On my return to the Yuba, with the sad tale of my comrade's death--and
the consequent unfortunate termination of our prospecting scheme--
Hiram's partners made search for his gold, in every place where it was
likely to have been buried.
Their search proved fruitless. The precious treasure could not be
found. Unfortunately, none of us knew where his family resided. He had
been incidentally heard to say, that he came from the state of Delaware;
but this was not sufficient clue, to enable any of us to communicate
with his relatives.
His wife has probably watched long for his return; and may yet believe
him guilty of that faithlessness--too common to men who have left their
homes on a similar errand.
As our claim on the Yuba was well nigh exhausted, we dissolved
partnership--each intending to proceed somewhere else on his own
account. Young Johnson--who had been my companion across the plains--
never before having been so long away from his parents, determined upon
going home to them, and there remaining all the winter.
I had heard good accounts of the southern "placers," which, being of the
sort known as "dry diggings," were best worked during the rainy season.
Three or four men, from the same "bar" where we had been engaged, were
about starting for the Mocolumne; and, after bidding James Johnson and
my other mates a friendly farewell, I set out along with this party.
After reaching our destination, I joined partnership with two of my
travelling companions; and, during the greater part of the winter, we
worked upon Red Gulch--all three of us doing well.
Having exhausted our claim, my two partners left me both to return home
to New York. Being thus left once more alone, I determined upon
proceeding still farther south--to the Tuolumne river, there to try my
fortune during the summer.
On my way to the Tuolumne, I fell in with a man named Richard Guinane,
who had just come up from San Francisco City. He was also _en route_
for the diggings at Tuolumne; and we arranged to travel together.
He was going to try his luck in gold seeking for the second time; and,
finding him an agreeable companion, I proposed that we should become
partners. My proposal was accepted--on the condition that we should
stop awhile on the Stanislaus--a river of whose auriferous deposits my
new partner had formed a very high opinion.
To this I made no objection; and, on reaching the Stanislaus, we pitched
our tents upon its northern bank.
When I became a little acquainted with the past history of my companion,
I might reasonably have been expected to object to the partnership.
From his own account, he was born to ill-luck: and, such being the case,
I could scarce hope that fortune would favour me--so long as I was in
his company. Assuredly was Richard Guinane the victim of unfortunate
circumstances. There are many such in the world, though few whom
Fortune will not sometimes favour with her smiles--when they are
deserved; and, ofttimes, when they are not.
Richard Guinane, according to his own account of himself, was one of
these few. Circumstances seemed to have been always against him. Each
benevolent, or praiseworthy action he might perform, appeared to the
world as dictated by some base and selfish feeling! Whenever he
attempted to confer a favour, the effort resulted in an injury, to those
whom he meant to benefit. Whenever he tried to win a friend, it ended
by his making an enemy!
His hopes of happiness had ever proved delusive--his anticipations of
misery were always realised!
Pride, honour, in short, every noble feeling that man should possess,
appeared to be his; and yet fate so controlled those sentiments, that
each manifestation of them seemed, to the world, the reverse of the true
motive that inspired it. Such was Guinane's character--partly drawn
from statements furnished by himself, and partly from facts that came
under my own observation.
Certain circumstances of his life, which he made known to me, had
produced an impression on my memory; but more especially those of which
I was myself a spectator, and which brought his unhappy existence to an
abrupt and tragical termination. The history of his life is too strange
to be left unrecorded.
Richard Guinane was a native of New York State, where his father died
before he was quite five years of age--leaving a wife and three
children, of whom Dick was the eldest.
So early had Dick's ill-fortune made its appearance, that before he had
reached his fourteenth year, he had established the reputation of being
the greatest thief and liar in his native village!
When once this character became attached to him, no church window could
be broken, nor any other mischief occur, that was not attributed to Dick
Guinane, although, according to his own account, he was really the best
behaved boy in the place!
Near the residence of his mother, lived the widow of a merchant, who had
left a small fortune to his only child, a daughter--the widow having the
sole charge both of the fortune and the heiress--already a half grown
girl.
With a charming voice, this young lady would answer to the name of
Amanda Milne. She had seen Dick every day, since her earliest
childhood; and she had formed a better opinion of him than of any other
lad in the village. She was the only one in the place, except his own
mother, who felt any regard for Dick Guinane. All his other neighbours
looked upon him, as a living evidence of God's amazing mercy!
Like most young ladies, Amanda was learning some accomplishments--to
enable her to kill time in a genteel, and useless manner.
The first great work achieved by her fingers, and to her own entire
satisfaction, was a silk purse--which it had not taken her quite two
months to knit. This purse, on a favourable opportunity having offered
itself, was presented to Dick.
Not long after, her mother wished to exhibit her needle-work to some
friends--as a proof of the skill and industry of her daughter, who was
requested to produce the purse.
Amanda knew that Dick was not liked by the inhabitants of the village;
and that her own mother had an especially bad opinion of him. Moreover,
the Guinane family was not so wealthy as the widow Milne; and in the
opinion of many, there was no equality whatever between the young people
representing each.
Though Amanda was well aware of all this, had she been alone with her
mother, in all likelihood she would have told the truth; but, in the
presence of strangers, she acted as most other girls would have done
under similar circumstances. She said she had lost the purse; and had
searched for it everywhere without finding it. About that time, Dick
was seen in possession of a purse; and would give no account, of how he
came by it. The two facts that Amanda Milne had lost a purse, and that
Dick Guinane had one in his possession, soon became the subject of a
comparison; and the acquaintances of both arrived at the conclusion:
that Amanda, as she had stated, must have lost her purse, and that Dick
must have stolen it!
Time passed on--each month producing some additional evidence to condemn
poor Dick in the estimation of his acquaintances.
Mrs Guinane was a member of the Methodist Church, over which presided
the Reverend Joseph Grievous. This gentleman was in the habit of
holding frequent conversations with Mrs Guinane, on the growing
sinfulness of her son. Notwithstanding her great reverence for her
spiritual instructor, she could not perceive Dick's terrible faults.
Withal, the complaints made to her--of his killing cats, dogs, and
geese, stealing fruit, and breaking windows--were so frequent, and
apparently so true, that she used to take Dick to task, and in a kindly
way read long maternal lectures to him.
Dick always avowed his innocence--even in the presence of Mr Grievous--
and would use the best of arguments to prove himself as "not guilty."
This pretence of innocence, in the opinion of the Reverend Grievous, was
a wickedness exceeding all his other misdeeds; and the sanctimonious
gentleman suggested the remedy, of having Dick beaten into confession
and repentance! To this course of treatment, however, Mrs Guinane
firmly refused to give her consent.
One day, Dick had been to a neighbouring town; and when returning, had
passed a house--to the gate of which the old and well known horse of the
Reverend Grievous stood tied. Simply noticing the horse, and reflecting
that his reverend owner must be inside the house, Dick continued on.
When near his mother's house, he was overtaken by the horse, that bad
come trotting along the road after him. The horse was without a rider,
which proved that not being properly secured, he had got loose.
Dick caught the horse, mounted him, and commenced riding back--for the
purpose of delivering him to the minister, for he could not permit, that
so pious a person should have to walk home through the mud.
The road was bad--like most of the country roads in the United States--
and Dick was already fatigued with a long walk. To take the horse to
the house where his owner was visiting, would give him more than a mile
to walk back; but no personal consideration could deter the lad from
doing what he thought to be his duty.
On coming out of the house--where he had been visiting one of the
members of his church--Mr Grievous was surprised not to find his horse;
but the mystery was fully explained when, after proceeding a short
distance, he saw Dick Guinane on the horse's back.
Here was evidence welcome to Mr Grievous. Dick was at one of his old
games--caught in the very act--riding another man's horse--and that
horse the property of his own minister!
The Reverend Joseph was rejoiced, as he had long been looking for an
opportunity like this. He attributed all Dick's misdeeds to the want of
proper chastisement; and here was a good reason for administering it to
him. Dick had no father to correct his faults; and, in the opinion of
Mr Grievous, his mother was too lenient with the lad.
He had long promised, that if ever he caught Dick in any misdemeanour,
he would himself administer a lesson that would not only benefit the
boy, but the community in which he dwelt. He would be only fulfilling a
duty, which his sacred office imposed upon him; and the present
opportunity was too good a one to be lost.
Dick rode up to the minister, dismounted, and accosted him in a manner
that should have been proof of innocence. Perhaps it would have been,
by any other person; but to the Reverend Grievous, Dick's confident
deportment--inspired by the consciousness of having acted rightly--only
aggravated the offence of which he was supposed to be guilty. His bold
effrontery was but the bearing of a person long accustomed to crime. So
reasoned Mr Grievous!
Without giving Dick time to finish his explanation, the minister seized
him by the collar; and, with his riding whip, commenced administering to
him a vigorous chastisement.
Dick was at the time over sixteen years of age; and was, moreover, a
strong, active youth for his years.
So great was his respect, for all persons, whom he thought superior to
himself, that for some time he bore the chastisement--unresistingly
permitting the minister to proceed in the execution of his fancied duty.
Human nature could not stand such treatment long; and Dick's temper at
length giving way, he picked up a stone, hurled it at the head of the
reverend horsewhipper--who, on receiving the blow, fell heavily to the
earth.
He rose again; and in all probability would have returned to a more
vigorous use of his horsewhip, had his victim been still within reach;
but Dick had secured himself against farther punishment, by taking to
his heels, and placing a wide distance between himself and his irate
pastor.
Next day, Dick was brought before a magistrate, the Reverend Grievous,
upon oath, being compelled to make a somewhat true statement of the
affair. The justice had no other course than to discharge the prisoner,
which he did with reluctance--expressing regret that the strict letter
of the law did not allow him to deal with the offence in the manner it
so justly merited!
His native village no longer afforded a peaceful home for Dick Guinane.
He was pointed at in the streets. Other boys of his age were forbidden
by their parents to play with him; and the little school girls crossed
the road in terror, as they saw him approach. In the opinion of the
villagers, he had reached the climax of earthly iniquity.
He was sent to reside with an uncle--his mother's brother--who lived in
the city of New York. Before leaving his native place, he attempted to
make a call on Amanda Milne; but was met at the door by her mother, who
refused either to admit him within the house, or allow her daughter to
see him.
Shortly after reaching his new home in the great city, he received a
letter from his mother--enclosing a note from Amanda, the contents of
which partly repaid him for all the injuries he had suffered.
During a residence of five years in New York, he was unsuccessful in
everything he undertook; and, unfortunately, though from no fault of his
own, lost the confidence of his uncle, as also his protection.
He returned to his native village, where he found that he was still
remembered with disfavour.
He talked of love to Amanda Milne; but his suit was rejected. She
admitted being much prepossessed in his favour, and that he had no rival
in her affections; but what woman can brave the ridicule of all her
acquaintances, and the anger of an only parent, by accepting a lover
universally shunned and condemned?
Dick once more bade adieu to his native village; and after various
vicissitudes in different cities of the United States, at length found
his way to California. He had been one of the most fortunate miners on
the Feather river; and had invested the money made there in a dry goods
store in San Francisco.
Just one week after entering upon his new business, the city of San
Francisco was burnt to the ground; and Dick's dry goods store, including
the contents, along with it.
With only one hundred dollars in his purse, he again started for the
diggings; and it was while journeying thither that he and I came
together, and entered into partnership as above related.
Volume One, Chapter XXI.
After breaking ground upon the Stanislaus, we toiled for three weeks
without any success. Every one around us seemed to be doing well; but
the several mining claims worked by Guinane and myself seemed to be the
only places in the valley of the Stanislaus where no gold existed. Not
a grain rewarded our labours.
"For your sake we had better part company," said Guinane to me one
evening, after we had toiled hard all day, and obtained nothing. "You
will never have any luck, so long as you are my partner."
I was inclined to think there was some truth in what my comrade said;
but I did not like the idea of leaving a man, merely because he had been
unfortunate.
"Your fate cannot long contend with mine," I answered. "I am one of the
most fortunate fellows in the world. If we continue to act in
partnership, my good fortune will, in time, overcome the ill-luck that
attends upon you. Let us keep together awhile longer."
"Very well," assented Guinane, "but I warn you that some one above--or
below, may be--has a `down' on me; and the good genius attending you
will need to be very powerful to make things square. However, you lead
the way, and I will follow."
I did lead the way; and we went to Sonora, further south, where we
entered upon a claim at a place called Dry Creek. Here we met with
success, of which we could not reasonably complain.
We often used to walk into Sonora in the evening; and amuse ourselves,
by witnessing the scenes occurring in the gambling houses, or having a
dance with the bright-eyed Mexican senoritas.
One evening, while loitering about in one of the gambling houses, we saw
a digger who was intoxicated, almost to the degree of drunkenness. He
was moving about in half circles over the floor, keeping his feet under
him with much difficulty, unknown to himself. Every now and then, he
loudly declared his intention of going home, as if he thought such a
proceeding on his part, was one in which all around him must be highly
interested. Each time, before going, he would insist upon having
another drink; and this continued, until he had swallowed several
glasses of brandy, on the top of those that had already produced his
intoxication. In paying for these drinks, he pulled out a bag of gold
dust, which carried, judging from its size, about one hundred ounces;
and a man behind the bar, weighed from it the few specks required in
payment for the liquor.
There was something in the appearance of this miner that strangely
interested me. I fancied that I had seen him before; but could not tell
where. While I was endeavouring to identify him, he staggered out of
the house into the street--leaving me in doubt, as to whether we had met
before or not.
The thoughts of my companion Guinane, were not absorbed by wanderings
like mine; and he had been more observant of what was transpiring around
him. After the miner had gone out, he came close up to me, and
whispered:--
"That man will be robbed. When he pulled out his bag of gold to pay for
the drink, I saw two men exchange glances, and walk out before him.
They will waylay, and rob him. Shall we let them do it?"
"Certainly not," I answered, "I like the look of the man; and do not
think that he deserves to lose his money."
"Come on then!" said Guinane; and we both stepped out into the street.
The first direction in which we turned was the wrong one: for, after
proceeding about a hundred yards, nothing of the drunken man was to be
seen; and we knew that he was too drunk to have got any farther away.
We turned back; and walked at a quick pace--indeed, ran--in the opposite
direction. This time our pursuit was more successful. We saw the
drunken miner lying on the pavement, with two men standing over him, who
pretended, as we came up, that they were his friends; and that they were
endeavouring to get him home.
Had the drunken man been willing to accept of their assistance, we might
have found no excuse for interfering; but as we drew near, we could hear
him exclaiming, "Avast there, mates! I can navigate for myself. Be
off, or, dammee! I'll teach you manners."
"Stormy Jack!" I exclaimed, rushing forward, followed by Guinane.
"'Tis you Stormy? What's wrong? Do you want any help?"
"Yes," replied Jack, "teach these fellows some manners for me. My legs
are too drunk; and I can't do so myself."
The two men moved silently, but rapidly away.
"Have you got your gold?" I asked, ready for pursuit in case the
fellows had robbed him.
"Yes, that's all right. One of them tried to take it; but I wouldn't
let him. I'm sober enough for that. It's only my legs that be drunk.
My hands are all right."
Stormy's legs were indeed drunk, so much so, that Guinane and I had much
difficulty in getting him along. We were obliged to place him between
us, each supporting one of his sides. After considerable labour, we
succeeded in taking him to a house where I was acquainted. Here we put
him to bed; and, after leaving instructions with the landlord, not to
let him depart until one of us should return, we went home to our own
lodgings.
Next morning, at an early hour, I called to see Stormy; and found him
awake and waiting for me.
"You done me a good turn last night," said he, "and I shall not forget
it, as I have you."
"Why do you think you have forgotten me?" I asked.
"Because last night you called me Stormy Jack; and from that, I know you
must have seen me before. I've not been hailed by that name for several
years. Now, don't tell me who you are: for I want to find out for
myself."
"You could not have been very drunk last night," said I, "or you would
not remember what you were called?"
"Yes, would I," answered Stormy, "according as the land lay, or what
sort of drunk it was. Sometimes my mind gets drunk, and sometimes my
legs. It's not often they both get drunk together. Last night it was
the legs. Had you been a man six or seven years ago, when I was called
Stormy Jack, I should remember you: for I've got a good memory of things
that don't change much. But when I used to be called Stormy Jack, you
must have been a bit o' a tiny boy. Now, who can you be? What a stupid
memory I've got!" continued he, scratching his head. "There's no way of
teaching it manners, as I knows of. But what boy used to call me Stormy
Jack--that looked as you ought to have looked a few years ago? Ah! now
I have it. Bless my eyes, if you arn't the Rollin' Stone!"
Stormy then rushed forward, grasped my hand, and nearly crushed it
between his strong, sinewy fingers.
"Rowley, my boy!" said he, "I knew we should meet again. I've thought
of you, as I would of my own son, if I'd had one. I've looked the world
over, trying to find you. How come you to hail me by name last night?
You are an astonishing chap. I knew you would be; and some one has
larnt you manners. Ah! I suppose 'twas Nature as did it?"
I need not say, that Stormy and I, after this singular renewal of
companionship, were not likely to part in a hurry. We passed that day
together, talking over old times--Stormy giving me a history of some
events of his life, which had transpired since our parting in New
Orleans.
"On the morning I last saw you," said he, "I went to work on the ship,
as I intended; and did a hard day's work--for which I've never yet been
paid.
"When I was going home to you, I met an old shipmate; and, in course, we
went into a grog-shop to have something to drink.
"After having a glass with my friend at his expense, of course, it was
but right for him to have one at mine. We then parted company; and I
made tracks for the lodging-house, where I had left you.
"Them two glasses of brandy, after working hard all the afternoon in the
hot sun, did more for me, than ever the same quantity had done before.
I was drunk somewhere, though I was not exactly certain where.
"Just before reaching the house where we were staying, I met the first
breezer, who, you remember, had knocked me down with the carpenter's
mallet. Well! without more ado, I went to work to teach him manners.
"While giving him the lesson, I larnt that it was my head that was
drunk: for my legs and arms did their duty. I beat and kicked him in a
way, that would have rejoiced the heart of any honest man. Just as I
was polishing him off, two constables came up, and collared me away to
gaol.
"The next morning, I was sentenced to one month's imprisonment. Captain
Brannon did not like that: for he wanted me back aboard of his ship.
But the magistrate, mayor, or whatever he was, that sentenced me, had
too much respect for me to allow the captain to have his own way; and I
was lodged and fed, free of all expense, until the `Hope' had sailed.
"After coming out of the gaol, I went straight to the boarding-house, in
hopes of finding you still there; but I larnt that you had gone away,
the next day after I was jugged; and the old woman could not give any
account of where you had drifted to. I thought that you had joined the
`Hope' again, and gone home. I've been everywhere over the world since
then; and I don't know how I could have missed seeing you before now!
"I came to San Francisco Bay in an English ship--the captain of which
tried to hinder the crew from deserting, by anchoring some distance from
the city, and keeping an armed watch over them. He thought we were such
fools as to leave San Francisco in his ship for two pounds a month,
when, by taking another vessel, we could get twenty! He soon found his
mistake. We larnt him manners, by tying and gagging him, as well as his
first officer, and steward. Then we all went ashore in the ships'
boats--leaving the ship where I suppose she is now--to rot in the bay of
San Francisco.
"After coming up to the diggings, I had no luck for a long time; but I'm
now working one of the richest claims as ever was opened."
During the day, I told Stormy the particulars of my visit to Dublin; and
the trouble I was in concerning the loss of my relatives.
"Never mind 'em!" said he, "make a fortune here--and then make a family
of your own. I've been told that that's the best way to forget old
friends, though, for myself, I never tried it."
Stormy's advice seemed wisdom: as it led me to think of Lenore. Before
parting with my old messmate, I learnt from him where he was living. We
arranged to see each other often; and as soon as we should have an
opportunity of dissolving the respective partnerships in which each was
engaged, we should unite and work together.
Stormy was the first friend who took me by the hand--after I had been
turned out upon the cold world; and time had not changed the warm
attachment I had long ago conceived for the brave sailor.
Volume One, Chapter XXII.
On leaving San Francisco, Guinane had declared his intention of going to
the Stanislaus river; and his acquaintances, left behind in that city,
had been directed to write to him at the latter place.
One Saturday morning, he borrowed a mule from one of the neighbouring
miners, to ride over to the post-office for his letters.
The miner owning the mule, was just going to his work; and pointed out
the animal to Guinane. It was grazing on the hill-side, about half a
mile distant from our tents. In addition to pointing it out, the owner
described it to be a brown mule, with rat tail, and hog mane.
He then brought the saddle and bridle out of his tent; and, placing them
at Dick's disposal, went off to his work.
Dick proceeded towards the hill, caught and saddled the mule, and,
bidding me good-day, rode off on his journey.
I was expecting him back that evening; but he did not return. I felt no
concern on account of his remaining absent all that night. The next day
was Sunday; and knowing that he would not be wanted to do any work on
the claim, he might, for some purpose that did not concern me, have
chosen to stay all night in the town.
Sunday evening came, without Guinane; and, fearing that some accident
might have befallen him, I resolved to start next morning for the
post-office, should he not return before that time.
The next morning came, without bringing back the absentee; and I set out
in search of him.
After going about five miles, I met him returning; and, to my surprise,
I saw that he was afoot! I was still more surprised as he drew near,
and I obtained a close view of his face and features. Never in my life
had I seen such a change in the person of any individual, in so short a
time. He seemed at least ten years older, than when he left me at the
diggings two days before.
His face was pale and haggard; and there was a wild fiendish expression
in his eyes, that was fearful to behold. I could not have believed the
eyes of Richard Guinane capable of such an expression. His clothing was
torn to rags, bedaubed with dirt, and spotted with dry blood. In short,
his whole appearance was that of a man who had been badly abused.
"What has happened?" I asked, mechanically--as soon as my surprise at
his appearance permitted me to speak.
"I can't tell now," said he, speaking with much difficulty. "I must
have water."
I turned back; and we walked on towards our tents, in which direction we
had not far to go, before arriving at a coffee-shop. There he drank
some water, with a glass of brandy; and then, ordering a breakfast, he
went out to have a wash in the river--an operation of which I had never
seen a human being in greater need.
He ate his breakfast in haste--scarce speaking a word until he had
finished. Then, starting suddenly from his seat, he hurried out of the
house; and moved on along the road towards the place where our tents
were pitched.
"Come on!" cried he. "I cannot stop to talk. I've work to do. I want
revenge. Look here!"
He stopped till I came up--when, lifting the long dark hair from the
sides of his head, he permitted me to see that he had _no ears_!
"Will you aid me in obtaining revenge?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered, "with my body and soul!"
"I knew you would!" he exclaimed. "Come on! we have no time to lose."
As we walked homeward, I learnt from him the particulars of the terrible
misfortune that had befallen him.
On the Saturday morning, after starting off for the town, he had got
about a mile beyond the place where I had met him, when he was overtaken
by a party of four Mexicans.
Before he was well aware that they had any intention to molest him, a
lazo was thrown over his shoulders; and he was dragged to the ground--
where his arms were instantly pinioned.
By signs, he was made to understand: that his captors claimed the mule,
upon which he had been riding.
Guinane could speak but few words of Spanish; and therefore could not
make the Mexicans understand, how the mule came into his possession.
After holding a consultation amongst themselves, they took his revolver
from him; and, whilst three of them held him, the fourth cut off both of
his ears! They then mounted their horses, and rode away--taking with
them the mule Guinane had borrowed from the miner.
After going about three hundred yards, they halted, took off the saddle
and bridle--which they did not claim to own--threw them on the ground,
as also Guinane's revolver; and then continued their course.
Nothing can be said to justify these men for what they had done; but
probably they could have alleged some excuse for their conduct.
They undoubtedly believed that Guinane had stolen the mule; and they
knew that if one of their own countrymen had been caught in a similar
act, he would have been fortunate to have escaped with his life. They
saw no reason why an American should not be punished for a misdeed--as
well as a Mexican.
Guinane pursued them at the top of his speed, insane with grief, and
burning with indignation.
They soon rode out of his sight; but he continued on after them--until
he fell exhausted to the earth. He must have lain for some hours in a
state of insensibility, partly caused by loss of blood--partly by the
fatigue that had followed the wild raging of his passions.
It was night when he recovered his senses; and in his endeavours to
reach home, he had wandered among the hills, in every direction but the
right one.
I have said that he recovered his senses. The expression is hardly
correct. He only awoke to a consciousness that he still existed--a
horrible consciousness of the inhuman treatment he had been submitted
to. His most sane thought was that of a burning thirst for vengeance;
but so intense had been this desire, that it defeated its own object,
rendering him unconscious of everything else, and to such a degree, that
he had only discovered the right road to our camp a few minutes before I
had met with him.
"The truth is," said he, as he finished telling me his story, "I
returned to the place where I lost my ears, with the insane hope that I
might meet the Mexicans. After having a look at the place, I recovered
my senses once more, enough to direct me towards the only object for
which I now care to live and that is, revenge. I'm not in so much haste
for it now, as I was an hour ago. There's plenty of time. I'm young,
and will find them sometime. Come on! Come on! How slow you walk!"
We were then going at a pace that might be called running.
On reaching our tents, we learnt that Guinane had actually taken _the
wrong mule_! The miner from whom he had borrowed it, had not thought it
necessary to describe its brands. Not supposing there was another mule
in the neighbourhood, in any way resembling his own, he had not imagined
there could be any mistake.
From some diggers, we learnt that the Mexicans we wished to find, had
encamped for the night--near the place where Guinane had caught the
mule; and it was not strange they had accused him of having stolen it.
On recovering the animal, in the manner described, they had returned to
their camp, and shortly afterwards had resumed their journey. By making
some inquiries, we found that they had gone southward.
As they had no mining tools along with them, we came to the conclusion,
that they were on their way home--into some of the northern provinces of
Mexico. If so, we might easily overtake them, before they could pass
out of California.
We lost no time in making preparations for the pursuit--the most
important part of which was the providing ourselves with good horses.
In due time, this difficulty was got over, although my bag of gold dust
was much lighter, after the purchase of the horses had been completed.
By daybreak of the next morning, we were ready for the road. Guinane
kept urging me to expedition--in pursuit of those who had awakened
within his soul a thirst for vengeance, that blood alone could assuage!
Volume One, Chapter XXIII.