A NIGHT RIDE IN THE WOODS--THE ENCAMPMENT--LARRY'S FIRST ATTEMPT TO DIG
FOR GOLD--AN ALARM--A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER--QUEER CREATURES.
In less than two hours the travellers reached the second ranche, which
was little better, in appearance or accommodation, than the one they had
left. Having no funds, they merely halted to water their cattle, and
then pushed forward.
The country became more and more undulating and broken as they advanced,
and beyond the second ranche assumed the appearance of a hill country.
The valleys were free from trees, though here and there occurred dense
thickets of underwood, in which Maxton told them that grizzly-bears
loved to dwell--a piece of information that induced most of the party to
carry their rifles in a handy position, and glance suspiciously at every
shadow. Large oaks and bay-trees covered the lower slopes of the hills,
while higher up the white oak and fir predominated.
About an hour after midnight the moon began to descend towards the
horizon, and Ned Sinton, who had been unanimously elected commander of
the little band, called a halt in the neighbourhood of a rivulet, which
flowed round the base of an abrupt cliff whose sides were partially
clothed with scrubby bushes.
"We shall encamp here for the night, comrades," said he, dismounting;
"here is water and food for our nags, a fine piece of greensward to
spread our blankets on, and a thick-leaved oak to keep the dew off us.
Now, Maxton, you are an old campaigner, let us see how soon you'll have
a fire blazing."
"I'll have it ready before you get the camp kettles and pans out,"
answered Maxton, fastening his horse to a tree, seizing an axe, and
springing into the woods on the margin of the stream.
"And, Captain Bunting," continued Ned, "do you water the horses and
mules: our vaquero will help you. Jones will unpack the provender. Tom
Collins and I will see to getting supper ready."
"An', may I ax, commodore," said Larry O'Neil, touching his hat, "wot
_I'm_ to do?"
"Keep out of everybody's way, and do what you pleases, Larry."
"Which manes, I'm to make myself ginerally useful; so here goes." And
Larry, springing through the bushes, proceeded to fulfil his duties, by
seizing a massive log, which Maxton had just cut, and, heaving it on his
powerful shoulder, carried it to the camp.
Each was immediately busied with his respective duties. Bustling
activity prevailed for the space of a quarter of an hour, the result of
which was that, before the moon left them in total darkness, the ruddy
glare of a magnificent fire lighted up the scene brilliantly, glanced
across the sun-burnt faces and vivid red shirts of our adventurers, as
they clustered round it, and threw clouds of sparks in among the leaves
of the stout old oak that overspread the camp.
"Now, this is what I call uncommon jolly," said Captain Bunting, sitting
down on his saddle before the cheerful blaze, rubbing his hands, and
gazing round, with a smile of the utmost benignity on his broad, hairy
countenance.
"It is," replied Maxton, with an approving nod. "Do you know, I have
often thought, captain, that an Indian life must be a very pleasant
one--"
"Av coorse it must," interrupted Larry, who at that moment was
luxuriating in the first rich, voluminous puffs of a newly-filled
pipe--"av coorse it must, _if_ it's always like this."
"Ay," continued Maxton, "but that's what I was just going to remark
upon--it's _not_ always like this. As a general rule, I have observed,
men who are new to backwoods life, live _at first_ in a species of
terrestrial paradise. The novelty and the excitement cause them to
revel in all that is enjoyable, and to endure with indifference all that
is disagreeable; sometimes, even, to take pleasure in shewing how
stoically they can put up with discomfort. But after a time the novelty
and excitement wear away, and then it is usual to hear the praises of
Indian life spoken of immediately before and immediately after supper.
Towards midnight--particularly if it should rain, or mosquitoes be
numerous--men change their minds, and begin to dream of home, if they
can sleep, or to wish they were there, if they can't."
"Get out! you horrid philosopher," cried Tom Collin as he gazed
wistfully into the iron pot, whose savoury contents, (i.e. pork, flour,
and beans), he was engaged in stirring. "Don't try to dash the cup of
romance from our lips ere we have tasted it. Believe me, comrades, our
friend Maxton is a humbug. I am an old stager myself; have lived the
life of an Indian for months and months together, and I declare to you,
I'm as jolly and enthusiastic _now_ as ever I was."
"That may be quite true," observed Maxton, "seeing that it is possible
you may have never been jolly or enthusiastic at all; but even taking
your words as you mean them to be understood, they only tend to enforce
what I have said, for, you know, the exception proves the rule."
"Bah! you sophisticator," ejaculated Tom, again inspecting the contents
of the pot.
"Och, let him spake, an' be aisy," remarked Larry, with a look of
extreme satisfaction on his countenance; "we're in the navelty an'
excitement stage o' life just now, an faix we'll kape it up as long as
we can. Hand me a cinder, Bill Jones, an' don't look as if ye wos
meditatin' wot to say, for ye know that ye can't say nothin'."
Bill took no further notice of this remark than to lift a glowing piece
of charcoal from the fire with his fingers, as deliberately as if they
were made of iron, and hand it to O'Neil, who received it in the same
cool manner, and relighted his pipe therewith.
"It strikes me we shall require all our jollity and enthusiasm to keep
up our spirits, if we don't reach the diggings to-morrow," said Ned
Sinton, as he busied himself in polishing the blade of a superb
hunting-knife, which had been presented to him by a few college friends
at parting; "you all know that our funds are exhausted, and it's awkward
to arrive at a ranche without a dollar to pay for a meal--still more
awkward to be compelled to encamp beside a ranche and unpack our own
provisions, especially if it should chance to be a wet night. Do you
think we shall manage to reach the diggings to-morrow, Maxton?"
"I am certain of it. Twelve miles will bring us to Little Creek, as it
is called, where we can begin to take initiative lessons in
gold-washing. In fact, the ground we stand on, I have not a doubt, has
much gold in it. But we have not the means of washing it yet."
Larry O'Neil caught his breath on hearing this statement. "D'ye mane to
tell me," he said, slowly and with emphasis, "that I'm maybe sittin' at
this minute on the top o' rale goold?"
"You may be," answered Maxton, laughing.
"W'en ye don't know," remarked Bill Jones, sententiously, removing the
pipe from his lips, and looking fixedly at his messmate, "W'en ye don't
know _wot's_ under ye, nor the coorse o' nature, w'ich is always more or
less a-doin' things oncommon an' out o' the way, ye shouldn't ought to
speckilate on wot ye know nothin' about, until ye find out how's her
head, an' w'ich way the land lies. Them's my sentiments."
"Halloo! Larry," cried the captain and Tom Collins simultaneously,
"look out for the kettle. It'll boil over."
Larry's feelings had been deeply stirred at that moment, so that the
union of the sudden shout, with the profundity of Bill's remark, had the
effect of causing him to clutch at the tea-kettle with such haste that
he upset it into the fire.
"Oh! bad luck to ye!"
"Clumsy fellow!" ejaculated Ned. "Off with you to the creek, and refill
it."
Larry obeyed promptly, but the mischance, after all, was trifling, for
the fire was fierce enough to have boiled a twenty-gallon caldron in a
quarter of an hour. Besides, the contents of the iron pot had to be
discussed before the tea was wanted. In a few minutes supper was ready,
and all were about to begin, when it was discovered that O'Neil was
missing.
"Ho! Larry, come to supper!" shouted one.
"Hi! where are you?" cried another.
But there was no reply, until the captain put both hands to his mouth,
and gave utterance to the nautical halloo with which, in days gone by,
he was wont to hail the look-out at the main-top.
"Ay, ay, comin' sir-r," floated back on the night wind; and, shortly
afterwards, the Irishman stumbled into camp with his hands, his face,
and his clothes plentifully bedaubed with mud.
"Why, what have you been about?" inquired Ned.
"Diggin' for goold, sure. I've made a hole in the banks o' the creek
with me two hands that ye might bury a young buffalo in, an' sorrow a
bit o' goold have I got for me pains."
A general laugh greeted the enthusiastic digger, as he wiped his hands
and sat down to supper.
"Musha! av I didn't git goold, I've dug up a mortial big appetite,
anyhow. Hand me the wooden spoon, Mister Collins; it's more the gauge
o' me pratie-trap than the pewter wans. D'ye know, comrades, I'm a'most
sure I seed an Injun in the bush. Av it wasn't, it was a ghost."
"What like was he?"
"Look there, and judge for yourselves," cried O'Neil, jumping suddenly
to his feet, and pointing towards the wood, where a solitary figure was
seen dimly against the dark background.
Every man leaped up and seized his weapons.
"Who goes there?" shouted Ned, advancing towards the edge of the circle
of light.
"A friend," was the reply, in English.
Relieved to find that he was not the advance-guard of a band of savages,
Ned invited the stranger to approach, and immediately he stepped within
the sacred circle of the camp-fire's light. This unexpected addition to
the party was by no means a pleasant one. His complexion was
exceedingly dark, and he wore a jet-black beard. In manners he was
coarse and repulsive--one of those forbidding men who seem to be born
for the purpose of doing evil, in whatever position of life or part of
the world they happen to be placed. The rude garments of the miner
harmonised with the rugged expression of his bearded and bronzed face,
and the harsh voice in which he addressed the party corresponded
therewith.
"I s'pose ye'll not object to let me rest by yer fire, strangers?" he
said, advancing and seating himself without waiting for a reply.
"You're welcome," answered Ned, curtly, for he neither liked the manners
nor the aspect of the man.
"Ye might ha' wished us the top o' the mornin', I think," suggested
Larry. "Here, try an' soften yer sperrits with a sup," he added,
pushing a pewter plate of soup and a spoon towards him.
The man made no reply, but ate ravenously, as if he had been starving.
When he had finished, he lighted his pipe, and drew his knees up to his
chin as he warmed his hands before the blaze. Little information of any
kind could be drawn out of this taciturn wanderer. To Ned's questions,
he replied that he had been at the diggings on the Yuba River, which he
described as being rich; that he had made enough gold to satisfy all his
wants, and was on his way to San Francisco, where he intended to ship
for England. His name, he said, was Smith.
He carried a short rifle, with a peculiarly large bore, and a heavy
hunting-knife, the point of which was broken off. This last Bill Jones
observed, as the man laid it down, after cutting up some tobacco,
preparatory to refilling his pipe.
"A good knife! How did ye break it?" inquired Bill, taking up the
weapon and examining it.
"Never you mind," answered the man, snatching it rudely from him, and
sheathing it.
At this O'Neil regarded him with an angry expression.
"Faix, av ye wasn't livin', so to spake, in me own house, I'd make ye
change yer tone."
"I don't mean no offence," said Smith, endeavouring to speak a little
less gruffly. "The fact is, gents, I'm out o' sorts, 'cos I lost a
grizzly bar in the hills an hour or two agone. I shot him dead, as I
thought, and went up and drove my knife into his side, but it struck a
rib and broke the pint, as ye see; and a'most afore I could get up a
tree, he wos close up behind me. He went away after a while, and so I
got clear off."
To the immense satisfaction of every one, this disagreeable guest arose
after finishing his pipe, knocked the ashes out, shouldered his rifle,
and, bidding his entertainers good-night, re-entered the forest, and
disappeared.
"You're well away," remarked Tom Collins, looking after him; "I couldn't
have slept comfortably with such a fellow in camp. Now, then, I'm going
to turn in."
"So am I," said Maxton, rolling himself in a blanket, and pillowing his
head on a saddle, without more ado.
In a few minutes the camp was as silent as it had previously been noisy.
Captain Bunting's plethoric breathing alone told that human beings
rested on that wild spot; and this, somewhat incongruously united with
the tinkling of the rivulet hard by, and the howling of coyotes,
constituted their lullaby. During the night the most of the travellers
were awakened once or twice by a strange and very peculiar sensation,
which led them to fancy the earth on which they reposed was possessed of
life. The lazy members of the party lay still, and dreamily wondered
until they fell asleep; those who were more active leaped up, and,
lifting their blankets, gazed intently at the sward, which darkness
prevented them from seeing, and felt it over with their hands, but no
cause for the unwonted motion could be discovered, until the light of
dawn revealed the fact that they had made their beds directly above the
holes of a colony, of ground-squirrels, which little creatures, poking
upwards with their noses in vain attempts to gain the upper world, had
produced the curious sensations referred to.
Rough travelling, however, defies almost all disadvantages in the way of
rest. Tired and healthy men will sleep in nearly any position, and at
any hour, despite all interruptions, so that when our friends rose at
daybreak to resume their journey, they were well refreshed and eager to
push on.