisco.

Langford--Vigilante Days and Ways.

The author desires further to announce that, provided nothing

interferes, he hopes to supplement this novel with two others. They

also will deal with early days, and will be entitled _The Gray Dawn_,

and _The Rose Dawn_.