In Which Various Experiences are Discussed.
I have now arrived at a point where I shall speak more of myself, and
the insignificant part I was to play in molding history and shaping the
destinies of Oregon and the Northwest.
Joining a company of neighbors we crossed the Cascade Mountains by way
of the Barlow route. All had saddle horses with one pack horse, or mule,
to two men. At Grass Valley, between the Deschutes and John Day River we
fell in with a large company returning from a search for the "Blue
Bucket Diggins." They, had been successful (in saving their horses) and
hearing of the Oro Fino strike were bound, like ourselves, for the new
El Dorado.
At the crossing of the John Day River we found a ferry boat kept and
owned by a couple of thrifty traders, who had set themselves down to
make their fortunes quickly and without the aid of the pick and shovel.
But their covetousness was their ruin. The sum of $6 was demanded for a
horseman and $4 for a pack horse. Our party argued with them, but to no
purpose. They would take nothing less. After parleying for some time the
traders were asked the price for ferrying over a foot-man and his
luggage. Wall Cushman, one of the traders, replied, "one dollar." Then
saddles and packs began to come off the backs of horses and mules.
Cushman threatened, swore and plead, but all to no purpose. He should
receive one dollar for ferrying footmen and no more.
Saddles, packs, provisions, and blankets were piled up at the ferry
landing and the most stupendous amount of luggage ever carried by a hobo
was then, one after another, piled on the backs of footmen. The footman
would stand within a step of the boat and, after his luggage was piled
on his back, would make a step on to the boat, and drop his load. Often
two and three men would steady him until the step was made. All was fun
and laughter except to Cushman and his partner. While this was going on,
others had crowded the horses to the river bank and were endeavoring to
make them swim the river. But try as they would, the horses upon
striking the swift current of the river would swing around and come out
on the same side. It was now Cushman's time to laugh. In this extremity
a reward of $20 was offered any one who would swim his horse ahead of
the band and guide them over. I quickly volunteered. I wanted the
twenty, and I wanted to save my dollar. Some of the older men objected.
But I had swum my horse across the Williamette River and the
insignificant John Day, not a fourth as wide, had no terrors for me.
Mounting my horse, I rode down into the river until almost swimming.
Meantime I had divested myself of all clothing save that provided by
mother nature, and having loaded my saddle and effects on the back of my
partner, fastened my right hand in my horse's mane and gave the word.
Sliding off on the lower side I guided my horse with my hand and he took
the current of the stream like a steamboat. The other horses to an
animal followed, and in a few moments were all safely on the other
shore. The crowd cheered heartily and even Wall Cushman could not
restrain his feelings, but exclaimed, "My boy, you are a brick."
The $20 was not only given me, but several who had not contributed to
the first "pot" gave a half dollar. Altogether I was handsomely paid for
my few moment's work, and as the water was not cold, I rather enjoyed
the swim.
From there we went to Walla Walla, following the old Nez Perce trails.
At that time there were not a dozen habitations between the Dalles and
Walla Walla, where now is a densely settled country and one of the great
wheat belts of the continent. A few days after crossing the John Day I
made my first horse trade. An old school teacher in the company fell in
love with my horse, and not only gave me a better animal, but almost the
value of my own to boot. I began then to flatter myself that I was not
only a traveler, but a business man as well. But alas! I had many a sad
lesson to learn ere I got my "teeth cut."
Arriving at Walla Walla, then a small village, with a Government post
half a mile away, we purchased a few supplies and then pushed on to the
mines. Going down the Alpowwa I saw apple trees planted by Father
Spaulding, of blessed memory, in 1836. The trees were thrifty and some
of them very large, and were being cared for by Nez Perce Indians. The
good Father Spaulding, with other Presbyterian missionaries, had come
among these people bearing the message of peace and good will and they,
with the exception of the rebellion of Chief Joseph, had ever after
adhered to his gentle teachings. The Nez Perce Indians are the most
intelligent and finest looking Indians I have ever seen. They are also a
brave, self-reliant race, and Joseph's band bears the distinction of
being the only Indians on the continent with the steady courage to
charge an equal number of the enemy in the open field.
We crossed Snake River at Lewiston, then a trading village of half a
dozen tents. The ferry boat was towed up the river half a mile by a
horse and then rowed across with oars pulled by two men. Lewiston is
located at the junction of the Snake and Clearwater, but we went by way
of Camas Prairie and crossed at Craig's ferry, and two days later landed
in Oro Fino city. Hundreds of miners had preceded us, and when we
arrived the ground was all taken up. I, therefore, found a job at sluice
forking at $75 per month, a boy's wages. Men were receiving $5 per day
of ten hours, but for night work $7.50 was paid.
I remained with my job but a short time, having found a better one in a
store, more suited to my strength and at better wages. I was also agent
for Miller & Mossman's express and received a good commission for all
the envelopes sold bearing their name. Envelopes were sold at $1 each,
and were carried to Walla Walla by pony express. The Miller here
referred to was then plain Heme Miller, express rider, but now known to
fame and the world of letters as "Joaquin" Miller.
The little store where I was employed was located about three miles
above Oro Fino city on Rhode's Creek, the richest placer diggings in the
district. Sunday was a busy day for miners. Clothes had to be washed,
picks sharpened, letters written to the "folks at home," and as often
happened, "dust" sent to them also. This had to be carefully weighed on
gold scales, a receipt given and the dust marked and placed in a
buckskin purse. There was no other means of communication with the
outside world, and both letters and dust must be sent by Miller &
Mossman's express. To the credit of Mr. Miller, be it said, that
thieves, robbers and murderers let him severely alone. Not only that,
but no one ever lost a dollar entrusted to Heine's care, though murders
and robberies were quite frequent, and it was well known that he always
carried a large quantity of gold dust; but they simply didn't want the
job of taking it away from Heine Miller.
It was one of my duties to take the "express matter," letters and gold
dust, to Oro Fino in time for the Walla Walla express Monday morning. As
the express started at 6 o'clock I had to get up early, besides it was
deemed safest to "hoof down the trail" before daylight. The trail was a
mere foot path cut through the bull pines, in the shadow of which
imagination more than once pictured a lone robber. But I always carried
my revolver in my hand and, though a boy, I was almost as good a shot as
Miller--at least I thought so. However, I always arrived on time and
without mishap or accident.
After delivering my express matter I had leisure to walk about town,
view the sights and watch the swaying crowds of gamblers, sure thing
sharps and other forms of human flotsam and jetsam as they fleeced their
victims, the miners. One occasion I shall never forget. It was the
funeral of one of the prominent citizens of Oro Fino. The aforesaid
prominent citizen bore the euphonious cognomen of "Bob-up-the-creek."
Bob, probably at his christening, was given another name answers as well
as another, especially among the aristocracy of which Bob was an honored
member. Bob was a bad actor, too, especially when under the influence of
liquor. One Sunday Bob imbibed quite freely and finally "declared
himself chief." There were none who cared to dispute with Bob his self
assumed title, but he finally ran "up against" an old Frenchman who kept
a pie stand. Bob concluded to take possession of the stand, but his
right to do so was disputed by the Frenchman. To settle the dispute the
Frenchman emptied the contents of a double barreled shot gun into Bob's
head. That settled the dispute and likewise Bob.
Being a citizen of prominence, his friends and admirers determined to
give Bob a respectable send off. Accordingly a neat coffin was purchased
and Bob reverently placed therein. A procession was formed and from
fifty to seventy-five of his friends followed his remains to the newly
made cemetery on the hill. All were in full dress--black pantaloons,
checked flannel shirt with white collar, and with a revolver and knife
swung conveniently to the belt. Now, no self-respecting or prudent
gentleman of the class of which I am speaking, moved abroad in those
days without the ever handy knife and pistol. As the occasion was one of
importance, I followed after the procession. Arriving at the grave, the
coffin was placed upon two poles laid across the vault. The burial
service was then read by one of the mourners, a faro dealer, if my
memory serves me right, a solemn hymn was sung and then all that was
mortal of "Bob-up-the-creek" was consigned to the grave. Four lusty
mourners then began shoveling in the dirt. When the grave was about
two-thirds filled, a repulsive looking vagabond, the town drunk, threw
himself across the grave bellowing like a bull buffalo, and exclaiming
"here is a poor soul gone to eternity and not one tear shed over his
grave." Meanwhile the dirt kept falling--it appeared to me a little
faster, when the old drunk, seeing himself about to be buried alive,
crawled upon his feet, shaking himself very much as a wet dog is wont to
shake himself. This action was greeted with peals of laughter and shouts
from the mourners. Such was the funeral of "Bob-up-the-creek." Shocked
and disgusted I turned and walked down the hill to town, to be followed
soon after by a laughing, jesting crowd, who dispersed to their
different "places of business" to lie in wait for the unwary sucker, the
miner.
I remained at the store until the proprietor, Mr. Vaughn, sold out, and
hearing that a company was being formed at Pierce City to go to the
Blackfoot country on a prospecting expedition, I went there and applied
to the, leader for admission. He looked me over, smiled and said that it
was too dangerous an expedition for a boy. I replied that I supposed
there was danger, that I was not afraid and could shoot as good as any
of them. At this the men listening began laughing and the leader told me
he didn't want me. Indignant, I turned away, but was followed a little
way by a rather pleasant looking man. He said, "My boy, you are too
young to go with the crowd. They are a rough set and not fit for a boy
of your age to associate with." He then shook hands with me and bade me
good bye.
I returned to Oro Fino, and as winter was approaching, I joined a strong
party and started back to Walla Walla. This was deemed prudent, for
besides the robbers, there were rumors of Indian troubles after we
should have passed beyond the Nez Perce country. About this time we
began hearing rumors of the Battle of Bull Run, and this formed the
chief subject for conversation around the camp fire of evenings. At
Lewiston a very dignified Indian, a Nez Perce, asked permission to join
our company to Walla Walla. He was accompanied by a boy about 16 whom we
judged to be his son. Permission, of course, we readily granted and we
proceeded on our way. That evening the usual subject of conversation
came up, Northern and Southern men good naturedly discussing the news,
and each construing a victory for his side. Finally the Indian spoke up
and said, "I think, gentlemen, I can settle your controversy. I have
received the latest papers and all are agreed that the battle resulted
in a disaster to the Federal arms." All looked at him in astonishment,
but he continued and gave us a vivid description of the battle. We at
once knew the speaker to be none other than Lawyer, chief of the Nez
Perces, scholar and graduate of an eastern college, and one of the
bright men of any race red or white. I met him after our arrival at
Walla Walla and recognized in the superbly dressed man our fellow
traveler. He wore a broadcloth suit, silk hat and carried a gold headed
cane. His son was also well dressed.
Again following the old Nez Perce trails, which everyone who has
traveled over that country during the early days will remember, we
proceeded to the John Day River. Here I met some old Lane county
friends, a Mr. Driskol and his son, a young man of about 21 years of
age. They had driven over the mountains a band of cattle and turned them
on the range at John Day and Rock Creek. Two brothers named John and Zim
Smith, from Douglas county, had also driven out cattle and turned them
loose on the same range. The Smiths had returned to the valley, but were
expected back in a week or such a matter.
Driskol and his son now asked me to remain with them and assist in
rounding up the cattle preparatory to leaving them for the winter. They
would pay me good wages and then, the Smiths returning, we would all go
home together. The free wild life of the prairie having an almost
irresistible charm for me, it did not require much persuasion to induce
me to remain.
Our task consisted in riding the river and tributary streams and driving
the cattle back on the range. The men at the ferry told us that the
Columbias were friendly and to be trusted. They cautioned us that the
country further up the river and Rock Creek was frequently raided by
roving bands of Snake Indians. These savages were hostile at all times,
and this was one reason it was desirable to prevent the cattle straying
too far and thus falling an easy prey to the Snakes. They also said it
would be prudent to keep a sharp lookout when riding too far south. We
continued riding and driving in the cattle for a couple of weeks, hoping
for the return of the Smiths before venturing too far. But they not
returning, we decided to go up Rock Creek above the cattle and drive
them down.
The first day we traveled leisurely along and made about twenty miles.
That night we camped and made our beds in a rye grass bottom, having
previously cooked our supper and riding until after dark. This was done
to prevent any roving band of Snakes that might be in the country from
discovering our camp and attacking us at disadvantage. The old gentlemen
Driskol was uneasy and he and his son watched our camp time about. I
offered to take my turn, but the old gentleman said "the boy will go to
sleep," an arrangement very satisfactory to a tired, sleepy-headed boy.
The next morning we packed up and rode to a favorable place and cooked
our breakfast. While we were eating an Indian rode into camp, who hailed
us in jargon and we assumed at once that he was a Columbia. He said he
had lost a horse while deer hunting and if we were going any further
south he would like to travel with us. We thought little of the matter
and readily gave permission, the more so as he carried a good rifle and
would be a welcome addition to our party in the event of a "scrap" with
the Snakes. As we proceeded up Rock Creek, we still found cattle tracks
and were loth to turn back. We halted at noon to rest our horses and
cook our dinner by the side of a pool in the bed of a creek. While the
younger Driskol was getting dinner, the elder Driskol keeping a watch, a
wild goose lit in the pond 20 feet away. Picking up my rifle I shot its
head off. I will now confess that if ever a foolish, thoughtless boy got
a scolding I got it then and there, from the elder Driskol. He declared
I was trying to bring "the Snakes right down to murder us all." I was
sorry of course for my thoughtlessness, but all the same I got my goose.
That evening that goose was the subject of many lectures, was in fact a
continued story.
As evening wore on and we were getting further and further away from our
camp on the John Day, we were more than usually careful. Patches of
willows, narrow canyons and high rye grass bottoms were avoided. In
fact, we kept on open ground where we could see an enemy several hundred
yards away. We figured that in an open field fight we could more than
hold our own, notwithstanding the fact that we were only four in number,
counting the Indian. But by-and-by, our traveling companion became a
source of considerable uneasiness. When questioned regarding his lost
horse he did not give straight replies, but was evasive and somewhat
contradictory, and Mr. Driskol began to have suspicions regarding his
friendly intentions. But what to do, or how to rid ourselves of his
presence, was a puzzling question. Besides, we felt that we were safer
where he could be watched than if out of our sight. That night, after
eating our suppers, we traveled some distance after dark and stopped on
a level piece of ground away from the creek bottom. We felt safer in the
open country than in the high rye grass, especially on account of our
Indian companion. We were very careful not to let the Indian see that we
were suspicious of him, and after unsaddling and unpacking our horses
all but the elder Driskol rolled up in their blankets, the Indian
choosing a spot about ten steps away from us. Before lying down, it was
deemed best to keep a strict watch on our fellow traveler, and if
necessary keep him with us if we had to make him a prisoner. Of course
nothing was said to him about keeping watch. During the night he was
several times detected, cautiously rising on his elbow and looking
around. Discovering the guard he would lie down with a grunt as if with
satisfaction.
When daylight came we started to saddle up and load our two pack horses,
intending to go some distance upon our return trip, before stopping for
breakfast. Saddles were on the riding horses and the Driskols were
loading the packs. I had been directed to keep a close watch on the
Indian, "and if he attempts to get away, shoot him," said the elder
Driskol. They were perhaps twenty steps away, and one of the pack horses
starting off, the young man went to bring him back. The old gentleman
was busy with the pack, when suddenly, quick almost as a flash, the
Indian leaped upon young Driskol's horse and started off. The movement
took me by surprise and for an instant I sat as if stupified. Then
seeing the rascal going like sin, I raised my rifle, took deliberate
aim, and fired. The Indian threw back his head and throwing his arms
aloft, plunged headlong into the grass.
"There goes that d----d boy, shooting another goose," said old gentleman
Driskol, almost without looking around.
The young man, however, saw his horse galloping in a circle back to the
other horses. Meantime I had dropped my muzzle loader and with revolver
stood looking at the Indian kicking in the grass forty rods away. Mr.
Driskol flow ran up to where I was standing and pointing to the Indian,
I said, "It wasn't a goose this time, Mr. Driskol."
We were now all thoroughly alarmed, and imagined the Snakes would be
down upon us in no time. Hastily fastening the packs, we then took the
lock off the Indian's gun and breaking the stock, threw it away. The
pony, belonging to the Indian was unsaddled and turned loose, and we
pulled out for the "home camp" in a hurry.
Why the Indian came to our camp we could never understand. He would have
stood a better chance of stealing our horses by watching the camp, then
slipping in upon us in the night and driving them away, unless it was to
throw us off our guard. The probabilities are that he was either a Snake
or a renegade Columbia or Umatilla Indian, and counted on getting our
horses. Finding we were on our guard, and seeing an opportunity of
"swapping horses" while the men were busy, paid no attention and gave no
thought to the boy. Certain it was our, or rather the old gentleman
Driskol's watchfulness, that saved us from being left afoot forty miles
from home. Whether he had confederates, we never knew, as we lost no
time in putting as many miles between us and the "Snake country" as
possible. During the day we kept in the open country, avoiding any point
where an advantage could have been taken of us. We of course talked over
the affair of the morning, but not once was the goose mentioned by Mr.
Driskol. He did not even refer to the goose when apologizing to me for
scoldings he had given me.
We arrived late at night at the ferry, and found everything in turmoil
of excitement. Two men, an old man and his son, Briggs by name, if I
remember correctly, had been killed by the Indians in Tye Valley, about
thirty miles away. The murders created intense excitement, all fearing
it was the signal for a general massacre of the settlers around the
Dalles and the isolated traders on the Walla Walla road. The Smith
brothers had returned and had been assisting the two men at the ferry in
fortifying the post. The house, a mere shack, was being walled in with
rock, port holes for the rifles being left. Our absence had created
uneasiness on the part of the Smiths, but they knew it would be futile
to attempt to find us. Besides, it was thought more than probable that
we had already been massacred and to undertake to find us would be only
to throw their own lives away.
Their surprise and pleasure was therefore great when we rode into the
station at 11 o'clock at night. They at once informed us of the murder
of the old man and his son, and heartily congratulated us when in return
we told them of our own adventure. The two men at the ferry were
positive that the Indian did not belong in that section, and by our
prudence, they said, we had saved our horses and probably our lives. The
next day we all joined in completing the fortifications, and when
finished felt that we could "stand off" two or three tribes. Yet,
notwithstanding our confidence, we felt that in the event of a general
outbreak we were still in a dangerous position and that every care
should be exercised. Upon my own part, I felt no uneasiness. Zim Smith
was there, a rollicking devil-may-care fellow, and I believed he alone
was the match for all of the Indians east of the Cascade Mountains. A
careful guard was maintained, however, our horses kept near at hand, and
we anxiously awaited results.
Several days thus passed. The Smiths and Driskols seriously discussing
the situation. They had ventured their all in the cattle speculation,
and to abandon them to the mercy of the red devils was an alternative
hard to contemplate. But what could four men and a boy do opposed by
hundreds of blood thirsty savages? Under all the circumstances, it was
finally determined to embrace the first opportunity of getting out of
the country. Our lives, they argued--I had no say--were worth more
than cattle. Besides, we could not save the cattle cooped up in a stone
fort as we were. We knew that the news would be carried to Walla Walla
and that returning miners would travel in strong parties.
A few days later a company of forty or fifty men came along, and as they
were well armed, we determined to join them. The two men at the ferry
also abandoned the place and went with us.
I omitted to say that Wall Cushman, one of the owners of the ferry, had
gone below some time before my arrival there, and I had no opportunity
of renewing my acquaintance of the spring before.
We arrived at the Dalles without incident worthy of mention. There I
sold my horse, saddle and bridle, rifle and revolver to a man who said
he was going on a prospecting expedition, and took a Columbia River
steamer to Portland. As horses and arms were in demand, not much trouble
was experienced in selling, and most of the company with which I was
traveling made similar disposition of their "outfits."
Going down the river, Zim Smith, who was quite a talker, told the story
of the goose in my presence and in the presence of a crowd. I was
terribly mortified, and informed his brother that "Zim was making fun of
me." He laughed and mollified my feelings so far as to say, "Zim is only
talking and means nothing by it." "In fact, he thinks you are a great
boy." But I had made up my mind that I had seen enough of the wild life
of the mines, mountains and plains; I would go home and attend school.
No more Indians, miners, and rough men for me. I had seen and
experienced enough, and was heartily sick of it all. I had experienced a
"Call of the Wild" and was satisfied. And I want to say to my young
readers again, whenever you experience a similar call--don't.
The trip home was made mostly on foot, the great flood of the early
winter of 1861-2 having washed out bridges and roads, seriously
interfering with stage travel. An occasional boat made trips as far as
Albany and Corvallis, but we failed to make proper connections. Hence
from Oregon City to Albany we traveled on foot, but it was a weary
journey in the mud.
Here, if the reader will pardon a digression, I will relate a little
anecdote illustrative of the times. We were passing through French
Prairie in Marion County. The spot, one of the richest and most
beautiful in all Oregon, derived its name from the fact that it was
settled principally by Canadian French, employees of the Hudson Bay
Company. They were typical frontiersmen, hospitable and generous to a
degree. We had asked at several farm houses for accommodations for the
night, but there was so much travel that all were full and running over.
Our party consisted of six, the Driskols, Smiths, Ben Allen and myself.
Trudging through the mud, all were tired and hungry. As we neared the
upper edge of French Prairie, Ben Allen remarked that he had an old
friend, a Frenchman, and he was satisfied we would be welcomed to his
home. He lived nearly a mile off the road, but that was better than
walking to Salem, six or seven miles. Accordingly, we turned off to the
home of Ben's friend. The old Frenchman received us with open arms. He
was simply delighted and gave us the best of everything the house
afforded. In fact, the old man fairly danced with delight that "Bin" and
his friends had paid him a visit.
Seated in home-made rocking chairs, before an open fire place in which
was a roaring fire of oak logs, it was, as Zim Smith expressed it,
"solid comfort." Finally supper was announced, and the announcement was
never more welcome than to that hungry crowd. Besides ham, vegetables
and other accompaniments of a farm house dinner, there was a certain
stew with dumplings. This was an especially toothsome dish, and all
partook freely and with relish. As we neared the end of the meal our
host exclaimed, addressing Mr. Allen:
"Well, Bin, how did you like the cat!"
"Cat, h--l" said Ben.
"Oh, yes Bin, he very fine cat. We fatten him three week."
Somehow, our dinner came to a sudden close. Urged by our host to have
more, all politely declined, "Bin" saying it was very good, indeed, but
he had eaten heartily and didn't care for more.
The next morning we bade our hospitable host adieu, before breakfast,
saying we were anxious to get to Salem as we expected to catch a boat
for Albany, Corvallis or possibly Eugene City.
That was the first cat I ever ate and since that time I have eaten bear,
wild cat, horse, mule, but as a matter of fact, I never ate a more
toothsome dish than the old Frenchman's cat--until I discovered it was
cat. Hence I am inclined to the opinion that it is all a matter of
education.
I arrived at home after Christmas and during the rest of the winter
attended the district school. Had I been told that that little district
school was destined to be the last I should ever attend, I possibly
should have better applied myself to my studies. I remained on the farm
that summer assisting in the general work. In the fall of 1862, Joaquin
Miller and Anthony Noltner started the "Herald," a weekly newspaper, at
Eugene City. Instead of going to school, as my father wished, I applied
for and obtained a position as "devil" in the office. Mr. Noltner was of
the opinion that the name was very appropriate in my case. However, I
soon gained the confidence and esteem of my employers. As evidence of
this, I remained three years, and during the time did not lose three
days, that is, if we except the several occasions when for a week or
two, the Herald was "excluded from the United States mails for disloyal
utterances." Publication would be suspended for a week or so and then
come out under another name. The columns would be filled with news and
"strictly literary matter" for a short time. Then Mr. Miller would
launch out and give expression to his opinion on things in general and
certain politicians in particular. After a few weeks something said
would incur the displeasure of the postmaster, and we would then have to
begin all over under a new name. And do you know, I grieve to admit it
now, but those little vacations came so regularly that I began to enjoy
them--I could go hunting.
Thus Miller and Noltner struggled along, issuing their publication under
three or four different names. There was talk at different times of
providing Mr. Miller a residence at Fort Alcatraz, with board and
lodging at the expense of the U. S. Government. Now, I may be "telling
tales out of school" but there are few left to care, save Mr. Miller and
the writer, and I trust that "Heinie" will pardon me in thus living over
the stirring times of our youth.
In the spring of 1864, I think it was, Mr. Miller sold his interest in
the paper to his partner, Mr. Noltner. After that the office had few
charms for me, and more and more my spirits bent to a "Call to the
Wild." This feeling became the more pronounced by reason of a little
misunderstanding with Major Rinehart who commanded the troops at that
time stationed at Eugene City. The circumstances leading up to the
"misunderstanding," briefly are that a friend, Henry Mulkey, had been
arrested for a political offense by order of Major Rinehart, and it had
been determined to send him to Ft. Vancouver and possibly to Alcatraz. I
went to Major Rinehart's headquarters and applied for a pass to see Mr.
Mulkey. That I played good-goody--lied like a tombstone in order to get
the pass, is not necessary here to state, but I got it and arranged an
escape with Mulkey. That the arrangement miscarried was due to Mr.
Mulkey, and not to the prudence of Major Rinehart or the failure upon my
part to carry out the program.
Be that as it may. Mulkey was re-captured, and my own arrest was
ordered. A little boy, God bless him, overheard Major Rinehart give the
order to Lieutenant Tichnor, and ran and told me. Now, I did not relish
the idea of a residence either at Ft. Vancouver or Alcatraz--nor did I
know how long it would last. Consequently I leaped upon the best horse I
saw standing hitched to the Court House fence and rode out of town,
sending the horse and saddle back by a son of "Uncle Jimmie" Howard.
That boy is now a Baptist minister and I seriously question if he would
now accommodate me so far as to return a "lifted horse."
Under all the circumstances, I concluded to absent myself permanently--
at least until Major Rinehart's soldiers should move on. Securing an
"outfit" I joined a small company in the mountains, crossing the
Cascades by McKinzie Pass.