.... A family who for fifteen years have lived at the bottom of a mine
shaft in Siskiyou county, were all drowned by a rain-storm last
Wednesday night. They had neglected their usual precaution of putting
an umbrella over the mouth of the shaft. The man—who had always been
vacillating in politics—was taken out a stiff Radical.—_Dog Valley
“Howl.”_
.... There is a fellow in town who claims to be the man that murdered
Sheriff White some months ago. We consider him an impostor, seeking
admission into society above his level, and hope people will stop
inviting him to their houses.—_Nigger Hill “Patriot.”_
.... A stranger wearing a stovepipe hat arrived in town yesterday,
putting up at the Nugget House. The boys are having a good time with
that hat this morning, and the funeral will take place at two
o’clock.—_Spanish Camp “Flag.”_
.... The scoundrel who tipped over our office last month will be hung
to-morrow, and no paper will be issued next day.—_Sierra
“Fire-cracker.”_
.... The old grey-headed party who lost his life last Friday at the
jewelled hands of our wife, deserves more than a passing notice at
ours. He came to this city last summer, and started a weekly Methodist
prayer meeting, but being warned by the Police, who was formerly a
Presbyterian, gave up the swindle. He afterward undertook to introduce
Bibles and hymn-books, and, it is said, on one occasion attempted to
preach. This was a little more than an outraged community could be
expected to endure, and at our suggestion he was tarred and feathered.
For a time this treatment seemed to work a reform, but the heart of a
Methodist is, above all things, deceitful and desperately wicked, and
he was soon after caught in the very act of presenting a spelling-book
to old Ben Spoffer’s youngest daughter, Ragged Moll, since hung. The
Vigilance Committee _pro tem_. waited upon him, when he was decently
shot and left for dead, as was recorded in this paper, with an obituary
notice for which we have never received a cent. Last Friday, however,
he was discovered sneaking into the potato patch connected with this
paper, and our wife, God bless her, got an axe and finished him then
and there.
His name was John Bucknor, and it is reported (we do not know with how
much truth) that at one time there was an improper intimacy between him
and the lady who despatched him. If so, we pity Sal.—_Coyote
“Trapper.”_
.... Our readers may have noticed in yesterday’s issue an editorial
article in which we charged Judge Black with having murdered his
father, beaten his wife, and stolen seven mules from Jo Gorman. The
facts are substantially true, though somewhat different from what we
stated. The killing was done by a Dutchman named Moriarty, and the
bruises we happened to see on the face of the Judge’s wife were caused
by a fall—she being, doubtless, drunk at the time. The mules had only
strayed into the mountains, and have returned all right.
We consider the Judge’s anger at so trifling an error very ridiculous
and insulting, and shall shoot him the first time he comes to town. An
Independent Press is not to be muzzled by any absurd old buffer with a
crooked nose, and a sister who is considerably more mother than wife.
Not as long as we have our usual success in thinning out the judiciary
with buck shot.—_Lone Tree “Sockdolager.”_
.... Yesterday, as Job Wheeler was returning from a clean-up at the
Buttermilk Flume, he stopped at Hell Tunnel to have a chat with the
boys. John Tooley took a fancy to Job’s watch, and asked for it. Being
refused, he slipped away, and going to Job’s shanty, killed his three
half-breed children and a valuable pig. This is the third time John has
played some scurvy trick, and it is about time the Superintendent
discharged him. There is entirely too much of this practical joking
amongst the boys, and it will lead to trouble yet.—_Nugget Hill
“Pickaxe of Freedom.”_
.... The stranger from Frisco with the claw-hammer coat, who put up at
the Gag House last Thursday, and was looking for a chance to invest,
was robbed the other night of three hundred ounces of clean dust. We
know who did it, but don’t be frightened, John Lowry; we’ll never tell,
though we are awful hard up, owing to our subscribers going back on
us.—_Choketown “Rocker.”_
.... Old Mother Gooly, who works a ranch on shares near Whiskyville,
was married last Sunday to the new Episcopalian preacher from Dogburg.
It seems that he laboured more faithfully to convert her soul than to
save the crop, and the bride protested against his misdirected
industry, with a crowbar. The citizens are very much grieved to lose
one whose abilities they never fairly appreciated until his brain was
scraped off the iron and weighed. It was found to be considerably
heavier than the average.
But the verdict of the people is unanimously given. He ought not to
have fooled with Mother Gooly’s immortal part, to the neglect of the
wheat crop. That kind of thing is not popular at Whiskyville. It is not
business.—“_Bullwhacker’s Own.”_
.... The railroad from this city north-west will be commenced as soon
as the citizens get tired of killing the Chinamen brought up to do the
work, which will probably be within three or four weeks. The carcases
are accumulating about town and begin to become unpleasant.—_Gravel
Hill “Thunderbolt.”_
.... The man who was shot last week at the Gulch will be buried next
Thursday. He is not yet dead, but his physician wishes to visit a
mother-in-law at Lard Springs, and is therefore very anxious to get the
case off his hands. The undertaker describes the patient as “the
longest cuss in that section.”—_Santa Peggie “Times.”_
.... There is some dispute about land titles at Little Bilk Bar. About
half a dozen cases were temporarily decided on Wednesday, but it is
supposed the widows will renew the litigation. The only proper way to
prevent these vexatious lawsuits is to hang the Judge of the County
Court.—_Cow-County “Outcropper.”_