YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

1935

-Sk.

Stories of Old Oregon

BY

GEORGE A. WAGGONER

Salem, Oregon:
statesman publishing co.
1905

COPYRIGHTED
BY GEO. A. WAGGONER
DECEMBER 29, 1904

TO THE PIONEERS
OF'OREGON

CONTENTS

Pagb
Oregon's* Pioneers  5
I.
Stories of Old Oregon  7
II.
A Test of Courage  23
III.
Adventures in the Mines  57
IV.
Adventures in the Mines  87
V.
Adventures in the Mines  107
VI.
Adventures in the Mines  127
VII.
How Captain Dobbins Was Promoted  145
VIII.
How Captain Dobbins Was Promoted  169
IX.
A Legend of Wallowa Lake  191

CONTE N TS— CONTINUED .
X.
Ned Leach's Story  201
XI.
Jack Hart's Encounter with Road Agents  223
XII.
Was It Luck or Providence  243
XIII.
Buckskin's Fight with the Wolves  261
XIV.
A Chance Meeting of Old Friends  275
XV.
Dandy Jim  281

(By courtesy of O. R. & N.)
MT. HOOD, OREGON.

Oregon's Pioneers.
How shall a tale of the West be told?
Who will write it in letters of gold?
Where is the one whose magic pen
Shall make its heroes live again?
Heroes who made a desert sod,
Touched as if by Aaron's rod,
Blossom o'er its wide domain
With flowers, fruit, and golden grain.
Patriots who watch and ward did keep
While all the nation was asleep;
Till every hill and every vale
Held touching, tragic, thrilling tale;
And western soil, from flood to flood,
Was enriched with patriot blood.
Where their campfire smoke has curled,
There our banner was unfurled;
While their cabins rose in air,
They were building house more fair.
From Missouri's tawny flood,
Where the painted savage stood,
To Pacific's golden gate,
They were building house of state.
True of hand and heart and eye,
They were building to the sky.
Well they builded; 'neath their domes
States and empires h»va +heir homes.

Stories of Old Oregon.

i.

Of all the emigrations from the Atlantic to
the Pacific coast, that of 1852 was the largest.
Fifty thousand people crossed the Missouri river in
that year, bound for Oregon and California. The
discovery of gold in the latter, and marvellous stories
of the mild climate and rich soil in the former, in
duced these people to brave all dangers and go in
search of the mythical Garden Spot of the World.
Father, mother, brothers, sisters, seven in all, our
family started from Winchester, Van Buren county,
Iowa, to join that daring crowd in its long journey
across the plains.
On the 21st day of April we crossed the Mis
souri at Council Bluffs, and with our teams took
up our march across the desert. I was then 10 years
of age, brother Thomas was four years older, and
Byrd three years younger than I; sister Emily was
a little tot of 5 years, and Frances a young woman
of 18. We had two teams of four yoke of oxen each,

8 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
a couple of horses, and two cows. I was too young
to realize the dangers or responsibilities of our
undertaking, and with my younger brother and
sister, might be said to be the irresponsibles of the
family. I had little to do but ride one of the horses
and drive the cows.
I should have admitted that there was one
danger that I was most keenly alive to. I was
mortally afraid of Indians. My father, a Ken-
tuckian, had told so many hair-raising stories of the
atrocious conduct of the red men on the borders
of Kentucky, when he was a boy, that my only ideal
of an Indian was that of a monster seeking for little
boys with a tomahawk and scalping knife in his
hand. We met our first Indians at Council Bluffs.
To speak truthfully I cannot say that I met them at
all, for I dived into a neighboring brush patch the
moment I saw them coming. I did not even wait
to announce their approach. I had a peep at them,
however. They were a couple of young Pawnees,
with red blankets around their shoulders and ver
million paint on their faces. They presented to
mother a paper addressed to whom it might con
cern, stating that they were good Indians, and would
probably be hungry, and that it was best to feed
them to insure a safe passage through their country.
Of course, they were fed. During the next few days

STORIES OP OLD OREGON 9
we saw many of them, and I soon lost my fear of
them and became greatly interested in their strange
manners and odd costumes.
We traveled about twenty miles a day, and
found good camping places and abundant grass for
our stock. We had to stand guard every night to
prevent the stock being stolen, as there were white
as well as red rascals on the plains. As the great
American desert, over which we passed, has since
that time been so thoroughly explored and widely
known; has, in fact, become, states and territories
with numerous thriving cities and profitable enter
prises. I shall not attempt to mention the streams,
valleys and mountains we crossed, or to give what
would be at this time a tedious detailed account of
our journey. Moreover, my memory holds no such
recollection ; I can recall only such incidents as made
the deepest impression on my mind at the time.
Our route was well marked. We simply fol
lowed the trail of pioneers more daring than we,
who had crossed years before. It was a sight to
see the long line of white covered wagons wending
their way. For more than half the journey we were
seldom out of sight of other trains, either before or
behind us. Our way lay up the north side of the
Platte river. We camped one day and crossed the
river to see Fort Laramie, at the mouth of the Lara-

10 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
mie river. The buildings were of adobe, and with
those of Fort Hall, of like construction, were all the
houses we saw until we reached the Cascades, on
the Columbia river, a distance of nearly 2,000 miles.
A day's journey from Laramie, we saw our first
buffalo. During the forenoon, hunters had ridden
off to the north to look for antelope. As we cor
ralled the wagons for the night we saw a great dust
storm approaching; a moment later there appeared
in front of it the lowered heads of a herd of buffalo.
We could hear shots and yells behind and knew the
hunters were driving the animals into camp. So
great was their fright that they did not see the
camp until within a hundred yards of it; scarcely
could they turn aside from the wagons, and one
actually struck a wagon in passing. Women and
children ran into the wagons, and the men grabbed
their rifles and commenced a fusilade. Our teams
became frightened, and a general stampede was
with difficulty averted. Order was restored in a
few moments and it was found that we had three
fine buffalo, killed within a hundred yards of camp.
We now had an abundance of meat and three fine
robes. As we had no means of dressing them, we
gave them to some Indians who came into camp.
They were warriors and did not care to soil their

STORIES OP OLD OREGON 11
hands, but sent some squaws for the robes the next
morning. Throughout the whole length of the Platte river
buffalo were seen in great numbers; sometimes for
miles ahead they could be seen moving across our
way. There were many stories of buffalo stamped
ing whole trains, and we were always on the lookout
for them. Once we were compelled to go into camp
early in the forenoon and wait for them to pass on
their way to the river for water; they were always
on the gallop, and seemed to be in a great hurry in
going or coming from their feeding grounds. An
telope, or prong horns, were quite common; jack
rabbits and sage hens were everywhere along the
entire route.
On the Platte river, cholera broke out among
the emigrants, and was a most terrible scourge. Our
train was severely afflicted with this most dreadful
disease. It claimed twenty-two victims in one
month's time; they were all buried in the desert
without coffins. The delay thus caused brought our
train among the hindmost ones, and was the cause
of much privation and suffering. Disease for both
man and beast seemed to be in the very air, and
gave a forcible contradiction to the theory that such
contagion is bred in thickly settled districts. There
was constant fear of Indians, and several times the

12 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
men were all under arms to repel what appeared
like an attack. Once, on Snake river, we had a gen
uine scare. Some Indians were in camp, and one
young warrior took a fancy to my sister Frances,
and asked father how many horses it would take to
buy her. Father answered, with a laugh, that she
was worth ten spotted ponies, as she was a very
good cook and had long, beautiful hair, and more
over, already had Indian moccasins on her feet.
The young lover took the whole thing in earnest
and went away. An hour later he returned with
a band of spotted ponies, and, reinforced by a dozen
comrades, demanded his bride. His wrath knew no
bounds when told that father was only joking. He
was a warrior of fame with a battle name a yard
long, which meant Wolf in the Grass, and would
stand no such foolishness; he had bought a wife
and was going to have her, or his people would mur
der us all. He gave us until sundown to decide
whether we were going to treat him right or not.
We soon found it was no trifling matter, as during
the evening several hundred of the red rascals came
into camp, and all declared we should complete the
bargain and give up the girl, or we would all be
murdered. We saw they only wanted an excuse for

STORIES OP OLD OREGON 13
*
attacking us, and all were alarmed, as the Indians
greatly outnumbered us.
So we begged for more time to consider the
matter, and to prepare the bride's mind for the
nuptials, which if we consented to do, should take
place in our camp with great ceremony and much
eating and dancing. This later proposal prevailed,
and we were given until the next evening to get
ready for the ceremony. Time was of much valu;:
to us, for during the following day all trains that
came in were told of our predicament, and willingly
joined forces with us to repel the advances of sis
ter's Indian lover. The women and children were
all in tears most of the time, and the men looked pale
and anxious. The Indians saw their mistake, and
looked with great disfavor on the reinforcements we
were receiving, each one of whom they tried to con
vert to their side of the question. When the sun
went to rest behind the low hills, we had fifty-six
men under arms and prepared to fight. As about
100 warriors, all in war paint, rode up, they were
told to stop outside the camp, while our little army
stood with rifles in hand.
The young chief rode forward, and in a loud
voice, demanded his bride, on penalty of death of
every man, woman and child in the camp. Father
had been chafing sorely over his thoughtless joke,

14 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
and had felt much more anxiety than he had ex
pressed, though he had not believed the Indians
would persist as they had. He was a Kentuckian,
a large and powerful man, and would have driven
the Indians from the camp before, had not there
been many lives besides his at stake. As the In
dian concluded his threat, father's Jacksonian blood
flashed in his face; holding his rifle in his right
hand, he sprang to the side of the young brave, and
jerking him to the ground with his left hand he
gave him a most unmerciful kicking and drubbing.
Fifty-five rifles were leveled from behind the
wagons, and as many deadly marksmen glanced
along their barrels toward the band of Indians. But
not an arrow flew, nor a shot was fired.
The Indians, seeing that to persist in their
demands was to bring on a battle in which their
bows and arrows would be opposed to rifles, gave
up the siege and we moved on, though for several
days we were on the alert for an attack.
When we came to a stream too deep to ford,
and there were many of them, we unloaded the
wagons and corked up the wagon beds and used
them for boats to cross in, swimming the horses
and cattle. Horse teams were constantly passing
us, as they could travel thirty or forty miles a day.
We met many men, traders and trappers, on horse-

STORIES OF OLD OREGON 15
back, and these gave us an opportunity of com
municating with friends, both before and behind
us. Another means of informing those behind us
of our progress, was to leave letters fastened to
sticks, left sticking in the ground by the roadside.
A very common practice was to write messages on
buffalo skulls and shoulder blades, found all along
in great numbers. The broad forehead, bleached
white, afforded ample room for a good long letter,
and many a cordial greeting and even tender billet
doux was left on these novel ivory tablets. Alto
gether, it seemed as if we had a system of telegraphy
the whole route, and nothing of importance hap
pened but what was known to all. It was wonder
ful how news would flash along the whole line of
travel, from one coast to the other.
When we reached Burnt river, game had be
come scarce, or was not to be found near the road,
and many persons were out of provisions and were
compelled to kill and eat oxen that had been work
ing hard for months. This kind of food was all
that many families had, and much sickness ensued.
Slower and slower the oxen dragged their weary
feet, and day by day some gave out and were left
behind. Hundreds of wagons, carts, and carriages,
were seen standing along the road, and the dead
cattle lay about in such numbers that it was diffi-

16 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
cult to find a camping place free from them. One
by one our faithful oxen and cows, worn out, had
to be left behind, until only one yoke remained; our
horses had been stolen by the Snake Indians. We
all had to walk, and when we came to a steep hill
we put our shoulders to the wheels to help the poor
oxen. In Powder River valley mother was taken sick
with cholera ; there was no physician to be had, and
after two days of suffering her loved ones gathered
about her to take a last farewell. No pen can por
tray that parting; no tones can utter the anguish
felt as we buried her there in that desert land, and
went on our way without her. But we must go or
perish. When we reached Grand Ronde valley we
were entirely without food of any kind. On the
site now occupied by the city of La Grande were
some thirty families camped, who were nearly as
destitute as ourselves. What was our joy to learn,
the evening we arrived, that some Oregonians with
horse teams had just come over the Blue mountains
to meet us and assist us through to the settlements.
Some fat cattle were brought from the Willamette;
one was slaughtered and we were furnished with
plenty of beef, flour, and other necessary food,
without money and without price.
We were informed that the provisions were

STORIES OF OLD OREGON 17
sent by the Portland merchants and people on hear
ing that the last of the immigrants were suffering
for food. I have never been able to learn the names
of our benefactors, nor have I ever seen mention of
the timely generosity in print; yet I know it was
treasured in the hearts of those starving and dis
heartened people ever afterward. Supplied with
provisions, we moved on in better heart, but still
very slowly. Our oxen, with sore feet and bodies
worn to skin and bones, could make only a few miles
a day. On the Umatilla river, one of our oxen gave
entirely out and could go no further; we left the
wagon and what few things we had, and, driving
the remaining ox, with some bed clothes on his back,
we moved on toward The Dalles. After weary days
we reached the place on the 8th day of October.
The first of the immigration had crossed the
Cascades with their teams, but the snow now lay
deep on the summit, and no one could cross it. Sev
eral hundred were trying to get boats to go down
the Columbia river, and each day some were start
ing down in canoes which they bought from the
Indians. Some made flatboats, and some were be
ing taken in yawl boats. There were no permanent
residents at The Dalles, but some soldiers were
building a log fort there. We secured two large In
dian canoes, fastened them about six feet apart, laid

18 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
a floor of boards across them, and with some others
we paddled out on the great Columbia with our novel
craft. What a bliss it was to move along without
the pain of walking on sore feet.
The elder members of our party seemed hope
ful ; the deep, steady current of the great river that
bore us along told them of a great inland empire to
the north, while the warm breeze that fanned our
faces spoke of sunlit lands and seas to the south.
When we reached the Cascades, we disembarked
and walked around the falls, a distance of four or
five miles; we then secured a fisherman's boat and
went on down. About the 1st of November we
landed a mile below the village of Portland, near
where the railroad depot now stands. Two hundred
destitute emigrants were camped there on the sand.
The day after our arrival, the drays, trucks,
wagons, carriages, and vehicles of all kinds, were
sent down to bring the emigrants into town. All
were moved, not one was left behind, together with
all possessions. We were taken to houses to shelter
us from the rain. Many went, I think, to a large
building once used as a hotel, and was, if my
memory serves me right, called the Columbia house.
We were furnished with clothing, provisions, and
firewood; physicians came to care for the sick, and
not a dollar was asked, or paid, for all this. The

STORIES OF OLD OREGON 19
same hands that had reached out to us when starv
ing beyond the mountains, now loaded us with com
forts and welcomed us to the new land.
No one not situated as we were could imagine
what a blessing such kindness was to us, and how
it caused us from the first to love our new home.
Who were the principal actors in this silent drama
of frontier life in Oregon we never knew. Grateful,
we made inquiry without avail. The pioneers of the
great Northwest city did not allow their alms to be
known of men. I know not how many yet survive,
who left with us that rain-soaked beach on that
bleak, November day, and many of our good Samari
tans must have passed to their reward. But even at
this late date I want it known that in that homeless
crowd of sufferers there was one motherless boy into
whose heart those acts of kindness sank deep; and
in all the years that have passed he has loved the
city of Portland, not because it has since grown into
a great metropolis, commanding respect for its
wealth and beauty, but for those acts of kindness
so long ago, and for the gratitude and love kindled
by them, which have warmed his own heart through
life. I remember that the streets of Portland were
very muddy, and that a little way back from the
river, probably on Third street, the great stumps

20 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
were still in the ground; a little farther back, the
forest of fir hemmed the village in. A few days
after our arrival Colonel Chapman's family offered
a temporary home to my two sisters, and father and
we boys started up the valley. We found a man
who set us across the Willamette river in a canoe;
there was a ferry in use, but the boat had met with
an accident and could not run.
Through the heavy timber along a little, nar
row, muddy road, we made our way on foot to Ore
gon City, a little town under the hill, older still
than Portland, and claiming to be the principal city
of Oregon. Salem was next, only a few houses and
a county seat. So much water was encountered in
the valley that we took to the hills, and lather at
last located a donation claim on the foothills above
Brownsville, in Linn county, a beautiful place of
gently rolling, grassy lands, a great mountain peak
above, and the broad, beautiful valley in full view
below. Everywhere on our tramp from Portland
we met the same kindly welcome which had greeted
us there, and although we were not entirely with
out money, not a cent would anyone take from us
on the whole journey.
Our neighbors, what few we had, had been
several years in the valley, and were equally kind,
generous, and united in efforts to assist us to get a

STORIES OF OLD OGEGON 21
:start in life again. There was plenty of work to
do, and at good prices, and so we soon felt quite
comfortable, had a little farm under cultivation,
and were raising some cattle and horses. Three
years of this quiet life, and the Indian wars of 1855
and 1856 broke out, both north and south of us.
Many settlers and their families were murdered, and
volunteers were called for by the territorial gov
ernment. I was very anxious to go, for I had already
learned to shoot a rifle with the best, but father
would not hear of it, and so I had to work on the
farm while thrilling news of battles was brought
by every mail. Many of our neighbors went to fight
the Rogue river Indians in Southern Oregon. Some
•of them never returned. The Indians were well
armed, and made a determined fight with Old John,
George Limp and Tyee Sam as leaders. Many were
the thrilling stories heard of the heroic defense made
by some of the settlers when the Indians first
broke out.
One woman, Mrs. Harris, and her 12-year-old
¦daughter, after the father and husband was shot
¦down in his door, defended the house for thirty-six
hours, until they were rescued. After Harris was
shot he lived long enough to tell his wife how to
load the rifle. The cabin had loop holes, and Mrs.

22 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
Harris, with the rifle, guarded one side of the house-
while the daughter, with a six-shooter, defended the
other. The little girl's arm was soon broken by a
shot, and with her left arm hanging at her side, she
kept her watch and fired.
The Rogue river, or Digger Indians, as we
called them, were driven from the place and finally
defeated and taken to the Grand Ronde reservation,
and peace was restored. Of all the settlers of Ore
gon, those of the southern portion have suffered
most from Indians. The Diggers were always un
friendly and treacherous, and murdered the whites
whenever an opportunity offered. A friend, who
lived on Coquille river, gave me the following ac
count of their hostility and treachery before the war
broke out, and of the dangers encountered by two
settlers, which may well be called a test of courage:

A Test of Courage.

ii.

The sun had gone down behind the fir-topped
hills on a November evening early in the '50s, and
the elements were gathering their forces about the
headwaters of the Coquille river for a stormy night
as a pioneer, carrying a deer on his back, reached
his lonely cabin. Only half an hour before he had
gone out in search of game. His return after so
short an absence would indicate what was true,
that Southern Oregon was at that time a hunter's
paradise. This man's name was Williams.
About a year before our story opens he had
built his cabin and commenced his solitary life full
ten miles from his nearest neighbor. Those who
knew him called him Captain Williams. Whether
this was a complimentary title received somewhere
in the Southern states in accordance with a custom
among those hospitable Southerners, or whether he
had been baptized "Captain" in some battle with
the natives of Oregon, was not known.
As he was hanging his burden on one of the

24 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
logs which had been left protruding from the corner
of the cabin for such purposes, he was surprised to
see approaching an Indian, one of the Digger tribe,
known throughout the Northwest as the most treach
erous and cunning of all the Indian bands.
Instantly the pioneer's rifle was brought into
a position for ready use.
"Nika close tilicum, nika ticky mitilite copa myka
house uckok polakalee hiuh snash chako."
"All right," said Williams, answering in the
Digger's own language. "It is going to be a bad
night. You can come in if you are a friend; my
house is always open to my friends."
It was surprising that this Indian sought shel
ter even from a storm in a white man's dwelling.
There had been bad blood between the two races
for some time and 'they generally communicated with
each other with the rifle and bow and arrow. If the
Indians were successful the transaction was closed
with the tomahawk and scalping knife; if not, they
lay where they fell.
Williams treated the Indian as if he believed his
professions of friendship were sincere, but watched
every move he made. After supper and the in
evitable smoke was over, the Indian showed some
gold nuggets, which he said he found on the Sixes
river, about sixty miles from there, and wanted

A TEST OF COURAGE 25
Williams to bring some white men down to the
mines, promising to show where the gold was found
and treat them as friends. The next morning, after
the Indian, with many professions of friendship,
had gone, Williams sat thinking about his strange
visitor. If there had been no other reason to doubt
him his looks were sufficient to condemn him, for
villian was written all over him, from head to
heel. His face was disfigured by a deep scar across
his right cheek, as though a bullet had plowed a
furrow there, and his eyes shone with that peculiar
stealthy expression so disagreeable in man or beast.
While Williams believed "Scar Face," as he
afterwards called him, was laying a trap for him,
he also believed there was gold to be found on the
Sixes river, and had for some time been thinking
of going there to prospect. Indian or no Indian,
treachery or not, he resolved if he could find a com
panion to take the chances with him to go and see.
There was one man whom he preferred above all
others for such a journey — Jake Hedden. To him
he went and told what he wanted.
"I guess I'm the man you'r lookin' fur. I'm jist
dyin' fur a little outdoor air. These hills are too
short fur me. I can't git a good breath among 'em.
I want to get where mountains has some size to 'em.
If we don't find any gold maybe we'll git a shot at

26 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
a Digger. I've been nearly dead for an Injin fight
ever since the sneakin' devils killed brother Jim. I
wouldn't felt so cussed mean about it if they had
give Jim a show, but they never showed thar heads
until he passed along the trail, and then shot him in
the back; filled him full of arrers. We wus out
huntin' an' he wus only a little way from camp. I
heard him whistlin' jist before he was shot. Poor
Jim! He wus the kindest-hearted boy that ever
lived. He wus too good for an Indian fighter,
he wus always whistlin'. He called me when they
shot him. I never thought of Indians. I knowed
Jim had left his gun in camp and thought he had
jumped a grizzly. When I got there, Jim was layin'
in the trail with six arrers through him and a
dozen Diggers was trying to scalp him; but he wus
dyin' with his knife in his hand and they were
afraid to come near him. I brung Jim's gun and
pistol and was right on 'em when they seed me. I
didn't see the In j ins neither, I wus runnin' so fast.
How they all cum to miss me I can't tell. I expect
my being so big scared 'em. But I didn't miss, run
nin' or standin', I never missed a shot. They got
behind trees, but they couldn't shoot without showin'
tharselves. They kept runnin' and I followed up as
long as I could see any. When I got back, Jim wus
dead. He hadn't tried to pull any arrers out, but

A TEST OF COURAGE 27
he scratched out 'Good-by, Jake,' with the point of
his knife on the ground in the trail before he died.
Well, I couldn't do nothin'. You know, I had killed
ten Diggers, but all the Diggers that ever wus born
wouldn't have paid me for Jim. I packed him to
camp. He wus a little fellow, and I am a purty
strong man, but that wus the heaviest load I ever
carried. I brought Jim out here with me and prom
ised ma to take care of him and thought I wus doin'
it till he was killed. I haven't writ home yet. I jist
can't tell 'em Jim's dead. Yes, I can go with you
down on the Sixes. The only thing that bothers
me is my wife. She don't like fur me to go among
the In j ins, but I can fix her all right. She can stay
with her pap and I've got lots of ammunition and
grub. Don't say anything to her about Injins; jist
talk about prospectin' for gold, and I don't think
she will kick."
After the matter had been talked over with
Mrs. Hedden she did not object to her husband going
prospecting, and cheerfully made preparations for
his journey. The day they started she followed
Captain Williams down to the spring, where he
had gone for some water, and said:
"I want to talk about Jake. I want him to go
because he don't want to stay poor when pap is well
off. He wants me to have as much as I always did.

28 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
Pap didn't want me to have him, you know. I don't
think he had anything agin him but his bein' so
big. Pap don't like anything bigger than he is. But
Jake beat him at last. I believe I'll tell you about it.
"He always said I shouldn't have Jake, until
one day, just before we got married, one of the cows
fell in the well. Pap was runnin' round, huntin'
ropes and poles to git her out. It was old Brin, and
the children was all cryin'. Jist then Jake come up.
He was coming up to see me. He had on his biled
shirt and looked awful nice. He took old Brin by
the horns and pulled her out. Pap never said a
word agin him after that. But that ain't what I
wanted to tell you. I want you to try to keep out
of trouble with the Injins. You don't know Jake as
well as I do. He's crazy to fight 'em ever since his
brother was killed. He has been at me to go to
pap's and let him go down on the coast to kill In
jins. If it wasn't for me and our boy he would do
nothin' but hunt Diggers all his life. Now, don't.
let Jake get into a fight if you can help it. If the
Injins do come on you Jake will stay with you. He
will never run. If you get hurt he will stay and
fight for you as long as he lives. He will never back
down from anything.
"Now, I want you to promise me to stand by
Jake, as I tell you he will stand by you. If he gets.

A TEST OP COURAGE 29
hurt I want you to promise not to leave him. Say
you will stick to him and I will feel better while
you are gone."
Williams saw tears gathering in her eyes, and
taking her hand, said:
"Mrs. Hedden, all you say of Jake is true, and
I solemnly promise to stand by him. We will either
come home together or both stay in the mountains.
If the Diggers get him they will get me. But don't
be uneasy, the Diggers fight mostly with bows and
arrows and are careful about coming near men who
carry rifles and Colt's revolvers."
"Good-bye, Mary," said Jake, after .giving his
wife a hearty kiss. "Pap will be down after you this
evenin'. Take good care of yourself an' the boy.
I'm goin' to bring him some nuggets for him to play
with when I git back."
Mounted on stout ponies and leading a pack
horse, the prospectors started for Sixes river. This
is a short, rapid stream which takes its rise in the
coast mountains and empties into the ocean six miles
north of Port Orford. It runs through a wild jungle
of mountain peaks, at whose feet it has dug chasms
as deep, dark and dreadful as any found on the
coast. This wild region was known to be the strong
hold of the Indians and had never been explored
by white men. Only such views were had as could

30 , STORIES OF OLD OREGON
be obtained from distant mountain tops. These
daring hunters were going into a trap which they
knew had been deliberately set for them, among
hundreds of hostile Indians. Going, too, with the
full belief that their skill in mountain craft, marks
manship and superior arms would enable them to
defeat anything they might meet. One of them had
no motive of hostility toward the Indians, the other
no more than might be engendered on the frontier
at any time in the breast of one who had suffered
the loss which he had.
From the standpoint of a higher civilization, sur
rounded by different circumstances and conditions, it
might appear that they were reckless ; that for some
cause they were weary of life, and, knowing it to be
worthless to them, sought to throw it away in some
encounter. On the contrary, they were well bal
anced, cheerful men, who had much to hope from
the development of the country in which they had
made their homes. They were in a land of plenty,
and Hedden had a handsome wife and child. They
were simply pioneers, performing an act of courage
and self-reliance, similar to those performed by their
ancestors ever since the landing of the pilgrims in
America. The genuine hardihood and true nobility
of the American pioneer, the advance guard of our
civilization, has never been fully understood and

A TEST OF COURAGE 31
recognized and will not be for many years to come.
All heroism has its critics. The critic has his day,
but the hero survives him. The Anglo-Saxon uses
the instruments of his progress roughly and they
may suffer neglect, but in the fullness of time he
will gather them to be held as precious relics in
his early struggles. In pursuance of a great law of
nature, civiization invades the realm of the savage.
There is, there can be no mingling. The Chris
tian can no more leap the chasm of a thousand
years than the savage. It is a war of extermina
tion. Disciples of Fenimore Cooper and other sen
timentalists, who have shrunk from the dangers of
this contest and who have never encountered a more
formidable foe than one who has wielded a quill
in opposition to their mild emotions, may deplore
the fate of the savage and censure his treatment at
the hands of the pioneer, but science, culture and re
ligion, those grand aggressors in their line, cannot
long refrain from giving honor to those who stood
between them and destruction at the hands of the
savage foes. The heroic pioneer will live in history
down to the remotest changes of time, while his
traducer will be forgotten before the hero he de
nounced has reached the zenith of his fame.
The first day's journey was a short one and our
prospectors camped without meeting with any ad-

32 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
ventures. The stream beside their camp was full
of mountain trout and the speckled beauties were
enjoyed with the keen relish of youthful appetites.
The second day's travel was over mountains so
rugged that even their hardy ponies were taxed to
their fullest strength. As the sun was going down,
and our hunters were looking about for a suitable
place to camp, they came to the crossing of a small
stream, in the banks of which was worn by game,
deep cuts reaching down to the water on either side.
Brush and overhanging boughs prevented their see
ing the streams until they were both in the cut and
Williams had reached the water. As they glanced
across, there in the shallow water, not twenty feet
from them, stood an old grizzly and her two cubs.
The surprise was mutual and the conflict inevitable.
Neither party could safely retreat. Had Fenimore
Cooper been in Williams' place the world would
probably have never read some of his later stories.
But Williams' gun went to his face like a flash and
a bullet was planted square between the threatening
eyes. It was a fatal shot and no more was needed.
The cubs fell easy victims. It was fortunate that
Williams fired so quickly and with such accurate
aim. Had his ball struck an inch from the center
it would have glanced harmlessly from the monster's
head and this story would have been cut short here.

A TEST OP COURAGE 33
Those who are unacquainted with the ferocious
nature of the grizzly bear can form no idea of the
danger the hunters were in. Like all other wild
animals, the grizzly is afraid of man and will gen
erally shun an encounter with him unless surprised
by a sudden meeting, or when the mother is with
her young, in which case she never asks nor gives
any quarter. The enormous size and strength of
the grizzly render him, to those who know him, the
most dreaded of all the wild beasts. The world-re
nowned African lion, whose terrible roar the school-
books tell us shakes whole forests, does not compare
with him, in either size or strength. Neither does
he display the courage or vitality of the grizzly. A
full grown one weighs about 2,000 pounds, the skin
on his neck and shoulders is an inch thick and he
has been known to pursue and kill a hunter after
two rifle balls had pierced his heart. The age in
which man delights to see wild beasts fight has
passed, but to correct classical stories, and for the
purpose of taking the starch out of some of the
traditions of the old world, it would be well if an
intercontinental meeting were arranged between his
majesty, the king of the jungles, and the lord of
the Sierras.
Any man who ever saw a full grown grizzly, or
even where one had placed his foot in the mud,

34 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
would cheerfully risk a purse on his mountain lord
ship. Had young Sampson encountered a grizzly
bear instead of a lion, Delila would have been spared
the shame of the betrayal of her husband, and the
Philistines would have escaped a humiliating defeat
with an ignoble weapon.
Camp was made near where the grizzlys fell.
The old bear's woolly skin softened the hunters'
couch, the cubs furnished excellent steaks and
roasts, while the ponies found abundant grass on
the creek flats. Hedden was an enormous eater.
They had traveled from daybreak until dark with
out food and he did the young bears justice. Will
iams used to laughingly declare Hedden devoured
one of the small bears before he went to rest on
the mother's skin.
Shortly after sunrise on the following morning
they started, after christening their camping place,
which, in memory of their encounter, was called
Bear Flat. This name it retains to this day. On
the fourth day from home they came to Sixes river
and selected a favorable looking place to pros
pect. On sinking the first hole they found gold
sufficient to encourage them to prepare to thoroughly
examine the river bed and adjacent gulches for dig
gings. The first thing to do was to secure their
camp against attack from Indians. They selected a

A TEST OF COURAGE 35
little mound, from which emerged a spring, and
then, with the aid of loose rock which was lying
handy, they built a wall completely around it, leav
ing loopholes at convenient places. With bark from
cedar trees they made a good shelter from rain and
soon were quite comfortably camped. They con
cluded to build a small wing dam in the river in
order to work the bedrock. They had been working
at this dam about ten days when they discovered
moccasin tracks in the river bottom near their camp.
An investigation showed there had been about
twenty Indians prowling around their little camp
the night before. After this, only one worked while
the other stood guard. One morning, as they were
leaving camp, the Indians, who had secreted them
selves nearby, gave them a shower of arrows, luckily
none of which took effect. With a bound, our pros
pectors were within their little fortification prepar
ing for defense. It was some time before an Indian
was seen. Occasionally an arrow would whiz over
head, but in vain Hedden and Williams tried to get
a shot at the skulking Diggers. Towards evening
they grew bolder and sent their arrows showering
about the fort, sometimes falling within the en
closure. "Look out," said Williams, "those arrows are
poisoned; don't get hit by one."
The Diggers, finding the boys did not fire, and

36 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
knowing there were but two of them, rose from
their hiding places and charged upon them. Now
was their time, and rifle and pistol, for the first
time, awoke the echoes among the mountain peaks
which, rolling the startling sounds from one to an
other, proclaimed the doom of the savage. Not a
shot missed its mark. Without daring to come over
the wall the Diggers turned and ran to cover, leav
ing eight or ten of their number where they fell.
"The cowardly skunks can't stand fire," yelled
Hedden. "I've a notion to follow 'em."
"Never," said Williams. "It would be certain
death. Besides we have got some business here. I
saw one Digger squat behind our wall. He didn't
run with the rest. He's got some grit in him, and
we must be careful how we handle him. You keep
a lookout for the others and I will climb over and
see what he is doing."
Williams got over the wall on the opposite side
of the Digger and commenced crawling around to
ward him, keeping his pistol ready for instant use.
The Digger heard him coming and crawled around
the other way. Hedden could get a glimpse of them
as they passed around.
"Must I come and help you?" he asked.
"No; keep inside, but pass around behind him

A TEST OP COURAGE 37
and make a little noise so he will think I am still
after him."
Jake did as he was told. The Digger, thinking
he was still pursued, crawled on. He never knew
the deception practiced upon him. Williams' pistol
ended his career while he still thought his foe was
behind him. Williams recognized him at once as
the Indian who had come to his cabin and invited
him to come to hunt for gold on Sixes river. To
his belt was fastened a small buckskin purse, in
which were found the identical nuggets shown to
Captain Williams.
"Here, Jake, take these to your boy; you may not
be able to find any yourself."
About sundown, great numbers of Indians were
seen gathering, but they kept at a distance until
it began to grow dark, when they built fires, en
circling the fort about 300 yards distance. When
Williams saw this he was thoughtful for awhile, and
then said :
"I'll tell you what, Jake, I don't like the looks
of that. There are not less than 200 Indians around
us. As soon as it gets dark they will leave a few
around the fires for us to look at, the rest will crawl
close to us, then they will raise a whoop and pile

38 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
right over that wall. They intend to do it, Jake, as
sure as you are born."
?<If they do, we'll give 'em hell. I'd give my
ranch to have a hundred of 'em in this pen."
"But," said Williams, "even if we killed every
one of them one of us would be very likely to get
a poisoned arrow. Now I don't like to leave our
camp outfit and horses, and I don't like to run, but
if we ever get out of this we've got to start in the
next half hour. If we can reach the river before the
Diggers come we are all right."
Jake's calm, blue eyes flashed fire. "Do as you
please," he said, "I cum down here to fight Injins,
an' I ain't goin' to run now I've found 'em."
Williams was silent a moment, then said:
"Jake, your wife, with tears in her eyes, asked
me to keep you from gettin' hurt. I promised to
try to do it. I know if we do not leave here in half
an hour you will never see her and your boy again.
If you stay, I will stay. I will never go back to tell
her the Diggers got you."
Hedden's face had softened while Williams spoke
of his wife and child. The fire faded from his eyes
as he answered: "All right, I'll go; we can cum
back to finish our dam when the water gits low
and we'll bring enough men with us to clean out

A TEST OF COURAGE 39
the whole Digger tribe. But I do hate to leave jist
now, I swar."
In five minutes they silently left camp and
started for the river. When nearly there they ran
into an ambush. About twenty diggers were secreted
near the trail. A hand to hand fight lasted a mo
ment; when, clubbing their guns, they beat the
Diggers down and reached the heavy belt of timber
on the river bottom where the Indians would not
dare follow them.
"I got an arrow and if it is poisoned I had
better get it out," said Williams, "there it is," and
he threw it on the ground. "But it leaves an ugly
looking wound."
The arrow, with flint head an inch broad, had
penetrated the right groin to a depth of six inches,
severing a large vein or artery, from which the
blood was flowing rapidly. The position of the
wound rendered it impossible for the blood to be
stopped by a bandage. Moreover, the Indians,
afraid to follow into the thick timber, could be
heard shouting to one another as they ran along
the open ground, intending to again surround the
hunters and prevent them from going up the river.
Their plans were thoroughly understood by Wil
liams, who knew the only chance to escape lay in
eluding the Indians and preventing them from sur-

40 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
rounding them again. In his condition this was
difficult to do. The Diggers had taken their horses
and there was no hope of regaining them.
"Can you travel, Cap?" said Jake.
"0, yes, I'm all right, but ought to try to stop
this blood some way."
"No, let it bleed. I'm afraid of pisen. As long
as it bleeds its all right. You've got a puty bad
shot in a bad place, too, but keep your grit up
and I'll stay with yer till the last dog's dead. I'm
for gettin' back to the fort and then we'll make 'em
pay for this."
"We can never get there, Jake. Besides there
is nothing left to eat by this time. They would
starve us out and make us fight the whole band on
open ground. No, we've got to run. It is our
only show, Jake. We can't kill two hundred In
dians, besides, if I'm poisoned I ought to get where
I can get some medicine for it."
"All right, Cap. Runnin' or fightin' I'm your
man. Let's go."
They ran along the river bank, keeping in the
timber as much as possible. After awhile the Dig
gers appeared to have given up the chase, as they
could no longer be heard. There was a trail leading
up the river on the open ground above the timber,
but they dared not follow it for fear of ambush. At

A TEST OF COURAGE 4i
daylight they had traveled about twenty miles with
out hearing anything of the Diggers. Williams had
become very weak from loss of blood. When Jake
was able to see his face he knew he could go but
little further without rest! The logs and brush on
the river bottom rendered their progress slow and
laborious. They concluded to try the trail. About
sunrise, as they were resting a moment, a clatter
was heard, and looking up they saw about a dozen
Diggers tin ponies following them. They came over
a little hill in sight about a hundred yards distant.
There was a crack of a rifle and the foremost Digger
fell from his horse. The rest turned and ran, the
dead Digger's horse following them.
"Did you shoot?" Jake asked.
"No," answered a voice just above a whisper, "I
tried to but could not raise my gun. I am very
weak and can't walk much farther. Do you think
the Diggers will come again?"
"Not for awhile, yit. We must git in the timber
again." They left the trail and again sought the river
bottom. It was with great difficulty Williams walked
along slowly for about a mile, when he sank to the
ground in a dead faint. Jake ran to the river and
brought some water in his hat with which he bathed

42 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
his face and temples. In a few moments Williams
opened his eyes.
"I'm all right now, Jake. Sit down, I want to
talk to you. I have been thinking over what I am
going to say all night. It won't take me long to say
it. You see I can't walk, the blood is nearly out of
my body, my wound has stopped bleeding and is
very painful. I am certain that arrow was poisoned.
Now, Jake, I promised your wife to keep you from
being killed by the Diggers and I want to do it. I
have walked all night in great pain to save you, for
I knew an hour after I was shot I could never reach
the settlements and I don't believe a doctor could
save my life if I was there now. There is no one
depending on me, you have a wife and child. The
Diggers haven't left us, they will go around that
hill to get ahead of us. The whole band will come
on in an hour or two, we will be surrounded with
no earthly chance of escape. You can do me no
good and I've got to say it, Jake — we must part. I
want to do it now. I want you to go while you can
get away. You can come back and bury me. Now,
don't say a word, Jake. Help me down near the
water and then go."
Just then a shout on the hill proved Williams was

A TEST OP COURAGE 43
correct; that the Indians were still following them
and no doubt had discovered their retreat.
"Come, Jake, don't loose a minute but go. I can
get to the water myself. Go before they get around
the hill."
During William's talk, Jake had stood, his face
the very picture of astonishment. That look gave
place to one of heroic resolve as he answered : "To
all that talk, I say no! You don't know Jake Hed
den or you wouldn't a sed a word of it. I'll never
leave you while there is breath in ye. If ye die I'll
bury ye as decently as I ken before I go. I'm not
certain I'll go then as long as there's any Diggers
left. My wife told me what you promised her and
now I say to you what you said to her, 'We will
come home or both stay in the mountains together.'
If the Injins get you they'll git me. I could never
look Mary in the face agin if I went home to tell
her I left you to die in the mountains and took care
of myself. We've got lots of powder an' lead, we'll
keep on the open ground whar the Diggers dasen't
come and we'll go in together."
"You forget," said Williams, "I can hardly stand
on my feet and couldn't walk half a mile to save my
life. I tell you my strength is entirely gone. If I

44 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
had been walking to save my own life I would never
have suffered what I did last night."
"I don't care if you ain't got no strength. I've
got it. I'm gittin' stronger every minute. I kin
carry you on my back and whip the Diggers too.
Cap, it's no use sayin' any more, it don't do no good ;
it jist tires you to talk. I aint made of the kind uv
stuff to leave a dyin' man in the mountains. I'll
pack you home if I have to eat steaks out of them
cussed Diggers to git strength to do it."
Williams noted the expression on Jake's massive
features as he said this and divining something of
the nobility of the man's soul he burst into tears.
Jake took him on his back, holding him with one
hand and carrying his gun in the other. He waded
the river and started up an open ridge, avoiding
brush or timber which might conceal the Indians..
Many of them were in sight, but they dared not
come within reach of Jake's deadly rifle. They fol
lowed along, trying to get some advantage, but Jake-
changed his course whenever the Diggers got ahead.
Williams fainted twice during the day, but revive''
again on being laid on the damp ground. He suf
fered most excruciating pain and sometimes ap
peared lifeless, but Hedden held him upon his hercu
lean shoulders, with the tireless grip of an ir n
hand, and strode through rapid streams and over

A TEST OF COURAGE 45
rugged hills with scarcely a pause. They had
brought some food with them. Williams could not
eat but Hedden devoured bread and bacon with the
appetite of a famished wolf. He had begun to be
lieve the Diggers had given up the chase when he
was undeceived by discovering them in a novel way.
He was toiling along on a little ridge which joined
the main or dividing one between two -small streams
about a quarter of a mile ahead, when he saw three
deer ahead, a little to the right of his course. At
first he thought to approach and kill one of them to
get some venison, as his bread and meat was nearly
gone. For this purpose he descended into a ravine
on his right and went cautiously forward until with
in rifle shot of the deer. As he laid his burden
down and was in the act of raising his rifle to his
face, he saw the deer were not looking at him but
towards something in which they seemed deeply in
terested near the end of the little ridge. Cautiously
squatting to the ground, he watched the deer. He
soon became convinced it was not one object which
alarmed them, for they changed the direction of
their gaze repeatedly and showed alarm which
proved it was not other deer they saw. Hedden was
only a moment concluding the Diggers had seen
him coming up the little ridge and secreted them
selves where it joined the hill. He believed they

46 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
were yet moving about hunting hiding places as
the deer indicated the objects they were looking at
were not stationary, but moving. Williams was too
nearly unconscious to have a care what was going on,
so, without explaining the predicament to him, Jake
passed quietly up the ravine until he came to a
large pine tree which had fallen from the hillside,
the top reaching the ravine. Lying flat upon the
ground he crawled along the side of this log, up
the hill until, he gained the excavation made by the
tree at its root in falling. Peeping through the
spreading roots of the pine, he saw his surmise
was correct. A number of Diggers were crawling
about, trying to secret themselves in the short grass
and fern, to await Hedden's coming up the ridge.
Never were savages more completely fooled. They
expected Hedden to walk unawares into the ambush
while he was lying, completely sheltered, within
easy range of their exposed position. They awoke
to a knowledge of their perilous situation at the
crack of Hedden's rifle and by the death of one of
their number. A shower of arrows came in th<;
direction of Hedden's position, all of them falling
short. Again the deadly rifle spoke and another
Digger stopped worming himself through the grass.
The rest sprang to their feet and ran for their lives.
It was now necessary for Jake to change his course,

A TEST OF COURAGE 47
as the Diggers ran in the direction he was going
and it would not not do to risk another ambush. As
long as the Diggers were behind him there was
little danger. His policy was to show himself going
in one direction until the Indians had gotten ahead,
then to take another course, leaving them to wait
where he had no intention of going. This rendered
his journey very tedious, causing him to travel many
miles out of his way. At dark he paused a few
moments to eat a little bread and rest and then
continued his journey through the night. Soon after
dark it commenced to rain. A storm came on, one
of those terrific thunder storms which sometimes
visit the mountains in Southern Oregon. The rain
descended in torrents. Still bearing his burden,
Jake grouped his way. Nature was giving heroic
treatment to the wounded man but he seemed to
revive under it, for, when Jake, fearing he would
chill to death in the storm, had paused, Williams was
able to sit up and talk a little. His wound was badly
swollen and so painful that Hedden, taking his own
coat and Williams' leather belt, constructed a kind
of truss to support Williams upon his back so he
could carry him without giving him so much pain.
"Jake, you look terrible, this is killing you. Can't
you leave me here until you get help to take me in?"
"No, we wont take no chances. The Injins might

48 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
find you. I'm all right, I'm gittin' stronger every
minit. Did I fall down with you ary time, old boy?"
"I don't know," said Williams, "I have been
dreaming most of the time. I thought I was on an
ocean voyage, going around the horn. Sometimes
the billows were terrible; then it would seem we
were going down to the bottom of the ocean. I ex
pect that was when you were crawling over some
big logs."
"That's it," said Jake, "the Diggers chased me
up and down the hills so much it is a wonder you
didn't git sea sick. Our grub's all gone but whin
it gits light I'll kill a deer and maybe ye can eat some
breakfast with me. 0, we're all right. We'll git
thar, I tell ye. I'm stronger than I was when we
started." With these cheerful words, Jake beguiled the
wounded man of his pain and made light of his own
fatigue, but his haggard face showed the terrible
exertions he had undergone. He had a will equal
to his monstrous form and courage which nothing
but death could conquer.
The storm had passed away and the moon shone
clear. Again, they went forward. Before sunrise,
Jake killed a fine fat deer and, building a small fire,
soon prepared their breakfast. He did it ample

A TEST OF COURAGE 49
justice but Williams had relapsed into a semi-uncon
scious state from which he could not be aroused.
"Dead or alive I'll carry him home," said Jake
as he again took his inanimate comrade on his back
and trudged on.
No Indians were seen during the day. When
night came Jake was still making his way slowly
toward the settlement. He was wasted and worn,
his clothes were torn into shreds, his feet were
nearly bare ; but still he toiled on, shaping his course
only by the stars.
When morning dawned again, he was on top of
a high mountain, in sight of the little valley which
held his home. He frequently examined Williams,
who still breathed but gave no other sign of life.
"Dead or alive, I'll carry him home," repeated
Jake. But now Jake's strength began to fail. His
step was unsteady and knees trembled as he walked.
Few men who have ever lived could have endured
what he had. But his courage never wavered. Once,
after climbing a steep hill, he sunk to the ground
exhausted. After a moment he rose, muttering to
himself, "We'll either both go home together or both
stay in the mountains." He left his rifle, trusting
to his revolver, and staggered on. When within five
miles of home he suddenly came upon an Indian
camp and was overjoyed to find, instead of being

50 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
hostile Diggers, they were a friendly family with
whom he was acquainted and who belonged to an
other tribe who had never taken up arms against
the whites. Even these Indians, inured as they were
to sights of suffering, threw up their hands in
horror when they saw approaching their camp, this
wasted mountain giant with his apparently lifeless
load upon his back. They soon rallied, however, and
set about to restore Williams. Hedden was for a
time too much exhausted to assist, but lay on the
ground watching their application of medical skill.
First they bathed his face and poured into his mouth
a few drops of some kind of medicine; then a very
old Indian came out of the lodge with a dried bladder
which held some beans and small pebbles. This
was the doctor or medicine man. He had hurriedly
made his toilet by divesting himself of all his cloth
ing except a breechclout and putting some stripes
of vermillion paint on his face, he held the bladder
in his right hand while his left grasped a stick about
two feet long, ornamented with strips of bright col
ored cloth. He danced around the wounded man,
rattling the beans in the bladder and waving the
tassled stick while he muttered something in his
own language. After ten minutes Williams opened
his eyes and looked about in much astonishment.
Hedden was at his side and explained their deliver-

A TEST OF COURAGE 51
ance. The doctor was highly pleased when his pati
ent recovered consciousness. He was probably not
more at a loss to know which of his efforts or
medicines had proved successful than has been many
another doctor of more genteel appearance and elab
orate apparel.
The Indians knew the nature of the poison used
by the Diggers on their arrows and knew how to
treat Williams' wound. By the next morning he
was much revived and a litter was constructed and
the Indians cheerfully aided Hedden to take the
wounded man to his house.
"We cum home together, Mary," said Jake, "but
it was a tight squeeze, my gal. We cum purty nigh
leaving' our bones for the cayotes to pick."
Jake's boy crowed with delight when his father
gave him the bright, yellow nuggets of gold taken
from old "Scar Face." Any one could see Mary
Hedden had never been prouder of her big husband
than she was at that time.
"Didn't I tell you Jake would stay with you if you
got hurt? I knowed jist what he'd do but I recken
you've got to know him by this time."
"That I have," answered Williams from his cot
where he was resting comfortably. "He has more
man in him than any one I ever saw before. If he
hadn't been half a dozen men in one I would not

52 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
be alive now. I can well believe he pulled old Brin
out of the well from the way he ran over the moun
tains with me on his back when the Diggers were
after us. I can never forget Jake. If I ever make
anything I intend to share it with him and you."
Williams' wound healed very rapidly but Jake
regained his strength slowly. His iron frame had
been taxed to its utmost limit and it was many days
before he recovered from that terrible tramp.
Now, so far as this adventure of our prospectors
with the Digger Indians is concerned, this story
might end and properly does end here, but we im
agine the reader has become interested in the prin
cipal characters and would like to know what time
held in store for them. The whole course of promi
nent actors, in whatever department of life, whether
they be animals or human beings, must be inter
esting. We cannot follow the characters introduced here
through the whole of their not uneventful lives, nor
particularly trace the footprints of time in the
changes and developments which have taken place
in the persons and scenes described. The opening
of our sketch has given a glimpse of one phase of
pioneer life in Oregon; its closing chapter can only
sum up the effect of time on all mentioned.
Over forty years have passed since the heroic de-

A TEST OP COURAGE 53
fense of and masterly retreat from the little fort on
the Sixes river. Its granite walls have endured the
storms and are standing still. When last visited,
white fleeced sheep were grazing about among the
fern where the Digger Indian lay secreted with his
poisoned arrows, and a harmless army of frolicsome
lambs had sought the walls for shelter from the
noonday sun. The little flat, just above the river,
where Williams received the poisoned arrow, was
converted into a picket-walled garden where beans,
peas and potatoes flourished, the latter reminding
one of —
"I'm a careless potato and care not a pin
How into existence I came;
Whether they planted me lengthwise or dibbled
me in,
To me 'tis exactly the same.
The bean and the pea may more loftily tower;
I care not a button for them;
Defiance I nod with my beautiful flower
When the earth is hoed up to my stem."
A worn and battered house stands where Hedden
and Williams sunk their first prospect hole and part
of one of the trees they fell to construct their dam
is still lying on the bank of the river. A neat cot
tage stands at the upper end of Bear Flat, which
is converted into a well-kept farm and bright-eyed
and rosy-cheeked children were playing with mimic

54 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
boats in the creek at the very spot where the fierce
grizzly mother and her offspring fell.
But the Digger Indians, where are they? Finding
themselves crowded on all sides, while their idle
habits of life no longer furnished a subsistence, they
made their choice between labor and death. They
chose to die. Rallying all their forces, in 1855, they
made a final effort against the encroachment of civil
ization by murdering indiscriminately, men, women,
and children along the border. The midnight torch
blazed throughout Oregon; but few of the little set
tlements but were stained with the blood of innocent
women and children. But the pioneers were not to
be driven back. They were urged by an impulse,
stronger even than that of their own brave hearts.
Such men as Williams and Hedden, armed with
trusty rifles, sprang from every nook and corner.
Southern Oregon's sister settlement, the Willamette
valley, poured its copious floods of pioneer valor on
Rogue river hills. Beardless boys and gray haired
men mounted their ponies and rode to redress the
murder of their neighbors. Mothers, daughters,.
wives, and sweethearts bid them God speed. Blood
flowed in many a hard fought battle but the Diggers'
doom was sealed. In less than twelve months, the
remnant of the tribe was taken in captivity to a
reservation to perform routine or menial duty about.

A TEST OP COURAGE 55
a government post. Here the lover of the Indian
might eulogize him in a mild poem. There is a good
opportunity at this point to abuse the pioneer. It
must be dreadfully sad for a man who has lived all
his life in Boston, and earned his living by lecturing
on pschycology and mesmerism, to contemplate the
injustice done this poor Digger. The settlers must
have been to blame. The Indian would have always
been good if the white man had not spoiled him. We
can only say the Digger perished because he stood
against the great law of nature and of nature's God.
"Thou shalt earn thy bread by the sweat of thy
brow." He went out against the hosts of the Lord
and was smitten. Labor offered to take him by the
hand; he refused to be her handmaiden; she made
him a slave.
The fate of the grizzly is no less pathetic than
that of the Indian. He too is gone. He fell like
the Indian, fighting for the home of his fathers.
The Little Sixes river still rushes its unused
waters down to the sea though its banks in many
places have been cleared to make room for thriv
ing homes and the mountain peaks, about its rugged
source, now echo to the shrill whistle of the
engine and locomotive. The hunters themselves are

56 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
nearly gone, though the mild eyed deer still offers
a mark for his rifle near the mountain tops.
Through all these changes, time has been kind
to Hedden and Williams. As the years went by,
Jake's little clearing widened into an ample farm,
his cabin gave place to a comfortable home, large
enough for his family which grew from three to
ten rugged boys and rosy-cheeked girls, though Jake
declares none of his boys are as strong as he was
when he carried his load from Sixes river, or the
girls as handsome as was their mother when she
tended their one little boy while he went to find
him some nuggets.
Williams never married, but spent a useful and
cheerful life. He was five times elected clerk of
Douglas county, and was always popular and en
joyed the love and respect of all who knew him.
When he passed quietly over to the other shore a
few years ago, he was mourned by a large circle
of friends who had reason to remember him as one
of the true gentlemen of earth. Through life he had
been Hedden's warmest and truest friend. By his
will he bequeathed him his entire fortune of over
thirty thousand dollars.

A QUARTZ MILL

Adventures in the Mines.

hi.

Years passed, uneventful to me, and it seemed,
very slowly, though to Oregon, important develop
ments were taking place. Year after year immigra
tion poured in, and neighbors grew thick around us.
Hardy sons and daughters of the soil, they came
with willing hands to help to rear a great common
wealth, destined to be one of the brightest stars to
adorn the emblem of our country. We were build
ing a great house of state, a social and political
structure, from the best material known to man.
The adventures, trials, and dangers of the plains
had given me a restless disposition, and I was
continually longing to be going somewhere. It
seemed I could hardly bear to camp twice in the
same place. In vain was I put to different kinds of
employment and sent to school; I was not content.
I wanted to be hungry again, to suffer, and
longed for the thrill of excitement on seeing strange
things. I imagined it" would be delightful again to

58 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
be famishing with nothing to eat, to walk barefooted
in the hot sands, with the thorns of the prickly pear
in my heels, and to endure all that once seemed so
hard to bear. If there had been other plains to
cross, how gladly I would have encountered their
dangers. But there were none ; I was at the utmost
verge of the Western land; the thunders of the
Pacific ocean, when the storms were high, could be
heard floating upon the Western breeze, and I had
no taste for the ocean. At last, after nine years
filled only with the routine of farm life, an oppor
tunity for adventure offered, and was gladly em
braced. In the spring of 1861, when the whole Willamette
valley was in a fever of metallic excitement about
the rich placers discovered the fall before by Captain
Pierce in the northwestern part of Idaho, and al
ready known far and wide as the Oro Fino mines,
Thomas Miller and myself began scraping around
the upper part of Linn county for an outfit.
I suppose that it would have seemed to a casual
observer that we had nothing requisite thereto but
a determination to go, yet we soon demonstrated
how much this could accomplish. Our resources
were about equal. I was lame from a recent fall
from a horse and in debt for my last term at school.
Thomas owed several debts and had a large family

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 59
dependent upon his daily labor. I traded off one
of my father's cows for a pony; he called upon the
Methodist church for help. I told my creditors I
was going to the mines, and swapped off another
cow. I kept on trading my father's live stock, and
Thomas kept on with his exertions until his prayer
was heard by his pastor, who kindly loaned him a
horse and assisted him in recommending his family
to the mercy of heaven.
Everything which devotion and ingenuity could
procure was at last in readiness, and on the 21st
day of May we bid adieu to home and loved one,
and each leading a pack-horse well loaded with
blankets, provisions, etc., we started. Thomas be
ing an old man, took the main road, but I rode down
to the school house to bid adieu to one who had oc
cupied my thoughts of late, and who was beginning
to creep into my plans for the future in the queerest
way. She taught the little country school, and al
though it was after the time of taking up school, I
iound the children at play. She was seated on a
low railing of a little bridge near the school house,
for I had promised to say good-bye. We walked on
together on my road for half a mile, when she de
clared she must return. I took her hand and prom
ised to come back to her in the fall, and she promised
— well, no matter.
I mounted my horse and rode on. Looking back

60 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
I saw her still standing in the road, and playfully
told her to run back to school.
"No," she said, "I am going to stand here until:
I can see you no more, for when you go out of
sight over the next hill, I shall never see you again."
Laughingly I rode on, but when I reached the hill
top, a mile away, and saw her standing in the same
spot, a strange fear came over me and I wondered
if her prophecy could come true. Ten years from
that time I again rode over the top of that hill. A
mist hid the spot where she had stood to watch me
go, but I knew where to seek her, and as I stood
where, for eight years the grass had grown and
the flowers had blossomed upon her grave, I thought
of her last words to me, and of her short journey
and my> long wandering.
I soon overtook Thomas, and we traveled that day
among the new settlements along the upper Cali-
pooia and Santiam, the sole improvements in many
places being a log cabin not even surrounded by a
fence. One of our packhorses, an old bobtailed
veteran of the Cayuse war, soon became tired; in
fact he was tired when we first started, and I turned
him loose and drove him. He was a curiosity worth
the study of a philosopher. He had one habit which
would have puzzled Socrates himself. The moment
he espied a cabin he would leave the road and start.

A SCENE ON THE SANTIAM

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 61
for it on the run; of course I would try to overtake
him, but old as he was, on such an occasion he was
never outrun. On reaching the cabin and finding
me in pursuit, he would go around it at a furious
rate, greatly alarming the inmates, who, having no
windows to their cabins, could not see us coming and
were wholly unprepared for such an onset.
One poor woman, on being attacked in this man
ner, left her two children in the door and ran out
in the yard. As Bob and I came tearing around
the house, she was cut off from her children and
nearly frightened to death. Suddenly checking my
horse, I commenced to explain, when Bob, who no.
doubt thinking he was still pursued, came charging:
around, and in his fright at meeting us, very nearly-
trampled upon the now speechless woman. She re
covered herself in a moment and darted for thei
door. As she gathered a child under each arm andi
closed the door with her foot, I heard her ejaculate,.
"0, my God!" Thomas secured Bob, and a moment,
later I opened the door, but the violent sobbing of
the three prevented their hearing my apology, and:
we went on feeling very much annoyed by the oc
currence. We stopped at night with a settler in the Sweet
Home valley. We made his acquaintance by chas
ing Bob a couple of times around his house; and.

62 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
his timely appearance, armed with a poker, alone
prevented Bob from being the first of our company
to claim a night's shelter within the dwelling. We
cannot understand the cogitations of a horse, but I
suppose that Bob had once been fed and sheltered,
and that dim visions of sweet oats and ambrosial
hay and a warm stall came into his head whenever
he saw a house. Poor old Bob ! His bones have long
since bleached on the plains near White Pine, but I
have not forgotten him nor his effectual but indirect
way of benefiting mankind. I believe he has cured
several chronic grumblers by showing them the
funny side of things, and no one ever saw one of
his circular performances without laughing heartily
every time he thought of him and his peristent
efforts to escape labor and find a stable.
At supper, aniong other things, we had what I
feel assured but few mortals have ever tasted —
fern pie. It was made of the tender and nutritious
stalks of young fern, and was very nice. Thomas
was surprised, but said the Lord was very good and
wise, and had undoubtedly clothed the hills and
valleys with the delicious plant in order that the
coming generation might be supplied with food and
never be without a supply of good pie.
That night he wrote a letter to his wife, telling
her of our discovery, and saying he believed old Bob

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 63
to have been an humble instrument in the hand of
Divine Providence, to direct us to that house, where
by we learned the value of the most plentiful plant
in the universe. He directed her to experiment with
it as food, in different forms, and said he felt re
lieved of all further anxiety about her and the chil
dren, and should go forward with a lighter heart.
I have mentioned these pies with some reluctance,
for we got into serious trouble about them. I have
had more than one hard fight to establish my verac
ity, and Thomas has frequently resorted to prayer
to soothe his wounded feeling on being called a liar ;
and all because we said we had eaten fern pies. How
reluctant the world is to believe the truth ! I believe
these pies are now extinct and their making a lost
art, unless, happily, a recipe has been preserved
among the early settlers of Sweet Home valley.
From this place we started directly into the moun
tains, following the trail of a party several days
ahead and bound for the same destination as our
selves. It soon became evident that they were nov
ices in mountain travel, or lunatics, for they wound
around and went back and forth on the head waters
of the Santiam until we lost all patience, as in fol
lowing them we often found, after traveling half
a day, that we had made but a few hundred yards'
progress toward the summit. Once we went around

64 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
a small timbered butte four times. The first time
around I told Thomas I believed we were traveling
in a circle, the second I insisted, and the third I laid
my old gun on a log, declaring I would leave it there
unless we came that way again. Thomas lectured
me all the way around the circle about leaving my
gun, and about my foolishness in not placing con
fidence in him who was so much older than myself,
and who had traveled in the mountains all his life
without ever losing the points of the compass. He
was going on in this strain when I came to the gun ;
I pretended not to see it, rode past, and let Thomas
find it. There was no disputing this evidence, and
he acknowledged himself in error. His defeat was
only temporary, however, for we had gone but a
couple of miles when we came to a large fir tree,
recently blown down, when he said if we had not
been providentially hindered we should probably
now be buried beneath its mighty weight.
We were now traveling without a trail and fol
lowing up the ridges towards the summit of the
mountain, and soon came to deep snow. It was very
hard, and we moved along at a lively gait, leaving
but little trail behind. We camped at night upon
the snow, fed our horses some flour, and made our
beds of fir boughs. Our campfire lit up the sur
rounding objects, and when the moon rose over the

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 65
snow-clad peaks, they shone up grandly magnificent.
On the surface the snow had lost its ordinary ap
pearance, the constant freezing and thawing having
crystalized it into beautiful forms the size of peas,
and clear as ice; and the roots of the dark old fir
trees were girdled that night in the moonlight with
pearls which, for beauty of lustre and finish, were
equal to any worn by the fabled monarchs of old.
The next day, as we ascended the mountain, the
snow grew deeper, sometimes to ten or twelve feet
deep, and once we crossed a canyon on a natural
bridge of snow which had drifted in by the winds
to a depth of over one hundred feet. The warmer
vapors arising from the small stream had thawed
it half way up, leaving a splendid arch, settled and
condensed by its own weight until an army might
have passed over it with perfect safety. The upper
side of the bridge lay against the side of a rocky
bluff and had no opening underneath, but turning
down after crossing, we had a splendid view of
the lower side, which showed what a master mason
Nature is when she tries her hand, and I wondered
why she so carefully hides her grandest works from
man, that they are only found after long toil or
accident, and are never seen by the multitude. We
were nearing the summit, and strange to tell, sud
denly came into a beautiful little valley of perhaps

66 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
forty acres, green with grass, dotted with flowers,
and surrounded on all sides with snow. It may have
been that the rays of the sun, reflected from the sur
rounding snow peaks, had centered upon this little
mountain glen and warned the pearls spoken of be
fore, to take their way heavenward to escape the
tread of bear and deer, for we found both on this
green spot; and before our tired horses were un
saddled the mountain tops had echoed to the crack
of my rifle, and within half an hour we were at
supper, with venison steak occupying a prominent
place on our frugal green-sward board.
Much refreshed, we started on the following
morning at sunrise from our delightful camp. Go
ing eastward we soon passed the summit and com
menced to descend. The snow was melting fast
on the eastern slope, and many streams were swol
len, offering formidable barriers to our progress,
but we had placed the hoary headed mountain be
neath our feet, and were not to be frightened by the
perspiration streaming from his brow. On we went,
sliding, wading, swimming, for a weary day.
Emerging from the snow somewhere near where the
wagon road now leaves the mountain, we were glad
to camp on dry ground and see our horses knee deep
in the finest of grass. At this place we found an
old Indian trail leading south, and followed it

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 67
through some of the finest pine timber I ever saw.
It stands on nearly level land, so thick as to exclude
underbrush for miles in extent, and will, when a
railroad shall have reached it, be the largest and
most profitable lumber camp on this coast. As pine
is not so thickly branched as fir, the sun is not ex
cluded from these groves, and grass covers the
ground. May the time speedily come when these
mighty trees will echo the sound of the logger's axe,
and the iron horse shall pant upon the mountain
side, richly freighted with the products of this plain.
We camped at night upon a small stream which,
we judged, emptied into the Deschutes. It was a
beautiful evening, and after we had unsaddled our
horses, Thomas proposed to have prayers. We knelt
down, and he gave thanks for our safe passage
through so many dangers, and was begging for Di
vine guidance in our future travels, when the loud
report of a rifle rang through the camp. Thomas
fell upon his face, and with one bound I was within
the bushes and underneath the bank of the little
creek. Peeping out, I saw Thomas still flat upon the
ground, but not dead, for he was crawling towards
me. As soon as he reached me I asked him where
he was hit. He said in the face. I could see no
mark. His eyes were tightly closed, having been
filled with sand and dirt, and he was spitting dirt

68 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
from his throat and mouth, but no blood anywhere ;
he was unhurt. We crouched down close, and tried
to think what we should do. We knew that we had
been fired upon by Indians. They could have been
but a few rods away, but neither of us had seen
them. The horses had stampeded at the first shot,
and we were left alive, it is true, but in a very dan
gerous situation.
As soon as Thomas could get his eyes open, I told
him to get the gun and bullets. He declined, and
told me to put my trust in heaven. I did so, but
glanced again in the direction of my gun. I was
beginning to recover myself and to think of self-
defense, when my blood was frozen by seeing a fire
start up in the grass a few feet beyond our camp.
Instantly I saw that we were to be roasted alive,
as the grass would undoubtedly be fired all around
us by the red devils, whom we could not even see.
l nomas was praying. A frantic desire to live made
me desperate; I would not die within reach of my
gun without firing a shot. I sprang above the bank,
seized my gun and shot pouch, and was again behind
the breastworks. An idea struck me. I placed my
mouth over the muzzle of the gun, when Thomas,
mistaking my intentions, begged me not to leave him
alone. I blew down the barrel; it was empty. I
ran out and extinguished the fire, which had already

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 69
reached our blankets, and told Thomas to come out
and be a man; he only prayed the louder. Then I
told him that we had been fired upon by our own gun.
He raised his head, hesitated, started to come, then
stepped back and wanted to know who set the grass
on fire. I said it must have been a flash of the
powder. When we had knelt down to pray, the horses were
feeding slowly away from where they had been
turned loose. Old Bob had a long rope tied to his
neck; he must have dragged it across the hammer
of the gun in such a manner as to discharge it, and,
as it was lying upon some blankets, with the muzzle
near the dry grass, the flash kindled the fire which
gave me the second alarm.
The reader may imagine our joy on thus being
delivered from torture, for it was deliverance as
true as any which ever came to a beleaguered city.
The worst torture is that of the mind, and we had
endured dreadful fears and most frightful fancies.
It is strange what thoughts will pervade one's mind
at such a time. While trying to keep my head below
the bank to avoid a bullet, I actually fancied my
friends crying over the newspaper account of my
horrible death.
I soon recovered my former spirits; not so with
Thomas. In fact I do not believe he ever fully

70 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
forgot his dreadful scare. He seemed to only half
believe that it was a fals£ alarm, and kept casting
his eyes cautiously around, as though expecting a
murderous attack at any moment. His apprehen
sions were painful to behold. He would never take
an open direct route to any point he wished to go
to, if he could reach it by a circuitous or concealed
one. The,next morning he went for the horses while
I prepared breakfast. He soon returned and de
clared that the horses had been stolen; he had fol
lowed them about a mile, until he was convinced that
they were in the hands of the Indians — two squaws
and a buck. Believing that he mistook the signs, I
started out to reconnoiter. I do not wish it to be
understood that I was not afraid; on the contrary,
I was alert to the slightest sound, a falling twig or
the flit of a bird's wing made my heart stand still
and my hand nervously clutch my gun. What if
Thomas were correct ! The Indians might await my
coming in some secluded spot, and then they would
not allow me the privilege of unconditional sur
render. I must fight.
Squaws do not carry guns. I wondered if they
were young and pretty, and thought that if the buck
was disposed of I might capture them without blood
shed. I concluded to shoot the old fellow just as he
was raising his tomahawk, and then strike an atti-

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 71
tude before his daughters. In this pleasant train of
thought I raised my eyes from the ground to con
front the maidens, and saw our stolen ponies. They
were soon in camp, and packing up, we set out on
our journey. We crossed the Deschutes river some
distance below the Prineville road. After traveling
several miles down stream we recrossed, and fol
lowing a good trail, soon came to the Warm Springs
reservation. As usual with these curiosities of art, it was
beautifully situated and had the requisite number
of government employes, spotted horses, Indians,
etc. Why is it that there is always a lot of Indians
about a reservation? The blighting influence of
their indolent lives and filthy habits is felt in every
reservation in the United States, and it is all wrong.
They should go away and give the agents an oppor
tunity to cultivate their natural taste for ease. If
the government must have reservations, let it see
that men whose political services have entitled them
to be placed on them are not annoyed by a lot of
dirty, thieving Indians. This is a fine field for re
form. Let us purge these sanctuaries of innocence
from the polluting tread of the Indian. Let the
jabber of the squaw no more be heard about the
suttler's store. This accomplished, the agents might
become a credit to their race, and in the lapse of

72 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
time might be gathered together and settled in the
Yellowstone Park. This would not prove expensive,
and the nation would remunerate itself by exhibit
ing them as natural curiosities.
At this place, in addition to those already men
tioned, we found quite a number of Webfeet, who
had crossed the mountain before us, waiting for the
Deschutes to fall before attempting to cross. We
soon organized by electing a captain, and on the
second day after our arrival, procuring an Indian
guide, we crossed the swollen river in canoes, swim
ming our horses, and started for the Malheur river,
the place where tradition says tons of gold were
found by some lost emigrants in an early day, but
who had reached the settlement half starved, and
reported that one could easily pick up a bucketful
of gold in a few minutes. Hence the name of Blue
Bucket mines, which has been discussed in every
miner's cabin from California to the Rocky moun
tains. We paid our guide $150 for his services, and he
rode at the head of our column of men with all the
pride of a soldier for two days, when a change
seemed to come over the spirit of his dream, and see
ing only days of fatigue and discomfort in front,
and days of ease and comfort behind, he, on the
third morning out, turned his horse and rode swiftly

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 73
toward the agency. We saw his game instantly and
gave pursuit, but our horses were jaded with cross
ing the mountain, and he had no doubt selected the
best horse on the reservation, and we were unable
to catch him. Several shots were fired at his noble
form, but he only went the faster, and after a great
amount of swearing we realized that we had lost an
Indian and felt correspondingly sad. We had rea
son, too, for he was paid in advance. "Lo, the
poor Indian" — did anyone ever know him to fulfill
a trust when it was not his selfish interest to do so?
Being thus left alone, we concluded to abandon
the route to the Blue Bucket diggings, and go to
Oro Fino. Turning to the left, after a day's travel,
we came to an old emigrant road, near the crossing
of the John Day. From there we traveled over
plains and low rolling hills, whose rich soil fur
nished everywhere the most luxuriant grass, and
has since burdened the waters of the mighty Co
lumbia with its grain-laden vessels, and is today de
manding in thunder tones the more perfect opening
of its outlet to the sea. We were traveling up this
grand river, whose bosom bore only the Indian
canoe with its worthless freight, through an em
pire where a sod was never turned and solitude held
sway, broken only by the howl of the coyote or the
neigh of the worthless Indian pony. Who can view

74 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
the changes which have since taken place in the Co
lumbia basin, and sigh for the days that are gone?
Then I could have carried its exports in my saddle
bags; now corporations, with millions invested, are
wrestling with each other for the carrying of its
mighty products. Industry invades the realms of
idleness, the lazy Indian leaves the land, where for
centuries he has been a beast, and our army marches
on. Its weapons were moulded by reason and ex
perience, and its discipline is Nature's laws. The
iron horse announces its advance, and ocean palaces
bear its equipments. Forests, trembling, fall to
the ground and come from the mountain tops to
build its barracks, and the soil, upturned by its
magic touch, furnishes bread to the world. Who
can doubt it must conquer the universe?
We traveled along the old emigrant road to the
Umatilla river. Here we found another one of
those curses of civilization, an Indian reservation.
Here again, the. government had gathered the neigh
boring tribes on the finest agricultural land in the
region, and was aiding them in their resolve to die
rather than work. Heroic Indian ! I saw him lying
in the shade of the thorn bush (the only fruit tree
of his home), while his wife tended his horse, dug
potatoes, or carried wood to cook his scanty meal.
He knew us to be the picket guard of the army that

(By courtesy of O. R. &N.)
SCENE ON THE O. R. & N.

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 75
would destroy him, and was not annoyed. He saw
our superior food, clothing, horses, and equipments,
and was not stimulated to action. He despised to
purchase them, for their price was labor. If a
horse excited his admiration, visions of himself
crawling on a dark night to steal it floated through
his lazy brain. If he wanted our gun, he meditated
a midnight approach and a murderous blow. But
our army surrounds him, and he must go. He has
too long cumbered the earth, to the exclusion of
labor and science. His body contains elements that
should go back to the soil to furnish food for civ
ilized man. He will only live in history, and it is
hoped, will not seriously burden that.
Thirty miles from Umatilla we came to Walla
Walla fort and town. At the fort, the intellects of
a few companies of soldiers were being dwarfed,
and the men rendered unfit for any noble battle in
life, for the purpose of preventing a few squaws
from trading dried salmon for whisky. This traffic
intercepted, offers the soldier better facilities for
getting drunk than he could find in any other depart
ment of life.
The town, a small village, showed the spirit of
American enterprise, and although most of the
buildings were of logs, yet we found several stores
well supplied with the necessaries of life, and their

76 STORIES OP OLD OREGON i
owners anxiously awaiting the settlement of the
country. After a day's rest with our horses picketed
"on the outskirts of town, we set forward over low,
rolling hills, which separated Dry creek, Touchet,
Tucanon, Pataha, Alpowa and Snake rivers. Two
days' travel brought us to Lewiston, situated on the
Snake river, at the mouth of the Clearwater. I was
surprised to find a little town composed entirely of
canvas tents. On inquiry, I learned that it was on
another reservation, and the Indians opposed the
erection of more permanent houses.
Over hills and low mountains again for two days,
and we came to Oro Fino. Who can describe a min
ing camp, with its motley crowd and nondescript.
improvements; its wealth and its poverty; its so
briety and its recklessness; its poets, philosophers.
and statesman; its saloons and desperate men; its
bacon and beans ; its rich gulches and poverty flats ;
and above all, its wild excitement? To stand on
ground mixed with gold will craze men's soul and
render them the very embodiment of the intensified
good and evil of the world. All the natural hatred
men feel for the delays of courts and sophistry of
lawyers; for the niggardly reward of merit and
tardy hand of justice, here find scope for action. A
king would be hung for any minor offense, but a.

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 77
beggar would be defended in a right by every drop
of blood in the camp.
The first man I met among this fevered crowd
was Oregon's poet, my old schoolmate, Joaquin Mil
ler. His blue eyes sparkled with kindly greeting,
and as I took his hand, I knew by its quickened pulse
and tightened clasp that he, too, was sharing in the
excitement of the gold hunter. He was then in
the first blush of manhood, with buoyant spirits, un
tiring energy, and, among a race of pioneers, the
bravest of the brave. He was accorded more than
ordinary talent, and looked forward with hope to the
battle of life, expecting to reap his share of its
honors and rewards. For years he was foremost
in every desperate enterprise; crossing snow-capped
mountains, swollen rivers, and against hostile In
dians. When the snow fell fifteen feet deep on the
Florence mountain, and hundreds were penned in
camp without a word from wives, children and loved
ones at home, he said: "Boys, I will bring your
letters from Lewiston." Afoot and alone, without
a trail, he crossed the mountain tops, the dangerous
streams, the wintry desert of Camas prairie, fight
ing back the hungry mountain wolves, and came
back bending beneath the weight of loving messages
from home. He was found today, in defense of
the weak, facing the pistol or bowie knife of the

78 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
desperado, and tomorrow washing the clothes and
smoothing the pillow of a sick comrade. We all
loved him, but we were not men who wrote for the
newspapers and magazines, and his acts of heroism
and kindness were unchronicled, save in the hearts
of those who knew him in those times, and under
those trying circumstances.
He has had his full share of the trials of life, yet,
through all, he has been true to his own land. He
has wooed his muse and tuned his lyre across the
great waters, but he sung of his boyhood scenes, of
the Pacific coast, its rivers, mountains, and men,
and he has been true to all. He poetized the grandeur
of our land so nobly as to electrify all Europe, the
swelling notes of his praise reaching our ears from
across the Atlantic.
I have neglected to say Thomas grew weary of our
journey, and being a carpenter by trade, concluded
to try his fortune at Walla Walla ; so we divided our
provisions and blankets. I regretted to leave him,
for although wholly unlike in disposition, we were
much attached to each other, and shook hands at
parting, with mutual reluctance. It is strange to
say how opposites will care for each other. I have
known a great, strong, courageous man to have for
his warmest friend a little, sickly, puny creature,
possessed of neither enterprise nor courage, and who

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 79
could be of no earthly good to him except to meekly
allow him to support and defend him. I suppose such
friendships might be termed a species of frontier
marriage. At any rate, friends and partners are
chosen in the mines with all the sublime indifference
to results which characterize marriages between
the sexes. There are many men in the mines who
would become rich if it were not for their partners,
and there are many partners in the settlement who
would get rich if it were not for their man. What
benevolence there is in this law of selection!
If it were not so, we should have two classes —
paupers and millionaires.
After looking around .Oro Fino a few days, and
finding all claims supposed to be valuable occupied,
I consented to go with an acquaintance whom I met,
to a new "find" on the headwaters of the South
Clearwater. He had just returned after locating a
claim and reported very rich diggings. I secured
a fresh supply of provisions, and listening to his
exciting talk, rode along feeling certain that a single
range of mountains was all that separated me from
a fortune. I knew so little of mines that when he
told me that a man had picked up on the bedrock
$10 in about twenty minutes, I began to calculate
how much I could pick up in a day, working four
teen hours per day (which I resolved to do) . I could

80 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
make $420; this was very good wages. I felt quite
happy, and wondered what Thomas would say when
I returned to Walla Walla with my horse loaded
down with gold dust.
I resolved to give him a good share, and do many
other benevolent things, besides making some very
pleasing arrangements for myself.
Alas —
"The best laid plans of mice and men
Gang aft aglee,
And leave us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy."
Four days' travel brought us to the new camp.
There were about twenty men, mostly engaged in
building cabins and digging ditches. There was
no excitement, and my ardor began to cool; I did
not like the looks of things. The men seemed to
be preparing to stay, while I was only anxious to
secure some gold and return. I was willing to stay
a few weeks, but I did not feel like making any
permanent improvements. I, therefore, pitched my
tent and commenced my search for gold. Many
years have passed, and I am still searching. I find
none except what is in someone's possession.
Day after day I prospected, and found only mica
and isinglass after washing away the dirt. I began
to realize that "all is not gold that glitters." Still

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 81
I worked on, hoping to find what I sought at the
bottom of some hole, many of which I dug with
pick and shovel in the bed of streams and gulches.
Hope was strong, yet often my heart sunk within
me, when after toiling all day I found nothing on
the bedrock but sand and gravel. In the meantime,
hundreds were pouring into our camp, coming it
seemed, from all quarters of the world. I believe
every nation on earth was represented in that camp
within three months of its discovery. A town was
located on Elk creek, and launched forth on the
commercial sea under the name of Elk City. There
were no surveyors nor architects employed; no
steamboats nor locomotives disturbed its inhabi
tants; yet it grew so fast as to astonish everyone
except the old miners. Men who had tramped from
camp to camp since 'forty-nine" complained that it
grew slow, and told of the wonderful growth of San
Francisco, Sacramento, Yreka and other mining
towns of California. After laboring diligently a
month with no success, I purchased a claim from a
gambler who had taken it up for speculative pur
poses, giving him in payment a bedrock note for
$200. It read: "I promise to pay the bearer $200
in gold dust when it is taken out of claim No. 54,
over and above grub." These notes pass current,
and anyone who would attempt to attach the usual

82 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
condition for attorney's fees, would be dealt with
in a summary manner, and according to miners'
notions of justice.
Many claims were now opened, and being worked
with sluices, paid from $25 to $40 per day per man.
Excitement ran high. A graveyard was started, and
soon became a popular resort. The only man buried
there within the first three months who did not
have a bullet hole in him was a poor minister, who
being a non-combatant, was unfit for honorable
fight and was knocked in the head with a whisky
bottle, and buried in the potter's field, "unwept, un-
honored and unsung."
I have often thought of that poor preacher who
lies in the lower corner of that beautiful mountain
cemetery, and regretted that the manner of his
death prevented his being buried on the more rising
ground and among gentlemen. It must not be sup
posed that all disputes were settled with the pistol
or bowie knife. Peaceable-minded men were always
ready to leave disputes about mining affairs to a
meeting of the miners, who were called together by
notices posted at prominent points, stating the ob
jects of the meeting, and signed by the recorder of
the district. Such meetings were always well at
tended and orderly, and their decisions ranked with
those of the supreme court of the United States, and

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 83
were as just as a hurried presentation of the facts
would allow.
Much has been said in praise of the justice of
miners' courts. They intend to do right, but their
decrees are not always wise or just, and are open
to many objections, prominent among which is that
they are made in such haste as to prevent a compe
tent presentation of the facts, and are influenced
more by impulse than by reason or good judgment.
A single case will illustrate: Two gamblers by the
name of Finigan and Dorsey quarreled one day in
a saloon at Elk City: They were both desperate
men, and standing a few feet apart, fired three shots
apiece. Dorsey missed, but Finigan put his shots
well in, and at the third fire his man was floored,
with three dangerous wounds in his body, and was
carried away vowing to kill his adversary should
he ever again stand on his feet. His wounds were
dressed and he was placed in bed in the upper story
of the saloon building. About 9 o'clock that night
the doctor came into the saloon and said his patient
was in a sound sleep and he had hopes of his re
covery. A few moments later, Finigan borrowed a
candle from the barkeeper, went to the wounded
man's room and cut his throat at a single blow with
a large knife which he always carried, leaving it
there to tell the story of his terrible guilt. Half

84 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
an hour later he came into the saloon with blood on
his clothes, and invited all hands up to drink. He
was arrested and tried at a miners' court, and found
guilty of murder in the first degree. He confessed
his crime and was sentenced to be hung. Twelve
men were appointed to execute the sentence.
Elaborate preparations were made for him; his
grave was dug and the scaffold erected; and at
the appointed time he stood with the rope around
his neck, ready to be launched into eternity. He
was allowed to speak to the crowd gathered around
at the foot of the gallows. Young, handsome, intel
ligent, he brought tears to our eyes as he told how,
step by step, strong drink had brought him down
from a respected member of society and the high
estate of manhood, until his life was justly forfeited
to the laws of his country. He thanked his judges
for a just verdict, gave a letter for his mother to a
friend, and without a tremor in his voice, bade us
all good-by, and giving a signal, in an instant was
hanging at the end of the rope.
His neck was not broken by the fall, and the
hangman's knot, being imperfectly tied, slowly un
wound and let him fall to the ground. He called for
a drink of water and begged for his life. In an in
stant men were shouting, "Let him live! Let him
live!" Some jumped upon stumps and made

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 85
speeches in his defense, while many drew their pis
tols and declared he had been hung enough, and they
would shoot the first man who proposed to hang
him again. A new vote was taken and he was
unanimously cleared.
A collection taken up by an old miner with tears
streaming down his cheeks, furnished a horse and
saddle, and Finigan rode away with hat in hand,
turning in his saddle to bow gracefully to an admir
ing and happy crowd. Ten minutes later some dis
cordant wretch said the hangsman had intended to
defeat the ends of justice by tying a bogus knot.
Instantly a clamor arose, demanding that the hang
man stand on Finigan's scaffold and try a drop with
a securer knot than he had tied. After a great many
speeches were made and he was nearly scared to
death, he was allowed to sneak away, his friends
forming a line to cover his retreat and prevent the
crowd from shooting him down as he went.
When I took the first gold from my claim I was
$2,000 in debt. How I became so involved has al
ways been a mystery to me ; but it so happened that
I had the best claim on the river; it paid regularly,
and never less than $25 per day. Running four
strings of sluices, with sixteen men, every day's
work put into my purse $400 worth of dust, and

86 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
again I felt sure of a fortune. But weeks passed,
and after paying my debts and keeping up expenses
I had saved but little money.

A QUARTZ MILL

Adventures in the Mines.

IV.

One day about the 1st of October, two men came
into town, purchased a supply of provisions, and
told a friend under solemn promise of secrecy, that
they had discovered a very rich placer on the waters
of Salmon river. That friend had another friend;
he had another, and in less than an hour we had
all heard the exciting news, and hundreds were
rushing around, getting ready to follow the two
men, who had started on their way back.
Ah, then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And there was mounting in hot haste.
And 300 men rode over the big mountain, eight
miles, to Red river, and there came upon the two
miners who had told just one friend. Their looks
of surprise and indignation were amusing, but we
coolly unpacked our horses and camped so as to
completely encircle them, determined if they went
to the diggings, we would go too. Red River val-

88 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
ley is one mile broad and eight long, and so beauti
ful in appearance that I will not attempt to de
scribe it.
At 8 o'clock next morning we observed signs in
the camp of the two men which indicated they were
about to start. Hurriedly packing, we kept the line
of march unbroken, and followed their crooks, turn
ings, and doublings, in a manner highly satisfactory
to us, but very annoying to them. We soon saw
that they were determined to leave us, and all at
tempts at compromise with them failing, we placed
a guard over them at night, and industriously fol
lowed them through the day. After leaving the
valley, we had no trail. The mountains full of
brush, logs, rocks, and canyons, were difficult to
travel in, and the men we were following, being ex
perts in mountain travel, led us a lively race.
I have always thought our chase after those men,
through the mountains, the most ludicrous affair I
ever saw. Sometimes they would ascend a high
peak for the sole purpose of fatiguing their retinue.
Then, while we were panting on the mountain top,
they would circle around and retrace their steps to
the bottom. This state of affairs continued about
ten days, greatly fatiguing both horses and men,
and bringing us no nearer the mines.
Various plans were discussed for bringing our

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 89
tormentors to terms. Some suggested a bribe, while
others were in favor of hanging a rope with a noose
in it, near their camp, as an intimation of what
they might expect should they persist in trying to
leave us.
Human endurance has its limit, and one day, after
traveling from daylight until dark, back and forth,
over mountains so rough that many horses gave
out and were left behind, we went over to the camp
of Shorty and Red Shirt, as we called them, and told
them we were determined to have no more foolish
ness ; that they must promise to lead us direct to the
mines, or their lives should pay the forfeit. Seeing
we were in earnest, they gave the promise, and we
had a general handshaking all around.
Good feeling being restored, it was wonderful how
Shorty and Red Shirt grew in favor and popularity.
Their camp was invaded by our whole force, and we
smilingly listened to every word which fell from
their lips, for they were golden words, and told of
Nature's treasures hidden a few miles further on,
and just beneath the pine trees and fallen leaves.
That evening we camped by a mountain lake. Dense
spruce timber surrounded it, and opened only to
make room for this mountain gem and its grassy
border. The lake and opening in the timber were
perfect ovals. The trees, as though afraid to come

90 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
too near, stood back, while the grass and mountain
flowers went down from their feet to be kissed by
the pure and silent waves. Someone said it was
the bath pool of the gods.
For a time we forgot to talk of trials past, or
even gold, and strolled along the shores in deep
and silent admiration, and when the stars shone
out and were reflected from that mirror in the
mountain's lap, I felt as though there must be some
thing better in this life and in the next than gold,
and went to my camp filled with thoughts in which
the thirst for wealth had little part.
Two days more, and we descended from the high
peaks to a basin about ten miles in diameter, and
covered with young spruce pine. About 4 o'clock,
while jogging along, the foremost men raised a
shout which announced that we had at last reached
the Salmon river mines. Twelve men were in the
camp, and as we came to the first one, who was wash
ing a pan of dirt, we realized "the half had not been
told," and letting our horses take care of themselves,
commenced running up and down the creek and
marking out our claims. Each claimed 300 feet,
and put a hurriedly written notice on tree or stake,
at each end of the claim. They read:
"I claim 300 feet up (or down, as the case may
be) this creek for mining purposes."
One fellow posted his notice on a tree, and did

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 91
not observe until next day that he claimed 300 feet
up the tree, instead of the creek. Of course, we
didn't stop at one claim. I think our party put no
tices on at least 10,000, in less than three days. We
had no time to prospect, but laid claim to the sur
rounding country indiscriminately.
In the evening we gathered around the men who
were mining, and saw them wash out $100 from a
pan of dirt. We all went wild with jealousy, joy,
or despair, as we found a good prospect, a poor one,
or saw our enemy with a pan half full of gold.
We organized a miners' camp and called it Flor
ence, elected officers, and were proceeding to build
cabins, when we were awakened to a knowledge of
our situation by a heavy fall of snow. We had ex
hausted our provisions, and man and horse must
leave or starve. We found we had something be
sides gold to care for, and concluded to let the yel
low dust rest, while we took care of our stomachs.
We had in our crowd two Nez Perce Indians, who
said they could guide us to Camas Prairie ; and pack
ing up on the sixth day after our arrival, we started
for Lewiston. Many horses were now worn to skin
and bones, and as we had to chop our way through
fallen groves of young timber, we moved very
slowly. We were three days making fifteen miles,
and when we reached Salmon river and found a

92 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
good trail leading to Lewiston, we were happy, and
traveled along, as merry a throng as ever bore such
hardships as we endured, and lived to come safe
home. We were all to return to our claims next
spring, and not a man but thought he had a fortune
in his reach, when Nature should unclasp her icy
bands which barred him out and kept his treasure in.
At White Bird creek, near the southeastern corner
of Camas Prairie, I left the Lewiston trail and parted
with my companions, determined to make my way
back to my claim and partners at Elk City.
This was no easy task, as winter seemed to have
set in, and snow lay several feet deep on the moun
tains. My horse could go no further, and leaving
him regretfully to the mercy of an Idaho winter,
I followed an Indian trail along the western edge
of Camas Prairie, to what was called Silverman's
Crossing of Clearwater. Here I found a camp of
the Nez Perces, and in exchange for dust, secured
flour, coffee and venison.
After a fatiguing journey of fifty miles, I reached
our old camp and found my partners anxiously
awaiting news from Florence. A few days later 1
learned that great numbers of men from Lewiston
were going to the new mines, regardless of snow,
and concluded to go back myself, as I feared our
claims would not be respected by the new crowd go-

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 93
ing in. After two days' preparation I again set out,
this time well supplied with everything necessary
for the trip, and acting as guide to sixty new recruits
who were anxious to try the cold weather and deep
snows of Florence basin.
Among this crowd I found myself quite a hero.
They loved me, not "for the dangers I had passed,"
but for the good news I brought, and listened eagerly
to the oft-told tale of $100 to the pan. My company
was never so much in demand before, nor has it
been since, and I could have been elected to any
office in their gift, by unanimous vote. A month
later, when we returned with empty pockets, gnaw
ing stomachs, and frozen toes, I might have been
hanged by these same men, had anyone possessed
energy enough to insist on the execution of their
ideas of justice. I let their sour looks pass, but
placed the memory of them in the collection I was
making, from which I afterwards formed my esti
mate of miners' justice.
We followed the route on which I had returned,
and on the fifth day came to the crossing of the
White Bird, where we intercepted the line of travel
from Lewiston. Here we found many campers, and
learned to a certainty that our formal closing of
the diggings until spring was unheeded, and that
several thousand men were now making their way

94 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
over the deep snows, and were jumping our claims
as fast as they came to them.
It was wonderful what a rush was being made
for that frozen camp. Men were coming from all
quarters, and paid no attention to winter and its
unpleasant accompaniments. In places where the
snow was very deep it was shoveled away, tramped
hard by men, or bridged with spruce brush; and
pack mules, loaded with 300 pounds apiece, passed
safely along, landing the necessaries of life on
Summit Flat in the midst of the now famous Flor
ence diggings. Slate Creek hill, fifteen miles from
the mines, is the longest, highest, and hardest hill
to climb I ever saw. From bottom to top it was
festooned with men, mules, spotted cayuses, and
jackasses. Men puffed and blew as they had never
done before, and horses, mules, and cayuses, and
other things, climbed, fell, rolled, tumbled, slid,
kicked, squealed, snorted, brayed and bit, in a man
ner indescribable, and which would have been
very amusing to anyone not engaged in the struggle.
The fearful oaths that vollied out from that moun
tain side, if treasured up, would have sunk the uni
verse. They went out into the air and were telephoned
on the morning breeze across Salmon river, echoing
along its canyons from cliff to cliff, and dying away

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 95
in a wrathful growl upon the rippling stream. Let
us hope they ended there; that as the rocky hills
treasured not up the wrong when their sides no
longer vibrated with discordant notes, and the rush
ing water laughingly hushed them with its own
sweet silvery music. Heaven will not be defaced by
everlasting impressions of them, or less mercy found
than shown by that rock-bound river.
Florence basin was alive from bottom to top, and
men were crawling over the brim on three sides.
Florence City was started; new discoveries were
made; men were shot while- wrangling over claims,
cards, or whisky ; women rode in on mules.
And all went merry as a marriage bell.
But hark! A deep sound breaks in once more.
A storm came on, and as the snow came down
and the wind mourned through the deadened trees,
we realized that all who were not prepared for a
winter in a high northern latitude, had better re
trace their steps before the snow should entirely
shut them in.
Provisions on hand were entirely insufficient for
the men in camp. Already flour was sold at $1.50
per pound, and many had neither money nor pro
visions. What prospecting was done, tended rather
to show that the mines were not extensive; and of

96 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
the men there, not one in a hundred had a claim
worth working. Summit Flat, a mile long, Babboon
gulsh, Miller's creek, and a few other short gulches
were very rich, but outside of those, nothing good
was found. Then the reaction set in, and the herd
went back faster than they came, over the same
trail, over the Slate Creek hill. They labored less,
but swore infinitely more than when they came. The
toughest ones being left in camp, we had a lively
time. Claims were jumped right and left. The
Irish were in the majority, and miners' meetings de
cided not who was entitled to possession, but to what
nationality the contestants belonged. Many of these
decisions were contrary to justice and gave serious
trouble, sometimes resulting in shooting scrapes.
An old man by the name of Lyons was the first
victim of this mob. He had two partners named
George and Jim Rodock, brothers, who came
out with us the first time from Elk City. Lyons
stayed on American river and worked their claims
until they sent him word to come to Florence. Be
fore he arrived they sold the claim they had taken
up for him, and told him, when he came, that he
was no longer their partner, and must look out for
himself. The old man was camped with me and told
his grievances. I advised him to let them go, and
try to find a new claim. He went above them on the

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 97
gulch, and sinking a hole, discovered a very rich
claim. The Rodocks, hearing of his good fortune, came
and claimed a share with him. This being refused,
they told him he should not work there, and that if
he came back they would kill him. He was de
termined not to be driven away, and went, axe in
hand, to chop a log which lay on the claim; he said
he was afraid to go, but that he had been working
for eight years to support his little grand-daughter,
and he believed there was gold enough there to
support her the rest of her life, and he would risk
his life to get it for her. Tears were in his eyes,
as he talked of this child and showed her baby let-.
ters. An hour after he went to work, we found
him lying upon his back in the snow, with a bullet
through his heart. He had made an effort at self-
defense, for his pistol was half drawn from its
scabbard, and tightly clutched in the lifeless fingers.
We carried him up and laid him to rest on the
hill near Florence, and then went to look after his
murderers; never doubting they felt secure and
would be found in their cabin. A friend of the
murdered man had seen the shooting, and had ex
changed several shots with the brothers, but being
some distance away, both had missed. We arrived
at the cabin after dark, and seeing no light and

98 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
getting no answer, beat down the barred door with
a log, and found they had gone.
I forgot to say that before we looked them up,
one of them had gone through some form of a trial
among his friends, and had been discharged, before
half the miners knew the crime had been committed.
They did not return, and their claims, cabin and
supplies were jumped by some needy friends; but
the miners took possession of the old man's claim,
sold it for $2,000 cash, and sent the whole amount
to well known and reliable men in San Francisco,
whom they appointed guardians, directing them to
receive and use it as a legacy from the faithful
old man to the child for whom he had labored eight
years, and had risked and lost his life.
After thorough prospecting, my own claim proved
to be a poor one, and I hired out to work on Summit
Flat for $16 per day. The owner of the claim and
myself, working one rocker, took out about $200 a
day, after stripping the ground of four feet of turf.
The ground was very flat and would not admit of
working with sluices. One day while rocking the
cradle we witnessed a very amusing affair.
An old German had built a very small house on
the edge of the flat. It was neatly built, and com
plete throughout, except the door. He looked it all
over and gave the ratifying nod, and went up to

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 99
the store for some nails to make his door with.
He was not gone more than half an hour, as he was
anxious to move into his new and comfortable quar
ters that evening. When he reached the door he
commenced to roar like a wounded grizzly, swearing
in Dutch, tearing his hair, and dancing around in
a most frantic manner. We hastened down to see
what could be the matter. We saw a sight that
was as ludicrous to us as it was exasperating to the
Dutchman. An old horse which had been turned
out to die, had been gnawing the turf upon the flat
for several days; he was Very large and very poor.
He went into the little house, no doubt thinking it
was a stable, and in trying to turn around, had fal
len and died. The Dutchman jumped upon his poor
old carcass with both feet, and yelled like a Co
manche, but he was stone dead.
His head, which showed him to be of the finest
American stock, lay in one corner, while the toes
of his hind feet, stubbed by the rocky hills he had
crossed, reached the other. He had been a splendid
horse, and even while the old man was tearing
around, I ceased laughing to pity his fate and con
template his splendid proportions — splendid even in
poverty and death. The old man continued to tear
around for a quarter of an hour, paying no atten
tion to those gathered around, but cursing the old

100 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
horse over and over again, until he was almost ex
hausted. Then he cooled down and went to work
with his butcher knife and hatchet, to cut up the
carcass. He would cut off a leg, and taking it upon
his shoulder carry it away, stooping beneath his load
and muttering curses at every breath. I would give
$100 for a correct picture of that Dutchman as he
carried away the last load. It was that monstrous
head, grasped by one ear. As he grinned back at
the laughing crowd, some one asked him why he
did not tie a rope to the horse and get his friends
to help drag him away. "My door vas two feet; tee
hips mit dot horse vas four feet. Ter tiefel pring
him to my house whole, I must fetch him away in
pieces. He vas too tam big anyways, I make some
ponies of him. Dot last het on mine pack was big
ger tan some jackasses."
About this time we had an Indian scare. Two
prospectors returned and reported that 1,500 In
dians, headed by old Eagle-of-the-Light, were about
twelve miles north of us. The report created great
excitement and seemed not improbable, as that war
like chief had threatened the miners with destruc
tion should they persist in invading his domains.
He was a renegade Nez Perce, supported by the
same band of Snakes which has since given so much
trouble in Idaho and Washington territories. We

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 101
enrolled two companies under Jeff Stanif er and Jack
Stanfield, and started out to meet the hostiles. Great
caution was necessary to prevent a surprise in that
broken country, and we were several days before we
discovered the cause of the first alarm. The whole
thing originated in a trifling affair. Three men had
sunk a prospect hole, and finding nothing, were mak
ing merry over their disappointment. One beat a
tattoo on a pan, while the others danced around and
yelled, imitating the war dance of the Sioux. Just
at this moment the men who spread the alarm, hear
ing the noise, peered over the hill and saw the dance.
Two of the dancers had on red shirts, and being
a mile distant were mistaken for Indians. The
echoes multiplied the whoops and warlike notes,
until 1,500 painted warriors was the least estimate
made of the dancing army. Discouraged at finding
no one to shoot at but one another, we went back
to town, intending to make a miniature lead mine
of the men who had deceived us, but they were
never found, and are probably living today in peace
ful seclusion under laws which would have been no
protection to them had they met the two armies
which marched back to Florence from the scene
of the mimic war dance.
All this time the weather was getting colder, the
snow deeper, and the provisions becoming more and

102 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
more scarce. Still men came and went. Pack ani
mals could no longer reach the camp, and pack trains
of men brought flour from Slate creek. Each packer
owned his own train, and loaded up and unloaded
as he pleased. He could carry from fifty to 100
pounds, making the trip in two days, and was paid
$1 per pound freight. Some men established rep
utations for strength and endurance, rivaling that
of a mule, by the enormous loads they packed, while
others received less enviable ones by taking their
meals from the contents of the sack they carried.
Established packers had a reputation to maintain,
and could not afford to lose it for a few pounds of
flour, and a sack that came on the shoulders of
Long Jim or Big Jack was taken at par, while those
brought by men of less repute were subject to
closer scrutiny, and often weighed.
Many of the miners were from Oregon, and had
brought from their homes sober habits and quiet
dispositions, together with other adjuncts of civ
ilized life. Vocal and instrumental music, with
anecdotes and intelligent conversation, whiled away
the evening hours within the rugged cabins.
But the town had received many accessions from
Washoe and other mining camps of a different style
of men. Fred Patterson, Billy Mayfield, Jakey Will
iams, Cherokee Bob, and a dozen other desperadoes,

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 103
were amongst us. Each could boast of several men
who had lost their lives while fooling with them;
and all were anxious to add to their laurels by se
curing a few more victims before some quicker hand
than theirs should stop their fated course. Poor
old man Lyons! He was not allowed to rest alone
on the claim we gave him. Hurrying crowds
tramped above his bed; the hill opened, and men
with boots upon their feet, with bloody hands and
blackened soul laid them down to sleep beside
him. To me, this seemed a desecration, but I
hold less censure now, and hope the blood of Christ
nas power enough to wash their stains away, and
purge their souls so white that some time in eternity
good, old Father Lyons, in the realms above, shall
not shudder, but rejoice to see them come. Reckless
men held high carnival in Florence for a year, when
those who survived the knife and pistol, finding
money was getting scarce, sought other scenes, and
Placerville, Bannock, Rocky Bar, and Silver City,
trembled at their deeds. Not one of those I have
mentioned is now alive, and many of their class
have joined them in their bloody graves. Not one
has lived a worthy life, or died a noble death. And
yet they were not wholly bad. Their generous im
pulses were known throughout the land, and wit
nessing their noble bearing and desperate courage,

104 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
I could but regret that they had not been turned in
youth to nobler fields of conquest, where generous
courage could adorn a well-spent life, and where
the world would look the brighter for their lives.
I feel like saying more about these men, and think
some day I shall; but youth will not be led astray,
nor decent people shocked, as when the life of Jesse
James appeared, for I shall speak the truth; record
the deeds they did; point to their bloody graves,
which tell the moral out so plain that, though their
deeds were crimes, the lessons which they truly
teach, may prove a blessing now.
As I have said,the weather was getting very cold,
and but little work could be done. A few men had
rich claims, but the majority were wandering around
with nothing to do. My own hopes of a fortune had
gradually withered, and I believed, as afterwards
proved true, that the rich spots about Florence were
mostly found. Moreover, I had promised some one
to come back to the little school house by the bridge,
and for the second time I turned my back on Flor
ence and waded through the snows to firmer foot
ing. I must reach Elk City before going home, or
else I should return poorer than I came.
Again I left the traveled road at White Bird,
skirted Camas Prairie, and reached the crossing of
the Clearwater. Some men mining on the bars just

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 105
above the crossing declared that I could not wade
the snow across the mountain. I made a pair of
snow shoes and started up the steep incline. At first
the snow was light, but steadily increased in depth
until I could make but little headway. My snow
shoes did not work well, and sometimes where
drifts of light snow lay, I was forced to lie full length
and crawl across them. I was five days going fifty
miles, and endured fatigue and exposure enough to
kill anything but a mule or a young Webfoot. Elk
City looked like a camp meeting the day after ad
journment; not one house in ten was occupied. My
partners were not expecting me, but welcomed me
back, and we all concluded to leave our claim * until
spring and go to Walla Walla to winter. I did not
say to them I was going home, for fear they would
all want to go, and we did not have enough money
to send more than one off in good style. Webfoot
boys become homesick very easily, and once taken,
they are like the Swiss people when away from
home, genuinely sick.

Adventures in the Mines.

Carrying our blankets and camping out at night,
we made our way across the mountains, and ai'ler
a weary tramp arrived at Lewiston, the canvas
town. It was quite a city now ; the white tents stand
ing on the plain looked like the bivouac of an army,
and contrasted strangely with the other towns. The
tents were in the form of one-story houses, standing
in the regular order and supported with a light
framework of wood. Some of them contained large
stocks of goods, while others were saloons, hotels,
etc. We stopped at the Oro Fino house, and while at
supper, noticed some bullet holes in the canvas near
where we sat. I remarked to the proprietor that he
had difficulty with his waiters.
"No," said he, "those shots were fired at the
French restaurant man at the other end of the
block by his cook. They passed through the entire
block, encountering nothing but canvas, but one of

108 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
them killed a mule in the next street. There are
some more in the back of the tent. They were fired
from across the river by some one who was trying
the range of a Sharp's rifle. I would like to put up
some boards to protect my patrons while at their
meals, but the government officers stationed at Lap-
wai will not allow it, and I must do the best I can
until a treaty can be made with the Indians. I al
ways seat gentlemen on this side of the table, so
that if hit by a bullet from the big saloon it will
not be in the back. But with government officers,
lawyers, doctors, and Indian agents, it don't mat
ter, and those reserved seats are for them."
Sincerely appreciating the courtesy of this man,
we made a hearty meal, and soon after went to rest,
hoping our bodies would not be perforated during
the night by shots from the big saloon. Three days'
travel brought us to Walla Walla. Here I met the
long lost Thomas, and we agreed to return home to
gether. The town was wonderfully improved, and
business activity manifest on every side. The news
from Florence had converted it into a mining camp
although 200 miles from where the gold was found.
The same wild excitement which I had witnessed
at Oro Fino, Elk City and Florence, was here.
Everything was worth more money than it had ever
been before. The most indolent men held up their

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 109
heads, quickened their pace, and boldly went into
speculation, buying whatever was offered, and pay
ing but little attention to price. The mania for
speculation was universal. The lazy Indian brought
his ponies to market, and even the pony himself
seemed to look proud when a white man thought him
worth $100. I felt as much excited as the rest, but
"remembering things that were," I turned my
back on all this, purchased a horse, and started
home. I had ridden about half way through the
town when I met the Devil, in the form of an old
friend, who said:
"George, you are going back to poverty and ob
scurity. You are young, and you should try to get
a fortune. If you will stay two years in this coun
try you can make money enough to astonish the
whole Webfoot nation."
Some way this speech stuck to my ear. I al
ways thought I should like to astonish the Webfeet,
especially the girls. I said:
"If I should stay, what can I do with my dust?"
He cast his eye up the street for an investment;
glanced at a hotel, a saloon, a blacksmith shop, and
finally settled his hellish gaze upon an ox team.
"Buy that team," he said, "and go with my train
to Lewiston. You can make a thousand dollars in
thirty days."
I consented, purchased the team, and thirty

110 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
minutes later was on the road to Lewiston, loaded
with flour and bacon. I had abandoned cherished
plans, and embarked on a new enterprise. My emo
tions were high and conflicting, and as I walked
along beside the oxen, I tried to compose a few lines
of poetry to be sent below as an apology for not re
turning :
"0 do not think that I am false,
That Florence snows have quenched my flame.
Men have been true a hundred years,
But I'll be  ."
I never could finish that verse. The poet's muse
has not been aristocratic; it has cheered the lower
walks of life ; has sat by the sailor's cot, and lingered
about the hut of the shepherd ; has visited the blind
and deaf, and even gilded the captive's cell. But
there is one thing it never did dp — it never fooled
away any time with a man who was driving an ox
team. This I partly realized as I tried in vain to finish
my verse, and cracked my whip upon the flagging
team. It seemed that the oxen were moving slower
.at every step, and seemed to be pulling harder and
;harder. At last they stalled on a little hill, and I
ccould not make them move. After much yelling
and whipping, I looked back at the two wagons I

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 111
was trying to start. To the hindmost one my horse
was tied with a stout rope ; he was down on his side,
and it was he who had caused the heavy pulling and
finally stopped the team. He was choked to death,
and had been dead for a quarter of an hour. A man
who overtook me said he saw him down when I
came over the last hill, and he had been hallooing to
me ever since, but as the wind was blowing I did
not hear. My three lines of verse had cost me $100.
My cattle, which cost me ten times that amount,
proved of as little value as they, for the hard win
ter which was ushered in by the next day's storm,
froze them all to death, and I was left with my
bitter experience, my three lines of verse, and my
future expectations. During the whole of that win
ter, which was the hardest ever known in that coun
try, Walla Walla was gathering from the miners
a rich harvest of gold. While the snows were whit
ening upon the plain, and cattle were starving upon
a thousand hills, the townspeople were gaining in
wealth as never before. All kinds of trade was
good, but gambling seemed to be in the summit of
its glory. Ten thousand dollars were frequently bet
on the turn of a single card, and the whole town wae
in a wild mad state of uproarous hilarity. Some
readers will remember the desperado, Tom Gafner.

112 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
He went to Walla Walla, and soon distinguished
himself as a quarrelsome and desperate man.
While passing along the street one day, he saw
a Jew sitting inside the window of his store, and
taking a box which had been filled with clay pipes
and had been placed outside for a tobacco sign,
threw it through the window upon the unoffending
Jew. These people are generally peaceable and slow
to wrath, but if there is anything that will over
come their natural reluctance to fight, it is to see
their property destroyed, and especially in such a
wanton manner as this. The clay pipes had not
ceased rattling on the floor, before the Jew, armed
with a stout sword, sprang through the door and
aimed a blow at the head of his assailant. Gafner
skillfully parried it with a light thorn stick which
he carried, and dealt a blow in return which brought
the swordsman to his knees. The Jew fought with
the wild rage of a maddened beast,. or the desperate
courage of Roderick Dhu whilst his antagonist
laughed in his face and foiled his blows with the cool
courage of Fitz James. Gafner was an expert
swordsman, and upon that slender cane received a
dozen blows, and with it gave as many in return, un
til a down cut reached his right hand and left it use
less. The cane fell, and as he stooped to pick it up,
the sword was buried in his head. He died the next

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 113
day, and all agreed that he had received his just re
ward. Yet somewhere, hearts were anguished by
his fall. Some one loved him when a laughing baby.
Some one waited for his coming. Somewhere tears
were shed for him.
By the middle of January, snow had fallen to
a depth of two and a half feet, and a very heavy
sleet had formed on top, rendering it impossible for
stock to get anything to eat on the ranges. Cattle
died by thousands, and not more than 1 per cent of
the vast herds north of The Dalles were alive when
spring came. The thermometer went down until
the mercury congealed, and many persons were
frozen to death.
As but little has been said in these sketches about
the ladies, I may mention a young actress about
whom the boys raved that cold winter. Susie Rob
inson, the star of the Robinson troupe, which played
in Corvallis during the winter of 1860, was a beau
tiful girl, who sang divinely, and set the masculine
hearts palpitating wherever she went. She was at
the height of her fame, and in all her glory at Walla
Walla, and more admired and petted than any
queen. Her form and voice were praised by all, and
her virtue extolled, while her father gathered at
the door of his theater willing tributes enough, each
day, to have made her a golden crown. Was ever

114 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
a queen so fortunately situated? We know now
that she was not a great actress or singer, and my
roving eyes have since discovered that she was not
a remarkable beauty, but at that time many Oregon
boys had never seen the gay tinsels of a stage cos
tume ; never been thrilled by the rich tones of a cul
tivated voice, or seen a beautiful woman poised on
one toe, and she took the frontier heart by storm.
Nor were the Oregon boys her only admirers. Men
of mature years left their families at home, and
came to see what the boys were all talking about.
A German surgeon of high repute lost his reason
entirely while contemplating her glories.
Two companies of troops were stationed at the
fort, and the soldiers were as much infatuated with
Susie as were the citizens. They came to the
theater by companies, and seated themselves in
platoons before the stage. Then came trouble. The
citizens would not allow the favorite to be monopo
lized by soldiers, and after several slight encounters
drove them from the theater, telling them not to
come again or civil war would certainly follow.
They had enlisted for three years or the war. The
stirring news from the Southern states was over
coming the influences of the fort, and they felt
combative. Moreover, they wanted to see Susie,
and probably thought if Uncle Abe was going to

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES ll5
march their brethren down to take Richmond, they
ought to be able to take Robinson's theater. They
came fully armed, and determined to insist upon
their rights. We all knew a fight was coming, and
divided our sympathies according to our political
opinions. Susie came upon the stage, and the sight
of her for a time quelled even the turbulent feel
ings of the two contending factions. A hearty round
of applause greeted her, and she acknowledged it as
only a favorite can, and commenced to sing. One
of the soldiers, who had been drinking, continued
to cheer, and the marshal attempted to take him
from the room, but he resisted and felled the offi
cer with a blow of a dragoon pistol. Instantly the
house was in an uproar. Susie screamed and ran
from the stage. Navy Colt's pistols leaped from
their scabbards and bellowed like the roar of artil
lery. Cherokee Bob sprang upon his seat and fired
straight and fast, dropping a soldier at every shot.
He stood above most of the crowd, and was a fair
mark for all who wanted a shot at a desperado and
murderer. The soldiers were intoxicated and missed
their mark, but Bob received several shots from one
who did not often miss, the last one knocking him
from the seat where he stood, and yet he was un
hurt. It was known afterward that he wore mail
beneath his clothing, and this had saved his worth-

116 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
less life. The firing continued from all parts of
the room, and a terrible stampede ensued, every one
but those engaged trying to get out of the house.
More than fifty shots were fired, and the room was
filled with smoke, out of which pistols blazed, fired
at supposed enemies, though several times friends
fired upon each other. Three men were killed
and many wounded, besides a great many were
nearly scared to death. I helped to carry a man
to the surgeon, who said he had a death shot, and
was really falling when we caught him. He had the
slightest flesh wound, though the ball had struck
a purse of coin in his pocket, which turned its
course and probably saved his life.
No one was arrested, and the theater went on
as usual, but Susie never seemed quite the same
afterward. A slight commotion in the audience
would attract her attention in the midst of her best
song, and in her best play she always looked as
though she was just a little afraid some one was
going to shoot. Many years have passed, and Susie,
if among the living, must show the hand of time.
"The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose
eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure — her triumphs are by."
Yet she no doubt remembers and tells her children,
if she has been so blessed as to be a mother, that

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 117
-she once held sway over a country large enough for
an empire, and ruled her subjects with a royal will.
But sometimes thoughts of sadness will steal upon
her as she remembers that in trying to please, she
once raised a storm she could not quell, and that
men have fought and died contending for the right
to hear her sing.
I spent the latter part of the winter with Thomas
on the Touchet, about twenty miles from town. He
felt as much distressed at the loss of my oxen as I
did myself, and together we discussed future opera
tions, and laid plans for the next summer's cam
paign. Thomas was in favor of buying another
team, which he would drive, but I declared I would
never invest in anything so slow as an ox again.
This was a splendid resolution, and had I but ad
hered to it I would have been spared much vexation
of spirit, and have avoided the loss of several thou
sand dollars. But we do not like to be beaten, even
by Providence, and I chafed sorely over that win
ter's defeat. Several years later I purchased an
other team of oxen, and the Indians shot them full
of arrows on the Malheur river. Then I bought
another, and remembering my past experience, sold
it at a profit, and took a note for $1,000 in payment.
The man ran away and never paid me a dollar. Still

118 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
I did not take warning. I bought my fourth and'
last ox team.
Determined not to be outdone by cold weather,
Indians, or rascals, I took all possible precautions,
and drove forth to war with destiny. Not a man
on earth could have bought those oxen without pay
ing cash down; and I guarded them so closely that
the Indians could not have stolen them without tak
ing my life. I fully believed that I was equal to
the emergency of taking care of my property, but
it was not to be. On a beautiful day, near the Far-
well bend of Snake river, I was driving along, count
ing the profits on my load, and believing the goal
already won, when suddenly a cloud appeared, veil
ing the sun and obscuring the designs of the out
raged heavens. A moment later the cloud had.
parted, a bolt of fire shot forth, and three of my
oxen lay dead in the road — my best ones too, killed
in different parts of the team, by forked lightning;
and as the thunder pealed and then went chuckling
off toward the north I realized that I was in the
minority, and fought no more.
This is a digression in which I have passed over
several years of which I wish to speak, and I will
turn to Thomas and take up the thread of my narra
tive. We separated again, and before the snow was
gone from the hills, I was on my way to the mines,

ANOTHER QUARTZ JWILL

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 119
carrying my blankets on my back, while he re
mained at Walla Walla. I concluded to try my luck
at Oro Fino for a couple of months, until the snow
was sufficiently hardened to allow me to reach my
claims at Elk City. We found Lewiston had grown
during the hard winter, and many tents had given
place to more substantial buildings. The big saloon
was changed to wood, with walls thick enough to
stop a pistol ball, and the town was comparatively
safe. From this place the trail was over the snow, but
it was settled hard, and was no inconvenience to
traverse. Oro Fino was almost buried in snow, it
having been shoveled from the streets and banked
up on either side higher than the tops of the low
houses. Throughout the winter the people had been
penned up without communication with the outside
world. Flour, bacon, beans, coffee and sugar were
plenty, but there was no fresh meat nor vegetables
in camp, and that dreadful disease, scurvy, was not
uncommon. It is said to be induced by eating too
much salt meat. Fresh meat or vegetables are pre
ventatives, and all were waiting anxiously for the
trains of pack mules to come and bring those much-
needed articles.
I found some old friends, and went to work with
them in a small gulch which empties into Moore's.

120 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
creek. The snow was several feet deep, but had
thawed away near the streams. We took out about
$8 per day per man, and it was a pleasure to me to
once more commence to lay up a fortune, for I had
by no means abandoned the idea of making one. One
day I took a near cut across the hills to town. About
half a mile from our camp I came across a little
cabin among a cluster of fir trees. Curiosity led me
to enter it. The door was closed, but opened easily
at a slight touch, and I saw before me on a miner's
cot what caused my heart to stand still — a dead man.
He was lying on his side, covered, except the head
and neck, and had apparently been dead some time.
I made but a cursory examination, and hurried back
to camp. Gathering a few men, we returned to
bury the body, and discover, if possible, the cause
of such a lonely and strange death.
There were no marks of violence, and his last act
seemed to have been to compose himself as if to
sleep. Beside his head, on his straw pillow, lay a
small book, in which he had kept a dairy of his
doings since coming to the cabin. He had found It
deserted, and being tired and sick, had concluded
to go no further until spring. He had his blankets,
a coffee pot, frying pan, and a small stock of pro
visions. His writing showed that he was insane when he

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 121
arrived at the cabin, or became so soon after, and
had deliberately concluded to starve when his slender
stock of food was gone. Each day he had made an
entry, noting the condition of his mind and body,
and sometimes moralizing on the depravity and
selfishness of mankind. He declared that money
was all men cared for ; that he had once had money,
and was loved by all; now he was poor, and no one
cared whether he lived or died; but that he thought
too much of himself to ask for charity.
He had fastened strings to the door so that he
could open and shut it while he was lying in bed.
His name, if given, has escaped my memory, and I
do not know whether anything more was ever known
of him than was gathered at that hurried inquest.
The body had been frozen stiff for two months,
and was lying within a quarter of a mile of plenty
of provisions, and of generous men, who would
gladly have relieved him had they known of his dis
tress. It was sad to know a human being had died for
want of food — sad to contemplate his rash resolve
to starve rather than ask a crust of bread of men
who gave as free as air. Yet all felt it was his
own fault, and nothing but the belief that he was
insane prevented a tinge of censure from mingling

122 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
with the sorrow felt, as he was laid to rest beside
the cabin where he died.
Meantime spring was coming on, the streams were
swollen by the melting snow. The town awoke to
shout for joy to see the mule trains coming in, and
all gave promise of returning life and activity. Again
the merchant opened up his wares; again saloons
were filled, and pistols popped about their doors, or
bellowed within their walls. It was a blessing that
there were many poor shots, or else the town would
have been depopulated by its own business activity.
It was strange so much shooting was done and with
so little malice. Sometimes shots were fired by Cal
if ornians at Webfeet, just for fun.
Jerome, a blooded Irishman, being more closely
crowded in a saloon one day than suited his taste,
drew a dragoon pistol, and laying it over his
shoulder, fired four shots at the packed crowd be
hind him. The first shot hit a man in the temple,
but the ball glanced around the skull and did not
kill him. The other three were avoided by men who
were in range, by dropping down, while the bullets
passed over their heads.
The saloon was quickly emptied, and Jerome, after
breaking all the bar fixtures and reloading his pistol,
walked into the street and defied arrest. Tom Can,
the deputy sheriff, placed his pistol to Jerome's ear

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 123
and told him to surrender. He refused, and Tom did
not shoot, but wound his arms around him and held
him fast. He was taken to Lewiston for trial, but
was never punished, and came back to camp. He
was well received in town, the sports declaring it
was quite a joke, that he had shown no malice, but
fired among the crowd quite promiscuously, and just
for sport.
Our little gulch claim was soon worked out, and
the snow having disappeared from the hills, I again
set out for the old camp at Elk City in company with
a friend, carrying our blankets and provisions on
our backs. Following the old Lolo trail, a day's
tramp brought us to the stream of that name. Here
we found an enterprising Nez Perce Indian. He
had built a large bridge, on which pack animals
could cross, and was collecting toll. He charged $1
per head for mules and horses, and insisted on mak
ing us pay the same, declaring in the best Chinook
he could command that we were heavier loaded than
any animals which had ever crossed his bridge. How
we all love praise ! We paid that dollar more cheer
fully because an Indian said we were very strong
young men, and our loads felt lighter when remem
bering that word of praise.
The second day we stopped at noon among the
spruce trees. My companion decided to have some

124 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
spruce tea. He said it was very good — superior, in?
fact, to the best China teas. We filled our coffee
pot with the green boughs, covered them with
water, and while our bacon was frying, made our
tea. It had a greenish color and did not taste well,
but by using plenty of sugar, we managed to drink
about a pint each; my friend declaring that whether
we liked it or not, it was good for our health. How
shall I tell the sequel ? My friend grew deathly sick,
and I was soon unable to render him any assistance.
He rolled and tumbled, gnashed his teeth and swore,
while I was half beside myself with fright and pain.
I fully believed we were poisoned unto the death,
and that a few minutes would end our sufferings,,
and we should die and be eaten by the coyotes.
It was not a pleasant thought, and I commenced
to think of remedies. We had no medicines except
a small box of anguentum, intended only for ex
ternal application, and I was afraid it would prove
another poison if taken into the stomach. I had.
once doctored a sick cow with lard, and concluded
to try bacon grease on my partner, and if it did not
kill him I would try some myself. He declared it
was of no use; that he was dying, and only begged,
me, if I survived, to tell his girl that he died think
ing of her, and to ask her not to marry Lige Howard.
He would not take my medicine, and I placed the-

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 125
cup to his lips and forced him to drink half a pint
of warm grease. The effect was magical. He was
relieved instantly, and I proceeded to fry a little
more bacon that I might relieve my own suffering.
I am not a chemist, nor a physician, and do not
know whether we made a great discovery or not.
I simply point the physician's telescope to this por
tion of the medical horizon, believing there are stars
there of the first magnitude awaiting discovery.
After two days' convalescence we were able to travel,
but during our entire journey our loads felt heavier
from the effects of spruce tea.
Elk City had already awoke from its winter nap.
Crowds were in the streets, and unsuccessful miners
from Florence were opening up their old claims with
something of the resignation a man feels when he
pays court to his old sweetheart, after having wasted
his substance in riotous living, while vainly
pursuing some dashing belle. Florence had proved
an ignis fatus to the greater number who had gone
there, and we returned to our little camps resigned
to our lot, determined to work industriously and
roam no more.

A MINING FLUME

Adventures in the Mines.

VI.

My journey through the mountains had given me
a taste for travel, and I soon tired of mining and
sold my claim for $1,800, and concluded to try pack
ing. As all supplies were brought on pack animals,
this was a lucrative business, and I figured my
profits by the thousands, and again expected to be
able to go home in the fall, and exhibit my gold and
tell of my adventures and quietly settle down among
my Webfoot brethren. These thoughts cheered me
as I enlisted a few vicious mules and sinful cayuses
under my banner, and endeavored to discipline them
to the art of carrying flour and bacon, picks, shovels,
etc., upon their backs. It so happened that none of
them had ever been packed, and all of them were
determined they never would be. The antics they
cut when turned loose with packs upon their backs
was a menagerie worth seeing, but after tiring them
selves out, they submitted and were driven along
quietly, but wearing a very dejected look. There

128 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
is something pathetic in seeing a fine horse reluc
tantly yield his sovereignty and submit to a life of
drudgery. I made several trips from Lewiston to
Elk City and Oro Fino, realizing fair profits, but
falling far short of my expectations.
The mining season was again drawing to a close,
and when the mountain tops were whitened by the
early snows, the miners began to leave the chilly
gulches and seek more comfortable winter quarters.
For the last time I bid adieu to Elk City, the place
of my first mining operation, and again started on
my way to the land where red apples were being
gathered, and red-cheeked girls were watching from
rude doorways for the return of the gold hunters.
At the Cold Springs, on Camas Prairie, we inter
cepted the line of travel from Florence. Some were
loaded down with gold, but many were poorer than
when they came. Several of those we met had been
robbed by highwaymen, having gone through the
trying ordeal of looking into the open end of a shot
gun while their pockets were being rifled.
This species of speculation was carried on by
day and night, and had become so common that it
was difficult for one to get through from Florence
with gold dust, unless accompanied by a strong
guard of armed men. As we arrived at Lewiston,
the Walla Walla stage drew up, guarded by six

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 129
horsemen, and carrying as prisoners Dave English,
Nelson Scott, and Billy Peoples. They had been tak
ing purses right and left along the road between
Lewiston and Florence, and were considered three
of the worst men in the whole mining region. Their
latest exploit was to rob an old friend by the name
of Berry. They were not masked, and Berry knew
them quite well, and protested against their robbing
an old acquaintance. They took about $6,000 from
him. Dave English remarked that "dead men tell
no tales." Berry thought his last hour had come, but
owed his life to the generosity of Scott, who said :
"No; he is a good man; we will not kill him, al
though we may hang for taking his money."
They bade him good-bye, and trusted to the fleet-
ness of their horses to escape the pursuit which
they knew would be made. The robbery took place
on White Bird creek. The three men rode together
until they were some distance below Lewiston, when
they separated, Scott and Peoples going to Walla
Walla, while English headed his now tired horse
toward Wallula. Meanwhile, Berry was not idle,
and this time revenge was swifter than self-preser
vation, for when English, in the early dawn, rode
across the sandhill to Wallula, Berry, looking from
a window, saw him coming and quickly made prep
arations for his reception. He dismounted and

130 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
entered the saloon where his victim and others
awaited him. He was asked to take a drink, and
as he reached the bar he was confronted with a
shotgun. Glancing around, he saw a pistol at each
ear, while the muzzle of another gun touched the
back of his head. Resistance would have been cer
tain death, and all men shrink from that.
He smiled as he said:
"Well, boys, you played it pretty fine, but let us
have a drink before the irons are put on me."
The irons came first and then the drink, in which
Berry joined, in honor of the occasion, no doubt re
membering his prisoner's significant remark when
last they parted. Scott was taken at Walla Walla,
and Peoples was taken somewhere in that vicinity.
English, with his parents, was for many years
a resident of the lower part of Benton county. He
devoted his time to drinking, horse racing, fighting,
etc., and was known as a reckless man.
Scott lived in the upper part of Linn county. He
was a generous light-hearted man. He was married
to a beautiful girl, but became addicted to drinking,
and went steadily down until the irons were upon
his wrists.
Scott and English were both large, handsome men,
but Peoples was a little black imp about four feet
high, who looked the villain that he was. A little

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 131
chip cast off in Nature's mint, just large enough to
receive half the stamp of man. He came to Oregon
with Marshall's circus, the first one which had ever
exhibited here, and had been a drunkard all his life.
As has been said, they came under guard to
Lewiston, on their way to Florence for trial. But
they had many friends who determined to set them
at liberty without the ceremony of a trial. The
whole whisky element of the town was enlisted in
their cause. It is strange how drink will level rank
and bring the high born down to stand with thieves
and robbers. Marshall, the old showman," was there,
and headed the crowd to take the prisoners from
the guards. Then the better element of the city
arose to throw itself around the jail and stand be
tween the prisoners and their reckless friends.
It was a dark and chilly night, and those who
stood with arms in hand and listened to the frenzied
shouts of the wild mob as it ranged the town, firing
shots and drinking on to wild insanity, will not soon
forget their impressions nor the temperance lecture
thundered forth by those wild orgies.
From time to time, reports of the coming of the
reckless crowd of revellers were brought to the
guards, who were lessening in number, as timid men
crept away to avoid what seemed to be an inevitable
conflict. Still, about fifty determined men stood

132 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
around the little shanty where the prisoners were
anxiously awaiting the coming of their friends, who,
they felt sure, would release them.
One half the night had worn away, when Mar
shall, growing impatient, came down upon the
guards alone. It was pitch dark, and on the damp
ground his footfalls made no sound. Suddenly a
bright flame shot forth, followed by another, and
two men lay wounded on the ground.
Although the men had stood for hours with pistols
in their hands, peering through the darkness to find
a foe, they seemed to be taken by surprise, and for
a moment no one returned the fire. Then, as Mar
shall's outline was discovered in the darkness, a
single pistol cracked and he fell, but recovered him
self and ran away before another shot was fired.
Then all the latent fury of patient men broke forth.
The prisoners were told that they must die. English
and Peoples begged for mercy, but Scott made no
appeal. Taking a ring from his finger, he quietly
asked that it might be taken to his wife, and then,
doubling up his chains, he dealt blows right and
left, with desperate might and almost superhuman
energy. The night wore on, and still the robbers' friends
were drinking. And when morning came the guards
were gone, and stillness reigned about the jail. All

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 133
"but the revellers knew what this meant, and when
they ventured to look, they found the three men
hanging to the low joists of the little building which
had served as their jail the night before. Marshall
and the men he shot recovered; the roughs sought
other scenes, and for a time Lewiston was quiet.
Many people are opposed to hanging men under
any circumstances except after due process of law,
but this action of the Lewiston people was induced
by peculiar and aggravating circumstances, and was
applauded by the best element of the community. As
for myself, I was thankful that I had escaped be
ing robbed, shot, or hanged, and went on my way
rejoicing that it was my Webfoot brethren instead
of myself, over whom a post mortem examination
was being held. This reminds one that our opinion
of mob law is likely to be influenced by the ques
tion of who is to be hanged.
At Walla Walla I received news from home which
did not please me very well. I was not pleased at
all; in fact, I was disgusted. The first thing I did
was to take a walk; this did not relieve me, and I
came back and took a ride. Feeling no better, I
went down town and got into a fight. My antagonist
was severely punished, but still I grew worse. When
I reached camp my companions were asleep. I built
up a large fire and sat down and whistled a few

134 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
tunes ; then I tried a song. I sang all the old songs
I knew. "Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast,"
and after a while I grew calm and composed a few
lines of pacific poetry. Here are a few verses :
Come Satan's muse and breathe a spell
In concord with these thoughts of mine;
Come forth, ye savage wits of hell,
And set hell's music to my rhyme.
For I have loved and all in vain;
Have felt its bitter pangs full deep,
And in my soul there is a pain
O'er which the demons well might weep.
I wrote some twenty verses in this quiet strain,,
and finally finished with this :

Time may try in vain to heal
Wounds which laugh to scorn his art,
Try in vain the pulse to feel,
Which throbs around a broken heart.

I went away from camp so I could not be heard
by my excited companions, and repeated the lines
I had composed, until my soul grew calm; then I

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 135
came back, and by the light of the fire wrote the fol
lowing :
Breathes there a woman 'neath the skies
Who dares to say she loves a man?
Deep in her throat the vixen lies —
Man only loves, man only can.
The remainder of the night was passed in similar
musings. In the morning I saddled my horse and
rode into the hills to contemplate the situation. I
was going through the most trying ordeal of a
young man's life. It was strange I was not dis
turbed. I contemplated my equanimity, and felt
proud that nothing could disturb my serenity of
mind. I spent the day among the hills, shooting at
badgers and prairie chickens, and returned at night
with my mind filled with the nebulae of grand reso
lutions. They were so indistinct that I could not discern
what form they were likely to assume, but I felt a
distinct presentiment that I was destined to ride on
the topmost crest of something. I racked my brain
to find out what this should be.
I thought a first-class desperado would attract 'at
tention and make the world tremble. I was a good
shot, and knew many people I would like to kill;

136 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
but this kind of amusement had its drawbacks. I
had been on the frontier long enough to learn that
even there "the way of the transgressor is hard."
Then I thought I would be a missionary and de
vote my life to converting the heathen; but after
thinking this over, I concluded not to devote my life
any more, but to go to the Boise mines, spend the
winter mining, and then hunt buffalo on the plains ;
or to do battle with the warlike Sioux.
I loaded my train with a general outfit of pro
visions, and made my way over the Blue mountains
to the Grand Ronde valley. Here I met William
Brittain, an old friend and schoolmate, who per
suaded me to camp until he had time to talk to
me. He talked four days, at the end of which time
I agreed to stay with him in the valley until spring.
We located claims on the ground where Summerville
now stands, built a comfortable cabin, and made
preparations for a winter's stay among the immi
grants who were settling up the land. One day I re
ceived a letter which pleased me. I was very much
pleased ; in fact, I was delighted. It proved that the
news I heard at Walla Walla was false, and I aban
doned all idea of hunting buffalo, turning desperado,
or' being a missionary. I would run my pack train
another season, sell out, and go home in the fall.
In the meantime I heard of Thomas. Where was

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 137
he, and what had he been doing all this time? He
has been neglected, slighted, and ignored, but not
forgotten. Of course the reader has noticed this.
The fact is, not being a novelist, I cannot write of
more than one man at a time, and in this dilemma
have been absolutely unable to tell of what Thomas
did. But you shall know, Thomas had adventures.
He has been cast down, and has been lifted up;
he has fallen from grace, has rejoiced again. Hope's
beaming eyes have looked upon wealth. Despair's
leaden orbs have turned to a life of poverty, and
over his life, as over mine, sunshine and shadow
have held alternate sway.
Our preparations for winter were scarcely com
pleted when snow fell to the depth of two and one-
half feet in the valley, while the mountains were
covered with from six to ten feet, and all communi
cation with the outside world was cut off. As soon
as the snow settled so as to admit of sleighing, Wil
liam and I extemporized a set of harness out of
saddle cinches and bale rope, made a rude sleigh,
harnessed up a couple of pack horses, and made a
tour of the valley. Our intention was to find out
what our resources for amusement and comfort
were, and what kind of company we should have
during the winter. In the north end of the valley
near where we built our cabin, was a settlement

138 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
of Scotch immigrants; they spoke very little Eng
lish, and were nearly destitute of worldly goods,
having exhausted their means in making the long
journey overland from the East. Further south, on
the west side, was an Iowa encampment, consisting
of about sixty Iowans who arrived late in the fall
and encamped for the winter in the same manner
in which they were accustomed to on the plains.
Here we found some very pleasant people, among
whom were Doctors Paten and Boswell, afterwards
known in the Willamette valley. Half a dozen log
houses in the southwest corner of the valley formed
the town of La Grande, and a straggling settlement
confined to the foothills completed the circuit to our
place of starting. The valley proper was almost
entirely unoccupied. For some cause, the first set
tlers of a country rarely ever select the best land —
witness Oregon valleys. The foothills were mostly
settled between the year 1845 and 1849, while much
of the beautiful prairie was located in the '50s. This
was true also of the Walla Walla and Palouse coun
tries, of Powder River and Boise valleys, and I am
told similar mistakes were made in the early settle
ment in nearly all the country from the Atlantic to
the Pacific coast. Our trip completed, we knew what
our surroundings were, and prepared to have a
grand time.
Our neighbors were weary from their long jour-

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 139
ney, having been very gradually moved two thou
sand miles by the slowest of all work animals — the
ox. The patient ox ! He is very slow and very sure,
but his race is run. He has hauled civilization
around the earth. He started at the rising sun, with
a stick across his brow, and traversed half his cir
cuit with scarcely a pause; then waited patiently
until the stick was unbound from his throbbing tem
ples ; an easy yoke was placed upon his back ; waited
until his masters learned to build ships and traverse
oceans; then he came across the great waters and
took up his line of march across the American con
tinent. Faithful and true, in the new world as
in the old, he has crossed our mountains, traversed
our deserts, and at last has bathed his tired feet in
the golden waters of the Pacific. His work is done ;
we shall never hear from him again. Peace to his
bones. William soon became a great favorite among the
Scotch girls, who looked upon him as a prodigy
of learning. He was, however, only educated at
one end, being able to dance splendidly; but this
answered all purposes. I was not anxious to make
conquests myself, but took great pride in the way
William seemed to capture young and old every
where he went. After awhile, and without any
premonitory symptoms, I found myself much court-

140 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
ed, and could not account for it. The affection of
the whole settlement seemed to be transferred to
me. After William had suffered by being slighted
for some time, and I had rejoiced in my new found
popularity, we accidentally discovered the cause of
the change. Just before the snow had fallen, I had
brought fifty bushels of potatoes on my pack train
from Walla Walla, and had them all nicely stored
away, intending to put in a large crop in the spring.
By some means, the people who knew about the
potatoes being brought over, came to believe they
belonged to William, and they were all courting him
with a view to securing a few bushels for seed.
After it became known that I was the sole owner of
those potatoes, William was never mentioned again,
and I enjoyed undisturbed my new and novel popu
larity. The snow having melted away in the upper part
of the valley, a number of packers came down on
their return from Boise to winter. Then we had
high times.
Dances were given at the cabins alternately. The
rooms were small, the floors were rough, and the
fare of the rudest kind, consisting sometimes of
only bread and meat. Yet I have never known
dancing to be so recklessly enjoyed before nor since.
The packers all danced with pistols in their belts,.

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 141
and the girls seemed to favor the one who was
armed the most formidably and danced in the most
extravagant manner. The first dance which we at
tended was at a cabin near La Grande. The girls
wore neat homespun dresses, while the boys re
joiced in woolen shirts and blue denim overalls. The
supper was something unusual, consisting of bread,
bacon, cabbage and potatoes. Everything went on
merrily until after supper, when some one came
from town with a jug of whiskey.
The drinking of this produced the same effect.
which it always has since alcohol was distilled, and
soon these dancers forgot they were brothers and
that their sisters were with them, and engaged in.
meaningless quarrels. Harmless words, which an.
hour before would have produced a merry laugh,,
were construed into deadly insults. Timid girls.
forsook the company of those whom they had begun
to trust and love, and huddled together in mortal
fear of the very ones whom God has designed as
their natural protectors. A fight was in progress,
in which the flash of the pistol answered the gleam
of the knife, and when the conflict ceased all joy
was gone,; men lay bruised and bleeding, and one
poor fellow, Joshua Goodwin, lay moaning with a
bullet in his brain.
When spring came and the grass began to grow

142 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
again, I loaded my pack train for Placerville, Idaho.
The route was along the old immigrant road most
of the way, and I readily recognized the camping
places at which we stopped in crossing the plains.
How natural they looked; although ten years had
passed. At Powder River valley I went to look
for my mother's grave, but could not find it. The
burning of the grass and sage brush had destroyed
what marks we had left, and I could not locate
the spot.
I found Placerville a flourishing mining town,
where I sold my cargo at a good profit. Money was
plenty and prices good; so good, in fact, that I sold
out my train and went to mining. Throughout the
season I did very well, but was not content, and
about the first of August prepared to go freighting
again, having now sufficient money to give me a
good start in the business. Hearing that some gov
ernment mule teams were to be sold at Boise City,
I went down there to see about them. Here I was
much pleased to meet an old schoolmate, Dave Snell,
a splendid and bright fellow, known far and near
as the most daring young scamp in Oregon. He was
just about taking the stage for home, and it was
only an accident that I met him. However, he stayed
another day to have a talk, and we took a room at
the hotel together. Of course we had much to talk

ADVENTURES IN THE MINES 143
about, but it was hard to talk of anything but the
war. News was coming in every few days.
Dave drew from his pocket a paper, and read to
me some account of recent battles in which the name
of Colonel Dobbins was mentioned. Dave laid the
paper down, laughed, and said : "Of course you don't
know how Captain Dobbins came to be called back
East where he had a chance for promotion."
"No," I answered, "never heard of him before.
Who is he?"
"If you think we have time enough for me to tell
rather a long story," said he, "I will tell you how
Captain Dobbins was promoted."
Knowing Dave was a capital talker, and always
engaged in some adventure, I insisted on his telling
me the story.
He told the following story:

FACE ROCK, ON COQS COUNTY BEACH

How Captain Dobbins Was Promoted.

VII.

Well, I came up here to mine, came with the
first rush. I was not lucky enough to get a good
claim on any of the creeks, but located a claim on a
little gulch; so last spring found me digging away
industriously in a little gulch one mile from Placer
ville, Idaho. I had found a fair prospect, and for
some time had great hopes of filling a good sized
wallet before the season closed; but when I had
gotten my claim open ready to work, the rain ceased,
and my supply of water failed rapidly and was not
sufficient to run the sluices. This was a sore dis
appointment. There were strong reasons why I
wished to make money enough to return to the Wil
lamette valley and purchase a little farm, which, all
unknown to the owner, I had been for the last two
years converting into a modern farm of my own.
In my imagination I had purchased this farm
many times, always cash down, for I was resolved
never to be in debt. In the same pleasant and easy

146 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
way, every acre of it had been vastly improved. The
spring beyond the garden was coaxed through a pipe,
and bubbled from a polished faucet in the kitchen.
The struggling grape vines were trained into an
arbor leading from the gate to the front door. Fine
blooded horses and cattle sported in the pastures,
and flowers shed sweet perfume all about. I had
also drained the marsh beyond the barn, and erected
a neat little woodshed, with hop vines clustering
about the eaves. These pleasing fancies were gen
erally indulged in as 1 sat alone in my cabin when
my day's work was done, and I had nothing else to
do. My designs on this farm were kept strictly
private. Only once, before leaving home, had they
been told in a burst of confidence, to one who I
trusted would sympathize with my hopes and en
courage my daring ambition. I did not mistake her,
as it seemed an easy thing to her for me to dig a
little gold from the ground, return, buy as much
land as we wanted, and make all improvements we
might think necessary. Her trusting nature could
not think it possible for me to fail in any under
taking, and she immediately began to straighten up
the little farm herself. Her first work was to pull
down a crooked fence and burn the rickety woodshed.

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 147
It was wonderful how much better everything looked
after she had talked five minutes.
But that is another story than the one which I
set out to tell you. It has not been mentioned by
accident, nor because at this date it is still uppermost
in my mind, but for the purpose of offering a palli
ation, if not an excuse, for the part which I took in
the promotion of Captain Dobbins.
One day, about the first of June, I went up town
for some provisions, scarcely knowing whether to
return to work my claim or not.
Placerville, as you know, is laid out with a plaza
in the center. This plaza is about two hundred feet
square and is a favorite place to exhibit horses, as
well as to display horsemanship. When I arrived,
a vicious Mexican broncho had just thrown its rider
on the square, and another plucky fellow was pre
paring to mount. He had scarcely touched the sad
dle until he was sprawling on the ground, and the
victorious horse ran back to his stable. He was
again brought out, and a Mexican, a celebrated
"Vaquero," placed his foot in the stirrup and swung
himself gracefully into the saddle. This was a hard
contest. It was Mexico against Mexico, and rider
and horse played their parts well for some time.
The Mexican rode for conquest, but the horse strug
gled for liberty. At last liberty won, and the Mexi-

148 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
can lay on the ground. A roar of laughter from the
by-standers followed his fall, and no one seemed in
clined to further contest supremacy with the wiry
steed. I had been deeply interested in this struggle,
and my blood had warmed in witnessing the courage
and skill displayed by the Mexican, and did not feel
like laughing at his fall. Being a horseman I knew
how well he rode, and had noted the peculiar trick
by which he had been thrown. When he arose with
a badly sprained ankle, and was unable to mount
again, I assisted him to the sidewalk and said :
"If it will not offend you, I will ride that horse."
A shout of derision greeted me from all sides.
That settled it. I sprang into the saddle. The
horse seemed to know that I was his master the
moment I had touched the reins, and would have
behaved quietly enough had I wished him to ; but it
was not my intention to ride quietly around while
a hundred miners were looking on, not one of whom
believed that I could ride a horse which had thrown
that Mexican. I therefore bullied the horse into re
bellion and forced him to do his best, using every
trick to make him jump, and jump he did, until he
was thoroughly tired. The admiration of the crowd
was won at last. Even the much discomfited Spani-

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 149
ard, standing on one foot, swung his "sombreo" and
cried: "Much a buen, Senor."
A leather "rieta" was done up in a neat coil and
fastened to the croup of the saddle. This I undone
and gave some exhibit of my skill with a lasso.
Darting towards any object which offered a mark,
I threw my rope upon it and performed various
feats until the crowd gave me cheers to my heart's
content. When I dismounted, a stranger inquired
where I had learned to ride.
"In Oregon," I answered.
"Can all the boys ride that way in Oregon?"
"Probably not, but all the young men can ride
well and are not afraid of a wild colt."
"Can you shoot a rifle and pistol?"
With some pride I answered : "I have never been
beaten with either."
"What are you doing?"
"Mining."
"Have you a good claim?"
"A good claim, but no water."
"Ah! What are you going to do? You don't look
like a man who would sit in his cabin and wait for
it to rain."
"I don't know. I may go prospecting."
After a moment's scrutiny, in which he looked me

150 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
over thoroughly, he said: "I should like to see your
claim. May I go with you to your cabin?"
As we walked along I had an opportunity to ob
serve my strange companion. He was about 28 or
30 years of age, five feet ten inches in height, and
weighed, as I afterward learned, 165 pounds. His
hair and eyes were black and he was badly sun
burned, which gave him a reddish brown color, near
ly as dark as an Indian. He was decidedly a hand
some fellow, with frank open countenance, but there
was a daredevil look about him which made me
wonder who he was.
When we were seated in my cabin, he said : "Now
I have asked a great many questions and, of course,
you want to know why I have sought your acquaint
ance. I learned from one of the miners while you
were riding that your name is David Snell. My
name is Bob Fitzhugh. I have been on the plains
since I was a boy, and have sometimes acted as a
scout for Uncle Sam. You may have heard of me.
I have gone to scouting for my own command and
like it much better than when under orders, especial
ly as the troops recently sent to Idaho, know nothing
about Indian warfare, and could not tell a war trail
from a beaver slide. I am now hunting a partner.
I can offer such inducements that there is no diffi
culty in finding a man who is willing to become my

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 151
partner, but the kind of man I want is not found
every day. For the last ten days I have been quietly
observing the manners and habits of men about
Placerville and have found some objection to all.
Most of them chew tobacco, all of them carry jack-
knives and three out of every four of them are whit
tling whenever they are idle."
I looked at my strange companion in surprise.
What could he mean by this? What earthly differ
ence could it make to him whether a man whittled
or not in his idle moments ? He continued :
"I don't want a man who chews tobacco, who car
ries a jack-knife, and who cannot walk with his
toes pointing straight ahead."
I opened my eyes wide in astonishment. Was it
possible this handsome keen looking fellow was a
lunatic ?
"My partner," he continued, "must be an extra
ordinary man. He must be a crack shot with rifle
or pistol; must ride like a Comanche and throw a
rope like a Mexican Vaquero; he must not have a
habit of talking loud, hallooing or singing; must
be" able to dive or swim like a duck ; to endure cold,
heat, and fatigue ; to exert himself three or four days
without food and be able at all times to whip his
weight in wild cats. I knew the moment you
mounted that horse, you were the very man I was

152 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
looking for. If you will go with me, we will make
some money, and not have any hard work to do."
"What kind of busines do you intend to engage
in?" I asked.
"Well, horse stealing," he laughed.
With some dignity I answered: "You have made
a mistake. I am not a horse thief."
"Hold on until I explain. You know the Snake
Indians are on the war trail ; they have been raiding
the border for several years, and have stolen several
thousand head of horses. They have never let an
opportunity slip to murder or steal. It is no robbery
to re-take stolen horses or to capture ponies belong
ing to the Indians, when they are on the war trail.
At the present moment, Uncle Sam is confiscating
property belonging to the rebels whenever he can
lay hands on it. Captain Dobbins, who is located
at Fort Boise, has worn his cavalry horses out rac
ing after the Snakes without taking a horse or
killing an Indian. The citizens, thinking they could
beat the regulars, have been out several times with
no better success. Now I can do just what the others
have failed to do. I can capture those horses."
"But how do you expect to do this without any
army at your back?"
"I could never get a horse if an army was any
where near me. I propose to go into the Indian

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 153
country, looking and acting just like an Indian, steal
all the horses I can and then rush for the settle
ments." "I can well understand how you would rush for
the settlements if those Snake Indians were after
you, but do not understand how you are to make a
white man look like an Indian."
"0! that's easy enough. I have made two trips
and brought back horses both times. I have gone
right among them without being detected. As for
you, with a few strips of buckskin, some feathers
and paint, I can make as good a looking young In
dian of you as ever stepped in moccasins. I know
every man cannot do what I can, no more than every
man can ride a horse or throw a rope like you
do. I know just what I am about and if you will
go with me, and strictly obey my instructions we
can make a lot of money. We will deliver the horses
we take to the whites from whom they were stolen
by the Indians, but we will charge them a round sum
for re-taking them. I will furnish the entire outfit
and we will divide all we make."
The little farm, with all its new improvements,
spread itself before my delighted eyes, and I had
decided to go before he had ceased speaking.
"All right," I answered, "when shall we start?"
"I will return to Placerville," he answered, "to

154 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
purchase supplies and will meet you on the public
square tomorrow at noon."
At the appointed time we started, mounted on
good horses, and leading a third which carried our
camp outfit. My mount was a splendid bay, whose
natural beauty was enhanced by a silver mounted
saddle and bridle. The cantenas held a pair of ivory
handled navy Colt's pistols and a Henry rifle in a
leather case hung from the pommel of the saddle.
Once on our way, we traveled along at a swinging
gait, taking the road toward Boisie City via Ban
nock. After traveling about twenty miles, we struck
a trail leading south toward Salmon Falls on Snake
river. Following this trail, the second day out, we
came to a sage brush plain. Here was nothing but
sage, sand and alkali. Not a living thing crossed
our path. We traveled for miles without even seeing
a bird. Toward evening we came to the foothills,
reaching down from our left. Here was plenty of
grass and now and then a small pine tree. Sud
denly a young antelope crossed our trail, going at
full speed, though evidently fatigued, for its head
was bent low and its tongue was protruding from
its mouth. A single glance was sufficient to show
that it was being hotly pursued by something.
"Get ready to fight," said Bob, in a low, deter
mined voice, as he drew his rifle from its scabbard.
Our rifles were carried in such a manner as to be

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 155
of but little inconvenience. A loop held the breecn
to the pommel of the saddle, while the barrel lay
along the side of the horse, the muzzle pointing
downward near his flank. The rider's left leg held
the gun securely against the horse's side and it need
not be touched with the hands unless when it was to
be drawn from the scabbard.
As I laid my hand on my gun to obey Bob's order,
I looked in the direction from whence the antelope
came. At that moment a large grey wolf, as large
as a Newfoundland dog, bounded in sight, with his
long, strong muzzle close to the ground. He was
following the antelope with the unerring instinct of
a trained hound, moving swiftly in "that long, low
gallop which can tire the hound's deep hate, the
hunter's fire."
"Don't shoot, but try your horse on that fellow,"
said Bob.
I had been trailing my rope on the ground to
render it more pliable and easy to handle. My horse
was eager for the chase. I gave him the rein, coiling
my rope as I went. It was a splendid chase. Before
the wolf had gone half a mile I was within a hun
dred feet of him, holding my horse under tight rein,
until we came to an open piece of ground where
there was no sage brush to interfere, when I slack
ened the rein and swung my rope. With a noble

156 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
burst of speed, my bay sprung forward. The wolf
could not respond and the rope coiled around his
neck with a snap. He plunged like a salmon on a
hook, snapping his jaws viciously. Knowing his
teeth would cut like a knife, I finished him with a.
shot from my pistol to save my rope.
"That was well done," said Bob when I had over
taken him, "it is not often one of those fellows is
taken in that manner. How do you like your horse?"
"Splendid. He is worth a thousand dollars."
"Well, then I make you a present of him, so you
are worth a thousand dollars more than you were
when you started."
Passionately fond of a horse, I was delighted with
Bob's present. He was indeed one to be proud of
and I had been planning to buy him ever since we
started. "He is a thoroughbred," said Bob, "has been
trained for the track and it is doubtful if anything
in Idaho can overtake him. If either of us is out
ridden by the Snakes, it will not be you."
We were nearing Salmon Falls and could hear
the dreadful roar of the river as it leaped from its
granite bed to be dashed to pieces on the rocks sixty
feet below. Here we turned north and traveled
until midnight, when we camped in a little valley
where the grass was knee high. Before it was fairly

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 157
light I could hear the splash of trout jumping in
the water. I was soon dressed and after securing a
bit of fresh beef, which we had brought with us, I
baited a hook, took the first stick I found for a rod,
and made my way through the tall grass until I
came to a little stream, about six feet wide. Here
the speckled beauties were making a breakfast of
some early insects which were hovering about the
water. Cautiously my hook was dropped below the
swarm of flies. I did not wait for a bite. Never
did I have such fishing. They fought for my bait
like chickens for a pan of dough. In five minutes I
had enough for breakfast.
At this place, on his last trip, Bob had left some
horses and here we left ours. I was afraid I would.
never see my beautiful bay again, but Bob said we
were much safer on foot, so we cached our camp out
fit as securely as we could, hanging our provisions in
the bushes out of reach of wolves, then we prepared
to assume our disguise. With brown paint mixed
with oil, we painted our bodies, rubbing thoroughly
from head to heel until not a vestage of white skin
remained in sight. Beaded moccasins supplanted
our boots and fringed buckskin leggins, reaching to
our knees, took the place of our pants, while a calico
shirt, descending to the waist, supplied our upper
clothing. Bob's hair was long, reaching to his,

158 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
shoulders. He had worn it braided and fastened
on top of his head. After he had lossened it, he
handed me a wig made in some ingenious manner
out of the hair from a horse's tail. It fitted me
nicely, and after a few stripes of vermillion paint
were added to my face, Bob declared my costume
was complete. I had been so occupied with my own
dressing that I had not noticed Bob's progress. As
he now stood before me, I laughed so loud that he
looked around with apprehension lest I should bs
heard by some foe. When he handed me a small
mirror and my eyes were turned upon myself, I
roared with uncontrolled laughter. Talk of Dr.
Jeckel and Mr. Hyde ! They could not hold a candle
to Bob and me. It was really wonderful what a
change we had made. We were transformed from
a couple of good looking young fellows into a couple
of Snake Indians, and devilish ill looking Indians at
that. Bob's transformation especially was complete.
His own mother could ndt possibly have known him.
His handsome features had undergone a complete
re-arrangement and their combined effect was some
thing truly appalling. When he looked at me, I
involuntarily reached for my gun and could scarcely
escape from the impression that he was about to
scalp me then and there.
"Now," said he, raising his tomahawk hand im-

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 159
pressively, "there are a thousand things you must
learn before we are safe from detection. You are
no longer a white man, you are an Indian. You
look like one and you must act like one. An Indian
does not walk with his toes turned out but points
them straight ahead; he carries his gun mostly in
his hand, resting his arm to his elbow, never on his
shoulder; when in motion he is the very picture of
stealth. He may be known from a white man when
walking or riding a mile distant. He neither walks,
rides, eats, drinks or sleeps like a white man; and
when he dies, he seeks a secluded spot like a dog.
Inferior to us in most respects, he nevertheless has
his strong points. He is the shrewdest detective in
the world; he will follow a trail for days which no
eye but his can see. You cannot make a mark or
slight scratch on the ground, over which he roams,
but he will understand how, when, and for what
purpose it was made. Constant danger has rendered
him acute. His eye searches for danger signals as
a hawk for prey. He suspects everything but noth
ing so much as a white man. He will glance over a
deserted camp, tell when the fire was kindled, when
it went out, how many and what kind of people
camped there and how they cooked; where they
came from, where going and what was their busi
ness. He will know how they were mounted, armed

160 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
and how much provisions they carried. Once, when
employed by the government, I scouted with a Warm
Spring Indian. We came to a place near the head of
the Malheur river where some travelers had camped.
I looked the spot over and said, 'Two Indians camped
here to cook their dinner yesterday.' The Indian
shook his head and said, 'Siwash wake mitilite cit-
cum sun,' — Indians don't stop at noon. Then he
pointed to where a bucket of water had been thrown
on the ground. The impression was plain to be
seen but the water had all sunk away and the ground
was parched and dry. I corrected my remark by
saying, 'Yes, it was day before yesterday, but I
think it was Indians camped here. See they made
a little fire.' He rejoined, 'Wake Siwash, Uckook
Boston man mitilite copa uckook illehee,' — no In
dians. They were white men who camped here.
Then he stooped to pick up a small, fine-cut shaving
which had been cut from a willow stick, such an
one as only could have been made with a sharp, fine
edged knife, by some one whittling carefully. As I
still looked incredulous, he next plucked a blade of
grass with a dark stain upon it and held it before
my eyes in triumph. The stain was made by tobacco
juice. I yielded. Indians never carry pocket knives
or keep a smooth edge on their butcher knives ; they
never chew tobacco and are seldom seen to whittle

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 161
with any kind of a knife. I told the scout he was
correct. They were probably a couple of prospectors.
He went to a large rock, a few feet from the camp
and called my attention to impressions made in the
dust by the butts of two guns, such guns as are
used in the army, not such rifles as prospectors
carry. I was beaten again but when the scout said,
'Uckook mysika tilicum, clatawa nanitch Siwash.
Lacket sun nanitch copa Salmon Falls,' — They are
scouts, our friends. In four days we will see them
at Salmon Falls. I was completely nonplused but
concluded to say nothing but wait for developments.
On the fourth day we camped at Salmon Falls and
had the pleasure of meeting two of Uncle Sam's
scouts who verified the Indian's predictions in every
particular. I tell you all this," continued Bob, "that
you may know something of the kind of people we
have come to deceive. But I have learned many
things since I made that trip and feel certain we will
win. It will take you years to learn all these things.
The best plan is for you to follow me and act as
near like I do as you can. We are going directly
into the Snake country. I speak the language of
every red scamp between here and the Missouri
river. If we meet any one, white or red, let me do
the talking."
Our cartridges and provisions were in small buck-

162 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
skin pouches swung under our left arms. Neatly
coiled in the bottom of these pounches lay our rietas.
Lastly, throwing our blankets across our shoulders
and taking our rifles in hand, we started. Bob talked
but little. He stalked along with a dignified silence
and stoical demeanor which would have delighted
the renowned chief, Big Thunder himself. He
seemed to scorn the earth and all upon it, not deign
ing to notice me except on rare occasions. I verily
believe he was trying to imagine he was an Indian
in order to more readily pass for one in case occasion
required it. His whole demeanor was changed with
his color.
This conduct annoyed me not a little. I could see
no necessity for all those Indian airs while we were
alone in the mountains and supposed at the time
they were intended to impress me with his import
ance as a scout. I came to know later Bob was a
natural actor, if ever one was born, and always
when playing a role, played it to perfection. He
walked along, perfectly at his ease; his straps,
strings, moccasins and paint fitting him to perfec
tion. As for myself, I was very uncomfortable. I
had great difficulty in keeping my pieces of buckskin
in place. Some string was constantly coming un
done, then I would kneel or sit down on the ground
and wrestle with them in a manner which must

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 163
have resembled a squaw digging kous or picking
strawberries rather than a warrior adjusting his
apparel. In spite of my annoyance I was forced
to laugh many times at the utter ridiculousness of
the whole proceeding. Bob's actions continued to
remind me so forcibly of a bloodthirsty Indian that
I sometimes fancied he might be at any rate a half
breed, bent on some kind of mischief towards me.
I knew this was a foolish thought and tried to banish
it, yet it would stay uppermost in my mind, some
times varying its horror by whispering I was alone
in the mountains with an armed lunatic. On the
second day from camp, Bob asked me if I could not
walk with my toes turned in a little more. This I
endeavored to do but it became very tiresome and
gave me pain in the knees. Once, when we were
going down a hill covered with grass, so we made
no tracks, I threw my toes out nearly at right angles
to the course I was going and walked along to get
a rest. This was too much for my Indian, and he
laughed for the first time in two days. After this
I was more resigned to his company and went for
ward more cheerfully.
After four days travel, we were about one hun
dred miles above Salmon Falls, well into the Snake
country but none had been seen. Bob became more
cautious every hour. He had a good field glass with

164 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
which he scanned the surrounding country for dust,
smoke or other signs of the savages. Our camps
were model Indian camps in every particular; the
fire was small and built of sticks broken short and
set on end ; no scraps of food was left scattered about
except some small pieces of dried venison, salmon
and kous, which were brought along for that pur
pose. On starting in the morning, a feather from
Bob's head dress would fall near the fire where his
moccasin tracks were plain to be seen. Had an
Indian passed that way, he would have seen where
a couple of his brethren had camped and nothing
more. Had we left a biscuit, a piece of bacon, cigar-
<ette, quid of tobacco, tooth pick, or anything to
excite his suspicion, the alarm would have been
given and we have been hunted to death or back
to the settlements.
Deer and antelope were now plenty. We could
have enjoyed a hunter's paradise with our repeating
guns had we dared to use them for such game. One
day a deer ran past but a short distance ahead of us.
Bob dropped in the grass and lay snug as a quail. I
had learned to follow suit and dropped also without
knowing what it meant. A moment later, four In
dians came following along the trail of the deer.
After they had passed, and we were secreted in the

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 165
timber near by, I asked Bob how he knew the Snakes
were coming.
"Because that deer was wounded and Indians al
ways follow their game closely after it is crippled.
That deer was badly wounded and cannot go but
a short distance. It will stop and turn at bay when
it reaches that little stream over there. We will wait
here until we see what happens next."
In a few moments we heard a single shot.
"They have got it," said Bob.
"Maybe they missed it," I answered.
"If the first shot had not killed it there would
have been more shooting done," he replied.
In about a quarter of an hour, we saw the In
dians coming back apparently in great glee, but
without the deer. I looked at Bob in confirmation
of my suggestion that it had escaped. He quietly
remarked :
"We are near an Indian camp. They are return
ing and will send their squaws for the game. They
hunt in large parties in this section and at this
time of the year, and their camp has just been
pitched. Game is too plentiful and tame to have
been hunted much lately. We are not far from their
camp or these lazy fellows would have been on their
ponies. I think they have just arrived and these
hunters came out a short distance to look for signs

166 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
of game. They will now go direct to camp and we
win soon know how far it is to it."
We lay closely concealed for about an hour, when
there appeared coming across the crest of the hill,
walking briskly in single file, about a dozen squaws.
They went directly towards the place where the shot
had been fired, evidently going, as Bob had pre
dicted, after the deer. When they had passed out of
sight, Bob said, "That tells the story. The camp, or
very likely it is a large village, is about two miles
from here just beyond that bald hill you see yonder.
Now, Dave, you have, never been in as close a place
in your life as you are right now; but you may
be in a much closer one before morning. I noticed
you did not change color when those bucks passed
so close by us, and I am better satisfied with you
than ever. There are many brave men but very
few effective men in a fight. I mean that there are
many men who will stand their ground and die be
fore making a disgraceful retreat, but only a few
who can become a terror to their enemies. But you
are all right. You can run like a wolf or fight like
a devil, whichever may be required."
After awhile the squaws came toiling along back,
each carrying on her back a portion of the venison:
They did not appear to be as merry as the hunters
had been. Poor women ! Savage customs fall heavi-

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 167
est on those least able to bear them. They per
formed the drudgery, while their lords enjoyed what
sport could be found in their mode of existence.
When the coast was clear again, we left our hiding
place and started to find the camp.

(By courtesy of O. R. & N.)
ROOSTER ROCK ON THE COLUMBIA RIVER

How Captain Dobbins Was Promoted.

VIII.
We traveled along within the timber line until we
reached a high point overlooking a large basin in
the hills. Cautiously peeping over a ledge of rocks,
a large Indian village was in full view, about a mile
below. We counted forty-three lodges. Our glass
enabled us to get a good view. Evidently the lodges
had just been put up, as the grass was still standing
about the doors and the children were frolicking
about with that childish curiosity which indicated
they were not among familiar objects. The horses
were feeding briskly away from where they had just
been turned loose. The young girls were wandering
about the camp with all the aimlessness of youth,
while some of the elder women hacked away the
brush from the willow fringed stream that they
might reach the water. The men were evidently pre
paring for a grand hunt, as they were seen with
bows and arrows and guns in hand, passing from
lodge to lodge. It was a beautiful sight. The whole

170 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
picture is stamped upon the retina of my mind to
day. I can call it up at will; even now I am seated
again in the rocks and drinking in the wild, ravish
ing beauty of the scene.
The encampment is near the center of the valley,
which is circular in form, resembling a huge basin
whose well defined rim touches and rests against
the darker green of the pine-clad hills. Wild flowers
and yellow sage mingle with the green grass and
give the basin a rich tan color. The hills overlap,
concealing from view the entrance and exit of the
willow fringed stream, which is thrown carelessly
with many windings and doublings like a green
thread across the basin.
The Indian women have lighted the fires and each
wigwam is rolling from its summit heavy folds of
blue smoke, causing me to imagine an impossible
group of miniature volcanic pyramids from which
the fire is just ready to burst. The immense herd
of horses just freed from the day's journey, ar^
moving leisurely toward the western edge of the
basin, industriously cropping the grass which grows
in wild profusion among the sage.
I can see the dark warriors, with bare limbs and
shoulders, standing or moving about the lodges and
the little wolf like dogs, the children, the young men
and maidens. One among the latter catches my eye

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 171
and the glass is leveled long where she stands. It
is apart from the village, down the stream which
seems to have carelessly doubled about to throw a
fold of tall willows to conceal her from prying eyes.
She is young, lithe and apparently slight built for
one of her race. The top of her shoulders, her neck
and arms are bare.. Some kind of beads encircle
her wrists and neck; her long, black hair, uncaught
by braid or band, thrown backward reaches to her
waist, and her face, when she turns toward me, by
its tinge here and there of vermillion, tells me she
has carefully made her toilette although lately ar
rived from a dusty journey, and I believe she has
deliberately laid her plans to ensnare a young brave,
one just a little braver than all the rest. He is stand
ing by her side and I verily believe is fully aware
she has wandered away from the rest that he might
follow; that her lips and cheeks were painted for
his especial notice and that all the fond endearments
which she is lavishing upon a little spotted colt,
which stands quietly for her caresses, are intended
for him. He waits patiently while her arms are
about the neck of her little pet; then as its dam
walks away and it breaks loose to follow, he twirls
a finger in a lock of the raven hair of his pet, and
playfully they wander on together.
All this is in my picture, seen distinctly, while two

172 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
snow-clad peaks on the north and west look down
to reflect the rays of the setting sun and hold in
check the gathering twilight, relighting the whole
basin and bringing out in clear outline and almost
startling distinctness, the whole scene below.
Of all the pictures memory has preserved of that
eventful raid this one has been the least touched
by time and is the most tenderly cherished.
Of all the habitations of man, that of the Indian
is to my mind, the most picturesque. But to us the
grandest sight was the horses. They covered the
entire western half of the basin. For hours we lay
and watched the village. Our glass was of service
to us in enabling us to see without being seen and
to know without being known ; besides, it gave us
much food for after-thought, if rightly understood.
How much of the story of life came crowding
through the lenses of that glass as we lay among
the rocks and watched that Indian village!
"We have a streak of luck," said Bob, "and are
going to have things all our way. By dark those
horses will be over that hill, two miles from the vil
lage and very likely without a single herder."
We lay quietly until dark and then started to skirt
around the encampment to where the horses were
last seen. We walked swiftly and silently along, our
moccasined feet falling without a sound upon the

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 173
thick carpet of grass which covered the hills. In
about an hour we came up with the hindmost horses,
which were feeding rapidly away from the village.
After we had followed on foot a couple of miles,
Bob said, "Let us mount and drive a little faster."
The hindmost horses were easily approached. We
noosed a couple, and mounting, brought in the strag
glers, crowding the herd closer together without a
sound louder than a low hist. We had the whole
band in motion, going at a full trot. Luckily there
was a good trail. Many of the horses had been
stolen from the Boise country and some of them were
leading out briskly for home.
We changed our riding horses frequently, trying
to get the best ones within reach of our ropes, and in
creased our speed until midnight when the whole
herd was going at full run. We had dropped out
most of the mares and colts, knowing they would
follow along and cover up the tracks of the horses.
We rode back and forwards in driving, thereby de
stroying the evidence that the band was being
driven. By this maneuver, we hoped to deceive any
Indians who might follow, into the belief that their
stock was taking a journey of their own accord, in
which case they might follow to overtake them with
out alarming the village.
We were driving over light alkali soil. Clouds

174 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
of white dust arose, floating off to the south and
showed in the clear moonlight like billows of moving
snow. On we thundered. A thousand horses and
but two to ride. The air was cool and bracing, the
moon was at the full. We had no thought of weari
ness, danger and hope carried us beyond fatigue.
There was danger behind, there was hope ahead,
but not one drop of our blood but was doing active
duty in sustaining our spirits, which had now risen
to the highest pitch. It was a glorious ride. Back
and forth we darted with the fury of devils, uttering
vehement hisses and lashing the hindmost horses
with our ropes. Throughout the night we galloped
and ran. When daylight began to dawn we were in
sight of Snake river, ten miles from Salmon Falls.
Looking back we saw a dust about a mile back
which told us we were about to be overtaken. At
last Bob stopped to see what was coming. I heard
him fire two shots. He soon overtook me and said,
"It was only a couple of boys and they were not
armed. I could not bear to hurt them, but shot their
horses. You should have seen the rascals run ; they
dived into the sage brush like a couple of rabbits.
When the others come on, those boys and their dead
horses will tell a big tale. They did not see me and
will think there was a dozen of me."
After a while six or eight Indians came in sight

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 175
and Bob stopped again. He fired several shots in
rapid succession.
"They ran at the first fire," said Bob. "I don't
think I killed an Indian, but I crippled two or three
horses. They will rally around awhile to work up
their courage before they come on. An Indian can
not fight in a cold collar no more than a balky horse
will work in one."
I proposed to stop back the next time, but Bob
said he was afraid the Snakes would play some
trick upon me, besides, he added, "you will have
plenty of fighting before the sun is an hour high.
There are more coming and they will fight when
they get warmed up to it. Yonder they come now.
Every cussed old mare we let go is tearing along our
trail with a Snake on her back. Let us both stop and
give them a dose."
We tied our horses out of range and concealing
ourselves behind some rocks, waited.
"Now," said Bob, "draw your breath slow and
deep and raise your sights for 300 yards. When
they come over that hill, let them have it. Fire as
fast as you can. I don't care about killing many of
them, but want to make them think there are
twenty-five or thirty of us. We came after horses,
not Indians."
As soon as they came in sight we commenced

176 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
firing. I don't think I ever heard such rapid firing
from two guns. The Snakes knew nothing about
repeating guns at that time and might easily have
imagined a small army was shooting at them. At
any rate, they took the back track in a hurry. Again
we crowded our horses forward.
"If we can only reach the Falls," said Bob, "there
is a place there where we can whip the whole Snake
nation. The old mare brigade is coming on pretty
lively, but we must not give up our horses while
we have a cartridge left. Now, let's drive like h — 1
for the Falls."
The Indians came in sight again, but a single
shot turned them back and we rushed on. Darting
against the herd, we shouted, waved our blankets
and fired our guns to frighten the horses to re
newed speed and they thundered down the long
slope to the Falls, the noise of their hoofs drowning
the roar of the water.
"Here," said Bob, "we will whip the mare brigade
or immortalize this place by making of it a new
Thermopyle." As we took our places behind a ledge of rock to
await the savages, I could but smile at the incon
gruity of Bob's appearance and his knowledge of
Greek history. This time it was no trifling matter.

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 177
There were not less than fifty Indians and they were
approaching with great caution.
"No foolishness now," said Bob. "Kill an Indian
every shot."
They came within a hundred yards before we
opened fire. They attempted a charge, but as sev
eral fell, they ran. Again, they rallied, but in con
fusion received our fire until they broke again. All
but one brave fellow, who charged directly upon
us, yelling like a demon, and swaying his body so
rapidly from side to side, that we missed him sev
eral times. With those two Henrys blazing at him,
he came within fifty feet of us before horse and
rider fell. I took this opportunity to secure a sad
dle, which, although of Indian make, was better than
no saddle. While I was adjusting it to my horse,
the blast of a bugle came clear and sharp, and look
ing, we saw a body of United States troops charg
ing down upon us.
"Stand perfectly still and point the muzzle of your
gun down," said Bob.
"We are white men," shouted he, as the troops
closed around us.
"Throw down your gun, you red skunk," yelled
the captain, "or you are a dead Indian." We did
not obey this order.
Bob said : "If you are hunting Indians, they are

178 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
there," pointing to some yet in sight beyond our
battlefield. Leaving a guard with us, the troops
charged back to where the Indians were seen. After
a fruitless chase, they returned.
"You say you are a white man," demanded the
captain, riding up to Bob.
"Yes, sir; as white as you are."
"Then you are the most devilish looking white
man I ever saw. How came you with those blood
thirsty Snakes?"
"We were bringing in our horses when the Snakes
attacked us. That they were, no friends of ours,
you may know from the dead Indians lying along
our trail."
"You don't pretend to say all these horses are
yours, do you?"
"Yes, sir. Every one of them. We have had
them out in the hills where the grass is good and
were bringing them in when these cussed Indians
tried to taite them away from us. By the way, I
am glad you came along, Captain, and shall be
obliged to call on you for protection until we reach
the settlements."
The captain laughed, but said : "All right. I will
help take the stock in. Are you a white man, too?"
he said, approaching me.
I was standing stock still, where I had remained

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 179
since the troops first charged upon us. I had been
stricken dumb with astonishment, but the muzzle of
my gun was thrust into the ground, as Bob had di
rected, and I had taken the precaution to remove my
wig, and was holding the ugly thing in my hand.
My position was very humiliating. The thought had
crossed my mind that my brown curly hair, which
rose in triumph above my paint and grease, was the
only thing that would save me from an ignominious
death at the hands of my own countrymen. I an
swered, "Yes, sir. I am a miner, and shall join my
partner in begging your protection untn we reach
Boise City."
He laughed and said: "All right. I will protect
you from the Indians, but you must take your
chances with Jncle Sam. Your stock is worn out.
Vve will camp here."
This was done in true military fashion. Guards
were placed around the camp and stock, and Bob and
I, laying down upon our blankets, were soon fast
asleep. The captain, and part of his command, went
back to our battle ground. They found eight dead
Indians and twelve horses. After resting a few
hours, Bob secured an escort and went after our
camp fixtures, and horses, left as we went. They
returned at dark. I was pleased to recover my
handsome bay, but I don't think I was ever so much

180 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
relieved in my life as, when after a thorough scrub
bing, I was arrayed in my own clothes and was able
again to look like a white man. I could not under
stand why Bob still retained his disguise, but as he
generally had good reasons for what he did, I asked
no questions. We were treated with great respect
by the soldiers, who seemed to have a high opinion
of our fighting qualities. When we arrived at Boise
the stock was turned on the hills east of the fort.
The captain said: "I must leave a guard with
these horses. It is evident you have taken them
from the Indians. Uncle Sam does not allow citi
zens to keep or dispose of stock taken in that way.1'
"All right," said Bob. "I will go with you to
your quarters, as I want to talk with you a little
before this matter is finally settled."
When they reached the captain's quarters, Bob
said: "Do you know Bob Fizthugh?"
"I know him well. A braver or better man does
not live."
"Would you do him a favor if you could?"
"I would risk my life for him. He saved mine
once at the risk of his own."
"Well, I am Bob Fitzhugh. Let me have some
soap and water and you shall know me."
The captain could not believe him, but stood
looking on until he emerged from the wash bowl,

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 181
and extending his hand said: "How are you, Cap
tain Dobbins. It is strange you did not know me,
paint or no paint."
"Know you!" said Dobbins. "I would defy the
devil to have known you had you been his own imp
after you were painted and fixed up in that style.
I watched you closely as we came along and thought
you had the most frightful appearance of any hu
man being I ever looked at. I was of the opinion
you might secure the chieftainship of the Snake na
tion on your general appearance. But I am awful
glad to see you, Bob, and now what do you want?"
"Well, you see, Mr. Snell and I have had some
hard work and taken a good many chances in get
ting those horses. Most of them belong to the whites,
who will claim them. If the government returns
them we will get nothing for our trouble. Now,
there is very little pleasure in riding a hundred
miles, bareback, over a rough trail," with a band
of hostile Indians yelling and shouting behind, to
say nothing about the danger of being hit by a bul
let. You must admit we have been rather success
ful and struck the hostiles a hard blow. All the
fighting done for the last five years has not crippled
them as much as Dave and I did in that night's ride
and morning's fight. They laugh at the efforts of
a body of men following them to retake stock which

182 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
they have stolen. They only drive it further into-
the hills. But it is a very different thing when I
go after them and employ their own tactics. Now,
Captain, I don't care so much about myself as I do
for that boy whom I persuaded to go with me. He
is good stuff and I like him. I promised to make
some money for him and I've got to do it some way.
I know the regulations the government had made
about captured stock and know you will take some
little chances of getting into trouble by doing what
I want you to, but a man ain't much account in
this world unless he will take some chances for
a friend. I Want you to give notice that a number of
horses have been taken which the owners can have
by paying for bringing in and herding. Proof of
ownership can be made to me without putting the
government to any trouble. You can take credit
for killing those Snakes. We will make a report
of the affair, which will help you along in the line
of promotion, and do no one any harm. As far as
the honor attending that raid is concerned, I as
sure you, Snell and I care nothing about it."
For a moment the captain was silent. Then he
said: "The law is against your request, but the
equities are all with you. Besides, I do not forget
that you are the man who swam to the middle of
the Snake river to save my life when I was drown-

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 183
ing and that you did it while others were paralyzed
with fright and unable to assist me. Go ahead, Bob.
I will take all chances. I only wish they were equal
to those you took for me."
When Bob returned we were in undisputed pos
session. We counted our band and found we had
755 horses. In a few days the settlers began to
come to prove and take their property. We charged
$10 a head and had no trouble collecting our fee, as
the horses were worth from $75 to $150 each, and
there were plenty of owners for them, especially
when it became known we were not particular about
proof. A good, strong claim, accompanied by the
fee, was considered sufficient evidence of ownership.
Even the spotted ponies, which had probably never
seen a white man before, found some one to claim
them. In fact, any one who had $10 and wanted
a horse, did not hesitate to lay claim to one of our
band. We were liberal, too, and often threw in a
small horse, when any one had proven a number of
them. They went off so rapidly that we raised the
reclamation fee to $20 and still found owners. A
mining excitement springing up aided materially in
closing out the remnant of the band.
One day Captain Dobbins called upon us, saying
he wanted to confer with us about the affair at Sal
mon Falls.
"Of course," he said, "my report to the depart-

184 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
ment has been forwarded, but you know the news
papers expect something a little more detailed and
graphic than a dry military report, so I thought we
might give them something not uncomplimentary to
the actors in the skirmish. How many Indians do
you thinK we killed?"
"About forty," said Bob. "There were twenty-
two found dead and many were carried away by
their friends."
"How many were engaged?"
"Over five hundred."
"Were any chiefs killed?"
"Yes. Old Crazy Horse was killed."
"How did you recognize him?"
"By his horse. He always rides a spotted horse.
By his dress, and by the way he fought."
"Why, I thought he was a Sioux chief?"
"Oh ! that's another one. In fact, every tribe has
a chief or medicine man of that name. It is a kind
of title of nobility among them, like the name of
Douglass among the Scots. They are all desperate
fighters. There will be but little trouble with the
Snakes after this."
"How many horses did we take?"
"About two hundred head."
"My command fought well, I thought."
"Yes. It fought most desperately."

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 185
"I believe the engagement commenced near the
Falls, did it not?"
"Yes. The dreadful roar of the waters at times
drowned the frightful din of the carnage."
"Say, Fitzhugh," and a smile of admiration
beamed upon Bob, "I would like you to write an ac
count of the battle for publication in the papers, as
you seem to have noted everything accurately."
"I shall be much pleased to do so," said Bob.
"Send me out a little stationery and I will write it
tomorrow." When Bob was seated to write up the battle, he
said : "Now I have never done any particular good
in this world, but I intend to do a good act now. I
am going to promote Captain Dobbins. He is a noble
fellow and does not forget a kindness done to him."
Bob worked all day at his report, frequently rub
bing his hands and laughing to himself. In a few
days the following account appeared:

186 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
THE SNAKES DEFEATED— THE GREAT VICTORY.

''Captain Dobbins Destroys the Flower of the Snake Tribe in a
Single Battle at Salmon Falls without Losing a Man.
The Right Man in the Right Place.

"So much fruitless chasing after the savages
occurs on the frontier that our readers will relish
the following brief account of the destruction of the
marauding Snakes by Captain Dobbins, United
States regulars, on the 13th inst.
"While scouting in the vicinity of old Fort Boise
with Company E and part of Company D, Captain
jJobbins discovered the trail of a large band of
Snake Indians, who were returning from a thieving
expedition to the John Day settlement with several
thousand horses and a large amount of other
plunder. Instantly the command was put in mo
tion and the pursuit commenced. The trail led across
the great bend of Snake river and was easily fol
lowed. Four hours' hard riding brought the com
mand in sight of the fleeing savages. When they
saw they were pursued by United States troops they
made every effort to escape. They could be seen,
darting like devils about in the cloud of dust raised
by the immense herd of horses they were driving,

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 187
and with frantic efforts trying to urge them for
ward. Such bulky articles of plunder as impeded
their progress was abandoned and all kinds of
articles were strewn along their path. Dobbins
rose at the head of his troops, silent and erect, his
teeth firmly set, while his eyes were fixed upon the
cloud of dust ahead, well knowing that from it at
any moment might emerge the bloodthirsty savages
to give him battle. But a stern chase is a long chase.
Salmon Falls was reached before the Indians were
overhauled and brought to bay. A few attempted
to drive their horses on, while the main body, as
near as could be ascertained, over 2,000, turned and
charged upon the troops. But charge met charge,
and in an instant their line was broken and they
were running in every direction for shelter.
They rallied again, and with frightful yells, came
down upon the little band. Firmly Captain Dob
bins held his ground and the savages recoiled before
the deadly fire of his rifles. Only an instant, and
again they came, riding to the very muzzles of the
blazing guns. The chivalry of the plains was there,
and its flower, the great chief, Crazy Horse, fought
like a raging lion among his fallen braves. He was
determined to conquer, and again he charged, but
in vain. For there stood the little band with rifles
.blazing a constant stream of fire, and there was

188 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
Captain Dobbins. When the great chief saw he was^
defeated, he resolved to die or to avenge the death
of his people. With uplifted tomahawk, he rode full
upon the troops. Their leader awaited him with
flashing eyes and drawn sabre. They met like
knights of old; this savage chief, the terror of the
plains, and the mild, unassuming captain of Com
pany D. Civilization confronted barbarism. The
conflict was short. It was a fitting place for such
a conflict, the home of the savage. The sound of
the falls had lulled him to sleep when a child. A
wave of the wind bore its roar across the battlefield .
to silence his dying groan. When their chief fell
the Indians fled, leaving all their horses and plunder
in the hands of the victors. About fifty dead war
riors were found on the battlefield. And it is known
that hundreds were carried away, as is the custom
among these people. Conservative estimates, made
by those who were in a position to judge, place the
loss to the Indians at not less than 500. Over 2,000
head of horses and mules were captured, besides
much other property of but little value except to
the Indians themselves.
"This is the severest blow the Snake Indians have
ever suffered and will undoubtedly put a stop to
their marauding depredations against the whites.
"Too much praise cannot be given to Captain.

HOW CAPTAIN DOBBINS WAS PROMOTED 189
Dobbins and his brave command, who won this
phenomenal, victory without the loss of a single
man. The scouts, Bob Fitzhugh and Dave Snell,
also deserve worthy mention for efficient services
rendered in trailing the savages."
This graphic account was extensively published
and attracted much attention, especially in military
circles. I was inclined to think, while perusing it,
that Bob had mistaken his calling. Had he chosen
to enter the literary field he might have created as
great a sensation there as he had among the In
dians. Some may have thought the battle overdrawn, but
the troops who shared the captain's glory were not
inclined to contradict it, and Bob stoutly maintained
its accuracy. Captain Dobbins' name was in every
one's mouth. The bright eyes of beauty beamed on
him wherever he went, and he was toasted far and
near as the great Indian fighter of the Northwest.
Fame pursued him industriously from that day. In
a few weeks he was called to more active duty in
the Southern states, where he was promoted until
he wore the uniform of a lieutenant-colonel. He
honored it, too. Before starting East he went to
see Bob, and warmly thanked him for the account
of his maiden fight at Salmon Falls, and for turn
ing the tide in his favor.
Bob and I closed our accounts when the horses

(By courtesy of O. R. &N.)
CASTLE ROCK ON THE COLUMBIA RIVER

A Legend of Wallowa Lake.

IX.

At Boise City I purchased a couple of mule teams
of eight mules each, and proceeded on the way to
Wallula for a load of freight. As my mules had
come across the plains that season, I concluded to
stop in Grand Ronde valley, where the grass was
good, and let them recruit. I made camp about ten
miles down the valley from where the old immi
grant road enters it, and to employ the time, went
elk hunting. Three of us in the party, we rode
about twenty miles north and camped on the moun
tain near Wallowa valley. The next morning, near
our camp, we met six Wallowa Indians going after
a band of elk they had seen the evening before near
our camp. We accepted their invitation to go with
them. One of them was a young chief named Joseph,
afterwards to cause much trouble as the leader of
an insurrection against the whites in 1878, and
generally known as the Nez Perce war, although but
few Nez Perce Indians were in the outbreak. Chief

192 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
Joseph was quite an intelligent Indian, and was
recognized then as a leader among his people. He
said we must observe great caution in approaching
the elk, and be sure to kill all we wanted first, for
elk, when frightened, will travel ten or twelve
miles before they stop, and then will keep pickets
out behind and be on the lookout for several days.
We kept under cover as much as possible, and
approached cautiously until, emerging from a strip
of timber, we were in thirty yards of the game we
sought. All unconscious of our presence, they were
taking their ease, about forty of them. Some were
feeding, some were lying down, and one old fellow
nearest to us appeared to be asleep standing on his
feet. His eyes were closed and he lazily flapped his
long ears to drive away the gnats that hummed
about him. Joseph gave the signal by raising his
rifle, and nine shots rang out almost as one report.
Four elk dropped in their tracks, and the rest, in
stead of running away, turned startled eyes upon
us and stood still. We had muzzle loading rifles,
and nine powder horns were raised at once for an
other charge of powder. Before we were ready to
fire again the herd started to run; as they plunged
down the hill we gave them another volley. When
it was all over, we had thirteen fat elk for our
morning's work.
The Indians were delighted, and returned to their

A LEGEND OF WALLOWA LAKE 193
village for help to take care of the meat. We pre
pared to dry or jerk some of it. We drove four
forked sticks in the ground, about ten feet apart in
a square. Across these we laid poles, and then
smaller sticks on which to lay the meat, after it
was cut in thin slices. Under this scaffold we built
a fire to keep the flies away and to assist the sun in
drying the meat. We were several days thus oc
cupied, and during this time I went with the Indians
down the Wallowa valley, a most beautiful one,
lying along the south side of Wallowa lake. On
the north of the lake the mountains rose several
thousand feet, rather abruptly. Joseph's village was
an ideal one; it occupied the site on which now
stands Enterprise City.
While the Indians were taking care of the elk
killed, Chief Joseph was several times at our camp.
On one of these occasions he related the following
incident in the history of his people:
"A long time ago," he said, "I don't know how
long, but think it was as long as two men can live
(meaning 200 years), our tribe was very strong,
and we had many warriors, and went every sum
mer out into the buffalo country to hunt. Once our
people met a band of Blackfeet warriors and had a
great battle. There were a great many Blackfeet,
and we had only a. few warriors. Red Wolf was the

194 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
chief, and he lost nearly all his braves. There was
great sorrow in the village when he returned almost
alone and told what the Blackfeet had done.
"All that winter our people made bows and ar
rows, and when the spring came, Red Wolf gathered
all his warriors and went to fight the Blackfeet.
They did not go to the Blackfeet country, for that
is a long way off, but found a large band of them
in the buffalo country, and had a great battle. Nearly
all the Blackfeet were killed, and Red Wolf got
2,000 horses and many scalps, and none of his war
riors were killed. When he came back home our
people were glad, and danced many days.
"Every year Red Wolf went to the buffalo coun
try and fought the Blackfeet; sometimes we lost
many warriors. Red Wolf got old and died, but
still our people fought every summer, and took many
scalps* Young Red Wolf, the old chief's son, led
the warriors, and we were a great people. Every
boy went to the buffalo country as soon as he was
big enough to fight. Once, when Young Red Wolf
and a great many braves were out hunting buffalo,
the Blackfeet came on them while they were all
asleep and killed a great many and followed the
rest. Every day they fought, but the Blackfeet were
so many, as many as the blades of grass on the
hills. When Red Wolf crossed the lake he had only

A LEGEND OF WALLOWA LAKE 195
a few braves and he could fight no more. The
Blackfeet camped on the other side of the lake, and
built great fires and shouted and danced; but no
fires were in our village, and the women wailed for
our lost braves.
"Red Wolf had one child, a daughter, Wahluna.
She was very sorry for her people, and loved her
father, who could fight no more, but said they would
all be killed when the Blackfeet came around the
lake. At night, while they were all wailing for the
dead, Wahluna went down in the willows by the
lake, and when everyone had gone away from the
water, she got in her canoe and paddled across the
lake to the camp of the Blackfeet. Her paddle made
no sound, and they did not hear her until she stood
by the fire and said: 'I am Wahluna, Red Chief's
child. I want to talk to the great chief of your
people.' "Then the great chief said : 'What words has the
daughter of Red Wolf to speak? My ears are open.'
"Wahluna said: 'Our warriors are nearly all
gone, only a few are left, and our women and chil
dren are wailing for our dead. It is dark in our
village, and we have no fires, for we are afraid of
the great chief of the Blackfeet. Red Wolf says
tomorrow all will die. When you come you will
only find old men and women and children ; you can

196 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
kill the old people and take the young girls and
children for slaves ; but when you come to your own
village your women and young girls cannot hear
your warriors shout, for we will wail loud for our
dead braves, and your women will wail with us, and
there will be no joy in your village. You have many
scalps of our young warriors, and do not want the
scalps of old men and women. If you go to your
own country and do not come to our village, then
our fires can burn again. We can never fight the
great chief again, for our braves are all dead.'
"Then Wahluna laid her face in the sand, and did
not move. Then Tlesca, a young chief, the son of
the great chief, laid his robe upon her shoulders
and said: 'My heart is sore with yours, and I will
not kill any more of your people.'
"Then the great chief was angry and said: 'Her
people are dogs. Let the brave Chief Tlesca take his
robe from her shoulders that she may die.'
"But Tlesca said: 'The daughter of Red Wolf,
who has fought our bravest warriors along the trail
for a thousand miles, is not a dog. For one whole
moon he has fought our braves by day and by night.
He had nothing to eat, and his knees were weak;
we could see him stagger when he ran ; but when he
turned to fight for his people, his heart was great.
I am the only one of all our warriors who would

A LEGEND OP WALLOWA LAKE 197
fight him alone; my shoulder is broken by his war
olub. My robe is on the maiden's shoulders; I will
not take it away. I have spoken.'
"Tlesca was a great warrior, and the Great Chief
loved him and said : 'The great warrior Tlesca has
spoken, and his words are good. I will lay my robe
on his.' Then Wahluna knew her people might live,
and went back to her canoe.
"When she took her paddle, Tlesca was standing
there, and said: 'When twelve moons are passed
Wahluna will listen in the middle of the night, and
she will hear a great owl down by the lake. Come
when you hear the owl and I will speak.'
"And Wahluna counted the moons, and when
twlve were passed, she listened, when all in the vil
lage were asleep, and she heard the great owl down
by the lake. Then she put her robe on and went
through the village. Her feet made no sound, and
no one saw her. At the edge of the lake she found
Tlesca. He said: 'The maidens of the Blackfeet
are fair, and many look on Tlesca, for he is a great
warrior; but his heart is with Wahluna, and he
wants her for his wife.'
"Wahluna said: 'My people would kill you, for
their hearts are sore, for the wolves have gnawed
the bones of their young men.'
"Tlesca said : 'When six moons have passed, Wah-

198 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
luna will listen in the middle of the night, when all
are asleep, and she will hear a grey wolf across the
lake. Let Wahluna come, and Tlesca will speak.'
"Wahluna counted the moons, and when six were
gone, and all were asleep in the middle of the night,
she heard the grey wolf across the lake. Then she
took her canoe and went across the lake and found
Tlesca. He said: 'When the sun is over the great
mountain I will come to the Red Wolf's village with
my father, the Great Chief of the Blackfeet, and all
our chiefs and many great warriors, and we will
smoke the peace pipe together, and the Blackfeet
and Red Wolf's people will be brothers, and Red
Wolf can come to hunt the bufflao, and we will
catch fish from your lake.'
"Wahluna went back to the village and told her
father that when the sun was over the great moun
tain the Great Chief and his warriors would come
and smoke the pipe of peace with the Wallowas.
When the Blackfeet came, they smoked together and
were brothers. The Great Chief said: 'Tlesca is a
great warrior, and his heart is with Wahluna, and
he wants her for his wife.'
"Red Wolf sent runners to all his friends, the
Nez Perces, the Kiyouses and the Yakimas, and they
came, and there was a great wedding, and Wahluna
said she would sit in Tlesca's lodge. The young men.

A LEGEND OP WALLOWA LAKE 199
brought deer, bear and elk from the mountains, and
the girls caught fish in the lakes, and they had a
great feast, and all were very happy. Tlesca and
Wahluna got into a canoe, when the sun went down,
and went out on the lake, for it was very fair to look
at. All the people stood on the shore and watched
their canoe. Then they saw a great serpent come out
of the water, and the canoe was turned over, and
Tlesca and Wahluna were never seen again. Then
the Blackfeet went back to their own country and
said the Great Spirit was angry because they had
made peace with Red Wolf and his people."
After a few moments, I asked the young chief
if the story was a true one, or just a story told to
please the children.
"0," he said, "it is all true; I have heard my
people tell it many times, and have heard some of
the Blackfeet warriors tell it, too."
"But," I asked, "do you believe that a great snake
came and swallowed Tlesca and Wahluna?"
"No," he answered, "one big wind, one big wave ;
that's all."

(By courtesy of O. R. & N.)
ON THE ROAD TO MT. HOOD

Ned Leach's Story.

X.

After three weeks' resting, my mules were in fine
condition, and finding that I could load at Walla
Walla, I crossed the Blue mountains to that place
and loaded my wagons with flour and bacon for
Silver City. At Walla Walla I met Ned Leach, a
very dear friend. He was sick, and begged me to
stay with him, so I sent my teams on and stayed to
take care of Ned. I had met him at Elk City while
engaged in mining.
Ned had come West smitten with the gold fever
about a year previous to the time our acquaintance
began. From the first I was attracted to him. We,
being about the same age, soon became fast friends
and companions. Ned had been delicately reared,
and appeared out of place on the frontier. He lacked
the rugged constitution so common to the sons of
the West. He was never able to stand much ex
posure, and it soon became apparent that a cough,

202 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
which had been troubling him for several months,
was likely to prove serious.
In the fall of 1861 we concluded he had best go
down from the high mountains for the winter. Re
luctantly we said good-by, he returning to Walla
Walla, and again following a rush of miners to
Boise Basin, Idaho. Three years later we again met
at Walla Walla. The meeting was to me a very
painful one. Ned was far gone with quick con
sumption, and I saw at a glance that he could live
but a few months. He fully realized his fate, and
said as I grasped his hand: "I am so glad I have
found you, for I don't think I have very long to hunt
up and say good-by to my old friends."
In a few days he was confined to his room, and
until his death, two months later, I scarcely ever
left him. He never lost his cheerful manner, and
it was during the long hours I sat by his bedside he
related his strange adventures since he had left me.
Soon after I returned to this place, said Ned, I
heard of the rich finds at Placerville and Bannock
City, Idaho. My cough had almost ceased to trouble
me, and so I joined a party and went to the mines.
I got a gulch claim near Placerville and made about
$800. Early in the spring the Sioux Indians killed
some teamsters near the mouth of Boise river. We
made up a crowd and went out to bury the dead

NED LEACH'S STORY 203
and punish the murderers. We thought best to
give the Indians a lesson so that they might in the
future be afraid to molest the prospectors about the
new camp. We scouted around on the Malheur river
and up Snake river as far as Salmon Falls. There
were sixty-two of us under Captain Jeff Stanifer,
and we hunted around pretty industriously for a
fight, but not an Indian could we find. After a
three weeks' jaunt all returned except Charlie Webb
and I. We had found some fine gold on the river
bars and made up our mind to stay awhile and pros
pect. We knew it was a ticklish business to stay
there so far from any settlement, but as no fresh
sign of Indians had been found, we thought we
could manage to escape notice should any bands be
prowling around. We kept two months' provisions
and made our camp about two miles below the falls,
on the north side of the river. We constructed a
kind of rocker out of some driftwood and went fco
work. The gold was very fine and difficult to save,
but we took out a little every day and kept changing
about, hoping to find a richer spot. After we had
been at work about a week, we decided to move up
near the falls and try a little bar there.
Early one morning, we started to move our camp
fixtures. We had made several trips, and in return
ing for the last load were fired upon by about fifty

204 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
Indians, who were secreted in the sage brush on the-
right bank. We both fell. Why I did so I can never
tell, for I was not touched, but poor Charlie was
struck by three balls and never moved after he fell.
As soon as the Indians fired they ran towards us.
My only chance of escape was in flight, and I turned.
and ran up the river towards our new camp, where
our guns and ammunition were. As you know, I
am a great runner, and I ran hard and left them
behind, but I ran on at my best gait, for I thought
the others would get their horses and head me off
where I should be compelled to leave the river bars
to get around the falls. I was not mistaken, and
when I reached the falls my pursuers were far be
hind. I cautiously climbed the bank to look for
the others. Sure enough, they had mounted their
ponies and were running pell mell and very near
me. There was no possible chance to escape should
I show myself above the bank. I turned and ran
back and secreted myself among the yellow sage
brush which grew on the higher parts of the bar.
The Indians had caught sight of me as I ran down
the hill and pushed their horses in pursuit. As they
came on the bar they were joined by those who had
followed me on foot. Peeping out through the tops
of the sage, I could see them hunting for me. They
did this very systematically, riding abreast back and.

NED LEACH'S STORY 205
forth through the sage, working it all over like plow
ing a field. They kept about ten feet apart, and 1
saw they were certain to find me unless I could
manage to crawl back into the place they had al
ready rode over. Accordingly, when they had passed
by in about fifty yards of me, I commenced crawling
back across their line of march, but almost immedi
ately after I moved they saw me and set up a great
yell and started to run me down. It was a hard
deal for me afoot to run against horses in the open
ground, but it was all the show I had left, and I
broke cover and ran up the river again. The sage
grew in bunches about two feet high and was a
slight impediment to the speed of the ponies. But
I was compelled to make good time, and I ran as
I never ran before. For several hundred yards I
outran the whole band. I had no hope of escape
but was instinctively running from instant death.
When I reached the falls I was completely hemmed
in. The broad river on my right, the high bank on
my left, the mighty flood of falling water in front
and fifty yelling Indians behind. As I reached the
end of the race the Indians commenced firing. I
ran on, half hoping to find some hole in the rock
wall where I could crawl and hide, but it rose
smooth and solid and the bullets striking it dropped
fragments of rock at my feet. In utter despair, I

206 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
now kept on toward the water, intending to plunge
into the flood. Of course, I had no hope to escape
drowning, but I preferred death to mutilation at
the hands of the Indians.
The water where it first pours over the rock is a
smooth sheet, but near the bottom it is turned to a
white foam or spray. Feeling that my last mo
ment had come, I plunged into the torrent of falling
water a few feet from the rock wall. My momentum
carried me forward, although the water crushed me
down. Under the terrible pressure I crawled for
ward on the smooth rock on which I had fallen and
the water seemed to assist my motion. I gasped for
breath and found the water was not bearing me
down, although it was thundering upon my feet as
though it would crush them. Again I caught my
breath and found I was out of the water. I rose to
my feet and found I was in an air chamber beneath
the falls. I could see the water rushing down to
batter upon the rock floor as though it would tear
it into fragments, and the roar it made was dread
ful; even the solid rock shook under my feet. I
could hear no sound from the Indians, and when I
had gained composure and strength, I moved
cautiously forward along the slippery rock. There
was barely light enough to see my footing and the
water dashed down within reach of my hand on

NED LEACH'S STORY 207
either side. The floor inclined upwards and the air
space grew wider as I moved cautiously along. I
had gone about twenty feet when I came to the
perpendicular wall which formed the dam over
which the great river was pouring. There was a
great crack, to which I made my way, and found
myself where the air was apparently dry, only it
was whirling about as though being driven by the
torrent first this way and then that. I was aston
ished beyond measure at my miraculous escape, and
felt certain the Indians could not find me, and that
I could manage to get out through the water, though
at that time I had no definite idea of how I could
do it. My fright gradually subsided, and then I did
something I had never done before. I prayed. Yes,
I, who had no faith in God, knelt down on the rock
there under the falls and thanked him that I was
alive. It never occurred to me that I did not be
lieve in God, but it seemed most natural for me
to do as I did. After awhile I went further into the
opening of the rock, which appeared to have been
made by the sinking of the floor, leaving a horizontal
split reaching, as I found afterward, 400 or 500 feet
back under the falls, and extending nearly across
the river, which was something like a half mile wide.
The floor ascended gradually as I went back from
the opening until it was not more than a foot from

208 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
the roof. You may well imagine my emotions were
strange. The trembling of the rock, the dreadful
roar of the water, the dim light, the consciousness
that I was underneath the mighty falls with the
bloodthirsty Indians on the outside, and above all,
the uncertainty of ever getting through the falling
flood to the outer world again. For a time, and for
the first time in my life, I was in utter despair. I
shouted and could just faintly hear my own voice.
When the sun rose higher I had more light, but
there was no opening anywhere. All the light I
had came through the water and it was not a regu
lar light. It seemed to come and go, as the louder
sounds of the falls did. I sat down and tried to
think what I should do. I wondered if the Indians
were making any efforts to reach me, or if they
thought, as would look almost certain, that I was
drowned. At any rate, I felt sure they would not
dare plunge into the falls as I had, and then they
would not know of the air chamber or the cave.
Then my mind reverted to poor Charlie lying dead
on the bar. Would they mutilate him? I ground
my teeth as I thought of this, and my own deplor
able position. I tried to measure time and tell how
far the day had passed, and wondered if I could tell
a day from a week. When I thought it should be
night again the light continued and even grew

NED LEACH'S STORY 209
brighter, so I knew the sun must still be shining.
Brighter and brighter it grew, until I thought the
flood which formed my doorway must be lessened
in volume. I thought the Indians might by some
contrivance be diverting a portion of the water from
the bank where it started to fall at the top so as
to leave the entrance to my cave open. I wondered
if anyone but me had ever been saved from certain
death by a sheet of falling water. Foolish as such
thoughts were, I became more alarmed as it seemed
to grow still lighter, when, as I thought, twenty-four
hours had passed at least, and still I could see no
change in the appearance of the door. I became as
sured on this point and thought the Indians must
have gone. I began to study the chances of my
getting out. I could find the exact point at which
I came in, for I had struck the air chamber in the
center at its outer point and very near the wall of
rock, but I was fearful. I could not start with
sufficient speed to force my body through the stream.
I became very hungry, and thought it best to make
an effort to get out before my strength failed from
starvation. While I was running these things
through my mind the light began to fade. I watched
it closely, and saw it was getting dark. It also ap
peared that the water was descending in a heavier
volume than before. Dreadful forebodings now as-

210 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
sailed me. I thought the river must be raising, and
that it would now be impossible fdr me to escape.
The water seemed to increase in volume until no
light could come through it, and I was in pitch dark
ness. I gave up in despair, and lay down on the
rock without hope. I knew that the river would not
fall rapidly when once it rose, and fully expected to
be caged there until I should starve to death. How
long I endured these dreadful feelings, I do not
know. It seemed days or weeks that I lay there.
My mind, instead of being paralyzed by the thought
of death, was wonderfully active. I thought of my
mother and father, brothers and sisters, and even
recalled many trifling incidents in my career since
I had left home. I could not help thinking of the
man I had killed here in this town before I went to
the mines, and I blamed myself for it, though, as
you know, he had snapped his pistol in my face five
times before I offered to defend myself, and struck
the blow which proved fatal, and everyone said I
was justified in my actions and I was acquitted be
fore a jury. Well, there under those falls in black
darkness, I was tried again and found guilty. All
the testimony in my behalf was of no avail. All the
pleading appeared a mockery. The judge solemnly
said : "Thou shalt not kill," and I was condemned.
There was no appeal from that court. The dreadful

NED LEACH'S STORY 211
roar which filled my ears seemed to be repeating its
decision, and the inky darkness to confirm its man
date. As other incidents in my life passed rapidly
through my mind, strange as it may appear, I re
called a story I had read a few years before about
a California prospector who, while rambling in the
hills, had fallen into a deserted shaft. He reached
the bottom without serious injury, but found him
self in darkness. He gave up all hope, and when, as
he thought, he had been there at least ten days, he
was rescued and found he had only been in the pit
four hours. Like a flash of lightning the thought
came to my mind that the darkness around me might
be the night and that I had only been confined one
day. It appears incredible, and yet the thought
brought a flood of hope to me. I clung to it, and
springing to my feet I peered into the blackness to
find a ray of light. In vain. Days and weeks, and
I might truly say, months and years, seemed to drag
along, for I could measure no time and still the
darkness was about me. At last, overcome with
mental fatigue, I must have lost consciousness. Pos
sibly it was sleep. I do not know. For a time I did
not feel the terror of the place, and felt at rest.
Then, all at once my chamber was light again — al
most as light as it had been before. My hope re
vived again. I determined without delay to try to

212 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
get out as the light increased. I became fully con
vinced that the sun was shining outside and that
the water was falling in no heavier volume than
when I came in. As well as I could I examined the
rock to see that my feet should be placed where they
would not slip, and carefully selecting the point
where I had emerged from the water I gathered all
my strength, bowed my head, and plunged into the
flood. As before, I was thrown flat upon the rock
by the tremendous force of the water, but struggled
forward a few feet and emerged into open air. As
soon as I caught my breath and could open my eyes
I saw the sun was shining brightly. The first thing
I did was to walk across the bar and climb the bank
to see if there were any Indians in sight. Care
fully I scanned the plains and hills, but no one was
to be seen. I started to go and look for Charlie, when
I came to the new camp we were moving to when
we were fired upon. I was surprised and overjoyed
to find everything just as we had left it, not a thing
gone. The Indians had not found the spot, and no
doubt thought all our belongings were those left
at the old camp, which they had rifled. They had
stripped the body of poor Charlie, but except taking
the scalp they had not mutilated it. I was very
hungry and returned to where the provisions were.
I soon had a fire and cooked some bread and bacon.

NED LEACH'S STORY 213
Then I looked about and found that the Indians had
taken the trail and moved up the river. Our horses
and saddles were gone, but nearly all our things
had been taken to the new camp, and were still
safe. Fearing to start afoot to Boise City, I fixed
my camp in a little notch in the bluff and thought
I would watch the trail until some white persons
came along with whom I could return to the settle
ment. The next day after I got out I buried Charlie
in the sand.
I did not expect to wait long, for there was more
or less travel on that trail, but day after day I
looked in vain for some party coming from or going
to Boise.
The river was falling rapidly and every day the
volume of water which concealed my cave became
less, until I thought I could reach it with ease. Still,
I could never bring myself to attempt it, although I
had a great curiosity to return and make further
explorations. I know you will think this a very strange story,
and probably no one but so dear a friend as you are
would believe it. I almost hesitate to complete it,
for what is to come is the strangest part of it.
I think I had been there six days after I came out
of the cave, and was on the point of starting to
Boise City on foot, when I saw a solitary horseman

214 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
on the trail half a mile from me. I knew it was a
white man. As he neared the falls he left the trail
and rode directly toward my camp, although he had
not seen it. When he came near where I was se
creted I rose and hailed him. As soon as he an
swered me I knew him. He was Charley Plummer,
who I had known at Oro Fino. In a few mo
ments I had explained to him my distressed condi
tion and then conducted him to my camp. I told
him of Charlie's death and my escape by plunging
into the water, and the finding of the cave.
"Did the Indians see you run into the falls?" he
asked. "Certainly."
Then he said : "This place will be safe from them
hereafter. They have always held it in dread, and
now will think it was a spirit instead of a man
they were pursuing."
He asked if I thought I could get into the cave
again. I told him the river was falling very fast
and it would be an easy matter to reach it in a few
days. After we had our supper, he asked if I had made
any money in the mines. I told him of the loss of
my horse. I was afoot and about out of money. He

NED LEACH'S STORY 215
drew from his pocket a buckskin sack with about
$1,200 in dust in it and threw it at my feet.
"There, take that. I have plenty without it, and
you are too good a man to be broke in this country.
1 have a camp about ten miles up the river and
the boys have plenty of horses. I will go and get
you one tomorrow."
Accordingly, the next morning he rode off and
after a few hours returned leading a horse with a
bridle and saddle on. He was nervous and labor
ing under some kind of excitement. After riding to
the high ground he came back at full speed, and
said: "I am pursued. Six or eight men are after me
for some work I did the day before yesterday near
Boise. I thought they would not find my trail. They
are well mounted and my horse has had a 20-mile
ride this morning. I can't very well fight them all,
and I don't like to ride a good horse until he falls
dead. Will you show me your cave?"
I knew very well that Charley was a highwayman
who had several times defied arrest and that a price
was offered for him, dead or alive. I had no sym
pathy with his occupation, but I could not help feel
ing kindly toward the man. I told him I would do
all I could for him, and had no doubt but that we
could reach the cave, but that we must abandon the

216 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
camp fixtures, as it would not be safe to try to go
through the water encumbered with anything. He
took from his pockets four large purses and buried
them in different places in the sand, then he un
hitched the horses and started them toward the
hills. "They will get the horses," he said, "but are not
likely to find this camp, as there is no fire burning,
and they will not be looking for it."
By this time we could see the dust raised by the
coming horsemen not more than half a mile dis
tant, though the bluff hid them from our view. I
buried the purse Charley had given me in the sand
and we secreted our pistols and the two guns I had
in camp as well as we could and started for the
falls on a run, for we did not want the horsemen to
reach the bluff before we made the plunge. As luck
would have it, our horses turned and run down the
river, one of them having become frightened by a
rope left hanging from the saddle. After giving
Charley directions to follow me and use all his
strength, I plunged into the water where I had be
fore, and the next moment Charley was sprawling
at my feet inside the air chamber at the mouth of
the cave. As I had anticipated, the flood had de
creased in volume and its pressure was not nearly
so great as when I had gone through it. It was also

NED LEACH'S STORY 217
much lighter inside and we had no trouble in work
ing our way to the cave. By watching the coming
and going of the light we could tell how the time
went. At noon it was light enough for us to see
each others faces, and when we judged the sun wa3
setting we made the plunge and came out, neither
of us falling.
Everything about our camp was as we had left
it. The sheriff and his posse, for it was they who
were following Charley's trail, had passed on with
out seeing either camp or horses. Had we remained
in camp we would not have been discovered. As it
was, no harm was done, and after an hour's walk,
we found our horses feeding a couple of miles down
the river. The next day Charley's partners came
down and brought a number of horses and their
camp outfit. I saw they had more money than pro
visions, and was not at a loss to guess how they had
gotten it. They were all interested in the cave, and
when I talked of leaving to return to Boise, I saw
that they did not like the idea.
"Stay with us," they said, "and you shall have
an equal share of all we have."
They had, so they told me, about $40,000 in gold
dust and bars, all of which was taken into the cave.
. Every day the sheet of water closing it up grew
thinner, until looking from the inside we could dis-

218 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
tinguish objects on the outside. We also carried
some camp fixtures and provisions in, and after a
time we got some wood through and tried a fire in
the cave.
Plummer gave me to understand that now I knew
where their treasure was, they were afraid for me
to go to the settlements for fear that I would be
tray them, and he strongly urged that I remain at
the cave until they were ready to move their gold
to some other hiding place. Knowing the danger of
attempting to leave them without their consent, I
agreed to stay and keep camp, but told them plainly
I would not go with them on any of their excursions.
This was satisfactory, and we were soon on the
best of terms.
"Look out for the horses," they said, "and don't
let any one see you go near the cave, and that is all
we want you to do."
They had a tent, which we pitched on an open
piece of ground, and without any attempt at con
cealment a new camp was made a few hundred yards
below. I remained there about three months, and
was alone most of the time. I kept watch over
about twenty head of horses, which the boys had,
and was seldom far from my camp. The water got
so low that I could get into the treasure house with
out any trouble. Indeed, for a time, I thought its

NED LEACH'S STORY 219
opening would be left entirely bare, for nothing but
a thin white spring covered it from view. The
boys never stopped more than one or two nights at
the camp on each visit. In fact, they were a very
industrious set of highwaymen. I have heard since
that they robbed the Silver City stage several times,
and got a very large haul from ten miners whom
they robbed near Placerville. Each time they came
they were loaded down with gold and had many a
merry laugh when relating how they got it. All
was stowed carefully in the cave. I had many com
punctions of conscience, and not a little fear about
the part I was compelled to act. To all intents and
purposes, I was a robber, but there was no help for
it. I knew enough about Plummer and his band
to know they would shoot me as they would a dog
if they once suspected I would leave them without
their consent.
"You see," said Plummer to me one day when we
were alone, "the boys all like you, and will be your
friends, but you know we must take care of our
necks as well as our money. After you once had
us in your power some of them wanted to make you
take a hand at robbing with us. I opposed this, and
stood up for you. All we want is to feel safe. You
have done nothing that you could help doing about
the whole matter, and will come out clear and shall

220 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
have your share as we promised you. I tell you
we have a good pile already. When we get enough
to make us all rich we will divide and each go his
way. We had over 100 pounds of dust when we came
in last, and we will make another good haul soon.
We will wait until the Webfoot miners start home
in the fall, and then after they have divided up a
little to us we will pull out for tall timber."
About the 1st of October we had what we esti
mated at $300,000 in the cave. This gave us $50,000
each. Then we discussed what we were going to
do with it. All but myself were likely to be arrested
for robbery at any time. So much dust was not con
venient to carry with us, and we dared not deposit
with anyone, not even a bank. After bothering over
this problem for some time, at last we concluded
to leave it in the cave. We took about $2,000 each
and after agreeing to meet at the falls again on the
4th day of July next, we separated. I went to Ban
nock City and heard nothing more of my partners,
who for good reasons, kept in the mountains away
from the settlements. When the appointed day ar
rived we met again to get our treasure. We found
the river much higher than when we left it the fall
before. A heavy sheet of water was falling in front
of the cave, and it was impossible to get through it.
We stayed there about a week and found the river

NED LEACH'S STORY 221
raising all the time. Reluctantly we agreed to meet
again the 1st of September. When that time ar
rived we met near Boise City and went together to
the falls. It was night when we reached the place,
and we camped at our old camp. We were up early
next morning, and when it grew light a sight was
before us which rendered us speechless. The falls
were gone, and in their place was only a series of
rapids a mile long. It was plain at a glance that
the roof of our cave had fallen in, and the river no
longer poured over in a solid sheet, but ran foaming
among the great rocks until it reached the level of
the stream below. Never did men stand and look
at a roaring river with more despair than did we.
Our treasure was gone. No, it was there; its weight
would keep it near where we had left it, but it was
covered with great masses of rock over which
foamed the mighty stream. Ill-gotten as it was, we
felt its loss as much as though it had been honestly
earned. From being wealthy, we found ourselves re
duced to poor men. We discussed the project of a
wing dam in the river, and thought such an obstruc
tion in the rapids might lay the spot where our gold
was bare. But that would be expensive, as there
was no timber near, and all of us were now poor.
Plummer and his band went to Montana, and I
came here. I had thought to go again to the falls

222 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
when the river was very low and see if the project
of the dam looked any more feasible than when we
were there. But I took sick and now I know that
what little money I have is all I shall ever need.
I may add that Ned passed quietly away a few
days after he had concluded his story.
Plummer and his band were hanged a little later
by vigilantes at Virginia City.
I placed so much confidence in Ned's story that
a few years later I traveled 300 miles to see the spot
where his treasure was buried. As he had described,
the river ran foaming down over the rapids for a
mile or more, but there was no sign of a great fall,
such as he told of before the cave broke down. Yet
early emigrants to Oregon all agree that once the
river fell in a great unbroken sheet at that place
and the perpendicular rock at the edge of the falls
on the north side of the river is to be seen and pos
sibly lends plausibility to Ned's story.

(By courtesyof O. R. & N.)
CLOUD CAP INN, MT. HOOD

Jack Hart's Encounter With Road
Agents.

XL

When my teams returned after thirty days I found
I had cleared over all expenses $2,000, about 50 pel-
cent on the cost of the teams. Having some money
left from my mining operations I now purchased
three more mule teams and freighted them for Boise
City. Five teams were quite a respectable train,
and I now felt able to take things easy, and while
my teams were on the road I contented myself with
riding along as wagon boss. This gave me oppor
tunity to become acquainted with business men, and
offered opportunities for speculation. I freighted
to Silver City, Auburn, Placerville, Bannock, Lew
iston and Fort Colville, making good profits. I pur-
cased another pack train and made several trips to
new mining camps with good success.
It was in the spring of 1864, while on a journey
through the Bitter Root mountains in Idaho, that

224 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
I was fortunate in having Jack Hart for a com
panion, and never in all my travels did I have one
more agreeable or entertaining throughout. Jack
was a typical frontiersman, as genial a comrade and
as brave a man as ever rode upon the Idaho trails.
Straight as an Indian and almost as dark, he stood
six feet two in his stockings and sat his horse as
though born for the saddle. Like all truly brave
men, Jack was tender-hearted and averse to shed
ding blood, and here I may remark that this trait
of character cost him his life while arresting Hank
Vaughn, a desperado, near Express Ranch, a few
years later than the date of this story.
Knowing Jack had been on the frontier since he
was a boy, I asked him if he had ever encountered
road agents in his travels.
"0, yes," he said, "several times. I will tell you
of an adventure with a couple of them only a few
months ago. You may have seen something about
it in the papers, but for reasons which will appear
when you hear the story, it has never been fully pub
lished. In fact, I am breaking faith a little to speak
of it now, but most secrets come to an end sooner
or later, and this one may as well be told now, I
suppose. I had been up in the Boise mines for about
six months and was on my way to my home in Port
land. When I crossed Snake River into Oregon, at

JACK HART'S ENCOUNTER WITH ROAD AGENTS 225
Old's Ferry, I overtook Mike Ward, an old friend,
and we made the trip together. I was pleased to
have Mike for company, for the road was infested
with bad characters from the Basin to the Umatilla.
I had about four thousand dollars in dust which had
cost me some hard work, and I did not like the idea
of being called upon to surrender it up at the muzzle
of a shotgun.
"Moreover, I had promised my little wife, who
was waiting for me,, that I would make numerous
improvements about our home when I returned.
Mike also had some dust and seemed pleased at
meeting me. We were well mounted and both armed
to the teeth, and felt able to take care of ourselves.
Without expressing ourselves directly to that effect,
I think it was thoroughly understood between us
that no one should take our money without fighting
for it.
"You see," said Mike, "it is not often that more
than two of these chaps work together on this road
and all we have to do in order to have a fair show is
not to let any one get a drop on us, and then we must
be careful not to both fire at the same man and give
the other one a show to pelt us. If we get into a
fight, I will call out which man I fire at, so we may

226 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
not both engage the same one, but the thing to do
is to keep our eyes open and avoid a surprise."
When we arrived at Miller's Station, where Hunt
ington now stands, on the Union Pacific line, there
were two horses hitched in front of the old Adobe
House, which attracted our attention at once; not
but what horses were plentiful enough on the road,
but that these were something unusual, a bay and a
gray, racers both of them, and no mistake; just such
horses as highwaymen would be likely to ride. They
were in excellent condition and evidently had not
been jaded by travel. We looked them over and
noted their glossy coats, light steel shoes and rather
new and expensive saddles and bridles.
"Now," said Mike, as we entered the building,
"let us take a look at the riders."
We found them seated at supper and, as the bar
and dining room were one, we had a good oppor
tunity to observe them. From the first they took
an especial interest in our advent and only half cov
ertly watched our movements. One was a low,
heavy-set man with an enormous square under jaw
and short cropped red whiskers ; his face was deeply
pitted with smallpox, and altogether he presented a
very unfavorable appearance as he peered at us
from under a pair of bushy eyebrows. His com-

JACK HART'S ENCOUNTER WITH ROAD AGENTS 227
panion was tall, dark complexioned and appeared to
be in delicate health.
They ate in silence and we did not hear the voice
of either, and we saw rather than heard that they
were strangers to the proprietor of the house. Be
fore their meal was finished I saw the hostler leading
their horses past the window to the stable. We had
intended to stay over night at the place, for the sun
was already below the hills and our horses had made
a fair day's travel, but I said to Mike :
"Let us have supper and then ride on to the next
station." As I said this, I saw the short man start and
glance at his companion.
"The next stopping place," said the station keeper,
"is fifteen miles from here, and we are going to have
a cloudy night."
"Oh, we don't mind that," said Mike, and we
seated ourselves to our supper, which was already
on the table. While at supper, we had still further
opportunity to observe the strangers. They affected
careless airs and tried to conceal the fact that they
regarded us with especial interest, but it was of no
use; it was plain to us that they were both nervous
and were watching every movement we made. I
had no idea who they were but I felt pretty certain

228 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
I knew their occupation, and that was of much more
importance to us.
When we were again on the road and as soon as
we were out of earshot of the place, Mike said :
"Well, Jack, we are in for it sooner than I ex
pected. Do you know who those chaps are?"
"No," I answered; "I never saw either of them
before, and I would feel much better if I was sure
I should never see them again."
"Did you notice that heavy-set one was minus one
finger," asked Mike.
"I did," he said, before I could answer. "That is
Charley Plumber. I do not know him but feel cer
tain it is him. The other I think is his pal, Sesesh
Jimmy. Plumber lost that finger when he and
Ridgly shot Pat Ford at Oro Fino. Pat died game,
you know, and before they got him, he killed both
their horses, put a bullet in Ridgly's leg and ampu
tated one of Plumber's fingers. Since that fight
Plumber has been on the road, first with one pal and
then with another, and has held up several returning
miners, besides robbing the Silver City stage twice
in the last six months. They are probably on their
way to San Francisco to have a good time with their
money. I think likely they have followed you from
the Boise Basin and, by following the old emigrant
road while you came by the ferry, they reached

JACK HART'S ENCOUNTER WITH ROAD AGENTS 229
Miller's a little ahead of us. By taking this night
ride, we will steal a march on them. If we can keep
ahead we are all right. They will never dare to at
tack us unless they can get the drop. We will ride
hard until we cross the Blue Mountains and then it
is all open country to the Columbia River." *
We reached Moody's about ten o'clock and found
several freighters sitting around the fire. We said
nothing about our suspicions of the men behind us,
for we knew to show any anxiety about bad charac
ters would make it appear that we had money with
us and one never knows who he may find in a crowd
nowadays. About eleven o'clock, when we were about to re
tire, I went out to the stable to see that our horses
were well cared for. Just as I had reached the
stable, I saw two horsemen approaching. I stepped
inside and watched their movements. As they came
nearer, I knew the horses — a bay and a gray —
Plumber and Jimmy without a doubt. They turned
from the road and came on to the stable. Plumber
dismounted and came up until he could see our
horses through the cracks of the stable, for it was
only a shack of a thing made of willow poles; then
they rode on, passed the house and in a moment
were out of sight.
I got Mike out and told him what I had seen. If

230 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
we had any doubts about the designs of the men be
fore, we had none now. They had made this night
ride and quietly passed our stopping place in order
to get ahead of us to await our coming in some spot
favorable to their designs.
In five minutes our horses were saddled and again
we took the road, determined to overtake and keep
the men in sight during the night and to allow them
no opportunity to secrete themselves beside the road.
When we came in sight of them, they appeared quite
unconcerned about our appearance and did not
slacken nor increase their speed. We kept about
two hundred yards behind, only shortening that dis
tance when turning a point in the hills or passing
through a strip of brush which might give them an
opportunity to dismount and conceal themselves.
Throughout the night we rode in this manner and
did not feel alarmed; it was rather amusing than
otherwise. I am a fair shot and knew Mike to be a brave man,
so I counted on his doing his part all right if the
men we were following should try to take our dust.
A little after daylight, we came to a ranch and saw
our men dismount at the door. We passed on to the
next place, only a couple of miles farther, where we
fed our tired horses and had our breakfast. Before

JACK HART'S ENCOUNTER WITH ROAD AGENTS 231
we were ready to start the bay and grey passed and
the robbers were ahead again.
After a day and night's ride without rest we did
not feel like taking the saddle, neither were our
horses in condition to travel, but after giving them
a couple of hours' rest we set out again, feeling
rather sore and neither of us in the best of humor.
We had talked the matter over and concluded that
Plumber and Sesesh intended to lay for us in the
Blue Mountains, where the heavy timber through
which the road passes would give them a good op
portunity to take us by surprise. It was no use to
try to outride them, for it was plain they were better
mounted than we were, so the plan we agreed on
was to follow them to La Grande. If they took the
Meacham road over the mountains we would cross
the valley to Summerville and go over by that road.
We made a short ride that day and the next eve
ning came to La Grande about 9 o'clock. We skirted
around the town, and, leaving our horses at a farm
house, went up to reconnoiter. We found the rob
ber's horses at the livery stable but did not see the
nien. The stableman told us they were at the hotel
and had said they would start across the mountains
the next morning at daylight. Now, if we should go
down to the Summerville road it would add twenty-
five miles to our journey, and we concluded to steal

232 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
a march on the highwaymen and cross the Blue
Mountains that night while they were asleep or at
any rate we would ride to Meacham Station, about
twnty-five miles from La Grande. This would give
us such a start that we could easily, even on our
worn out horses, reach the open country on the
Umatilla River before we were overtaken. Once
out of the timber, we would feel secure, for, as I
have said, we did not anticipate an attack on open
ground. Accordingly, after our horses were fed
and we had taken our supper at a little restaurant,
near the stable, we quietly started up the mountain,
feeling that by this maneuver we had placed our
selves beyond the danger of losing our money bags,
if not our lives.
The night was not dark, although the moon was
not yet up, and the road was good, so we made fair
progress and chatted about our past successes and
future prospects. We had no fear of an ambush
ahead, or there was no telltale wires strung along
that road and no one ahead of us could know we
were coming. For some time I felt as secure as did
Mike, but at last an impression grew upon me. I
say it grew, for it seemed to come slowly and gather
strength each time it forced itself upon my atten
tion, until it stood up against my feeling of security
and boldly whispered, "Never relax your vigilance

JACK HART'S ENCOUNTER WITH ROAD AGENTS 233
for you are being pursued. Plumber and Sesesh
Jimmy are again on your trail." This seemed absurd
at the time and I tried to banish the thought, only
to strengthen it at every trial. I argued, condemned
and ridiculed the idea which was slowly taking pos
session of me to no purpose. "It would not down."
At last, to dispel what appeared such foolish
fancies, I made an excuse of filling my pipe and
dropped behind. Dismounting, I laid my ear to the
ground and listened. I could hear nothing but the
plodding thud of the hoofs of Mike's horse as he
trotted on. No one else was in hearing distance, that
was sure. This should have satisfied me, surely, but
it did not. In spite of all available evidence I be
came more watchful than ever. I wondered if I
was a coward after all I had gone through and tried
to be cheerful and to chat with Mike. But after we
had gone a couple of miles, I found myself making
an excuse to drop behind again, laid my ear to the
ground and listened. This time I plainly heard the
beat of horses' hoofs on the hard road behind us.
Whoever it was, was coming in at a gallop. I hurried
on and told Mike what I had heard. We both lis
tened again and agreed that some one was coming,
and at a furious gait at that.
"Who can it be, riding that way at this time ot
night?" said Mike.
"Our highwaymen, as sure as you're born," I an-

234 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
swered. "They have found out that we passed
through La Grande and have followed, determined
we should not escape."
"It looks that way," Mike answered. "I believe
you are right. Our horses are too near done up for
us to run. We may as well get ready to fight. We
have got to help make a little history whether we
want to or not."
We recapped our pistols and rode slowly on. The
clatter of the horses' hoofs on the road was now
quite distinct, and, without a word, as by common
impulse, we halted just as we were entering a grove
of timber. We were in the shade but could plainly
see the road for several hundred yards behind us.
The moon had risen and was shining brightly ; every
bush or stone stood out almost as plainly as in the
daylight. "Yonder they come," said Mike, "the bay and grey
as sure as fate. Plumber's on the grey ; I want him.
You take the other ; aim low and don't miss the first
shot. Let 'em come up close. Now good work."
We did not dismount. All plainsmen shoot from
the saddle by choice. Our horses were not afraid
of firearms and were too wearied to be nervous
at the approach of the robbers.
Across the belt of moonlight they galloped, hold
ing a tight rein, and I could distinctly see each held

JACK HART'S ENCOUNTER WITH ROAD AGENTS 235
a pistol in his right hand. When they were within
twenty steps of us I cried, "Halt." As we were in
the shadow, they had not seen us and we had, as we
had planned to have, decidedly the advantage. With
a jerk the reins tightened and the horses were
brought to a sudden halt. I saw Mike slowly and
very deliberately raise his pistol, indeed, all four
were half to a level, when with the suddenness of a
flash of lightning a thought arrested my hand. Why
such a thought should have come at such a moment,
I can never tell, but I cried, "Hold, don't shoot," to
Mike, who was already glancing along the barrel of
his pistol
"What now?" he hissed through his teeth, still
keeping his aim upon Plumber.
Then a moment of dreadful suspense ensued. How
long I cannot say. It seemed a long time. I was
trying to formulate the thoughts which assailed me
so rapidly into words. At last, feeling that I was
doing a foolish thing, I said :- "Don't shoot until I
have spoken. It is possible there may be some mis
take. What do you want?"
From Plumber came the answer, clear and dis
tinct, "Why did you stop us?"
"Because you are following us; have dogged us
from Burnt River," I said. "Are you not Charley
Plumber and Sesesh Jimmy?"
"My God, no; we are Mose Splawn and Joe Reed.

236 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
We only want to pass you to go on, as our horses;
are better than yours."
"That's it," yelled Mike ; "you can't play any such
game on us. I know you both, you cutthroats. Now
take the back track if you want to save your necks
for the gallows, and be in a hurry about it, too."
"Wait a moment, Mike," I said; and then to
Plumber: "Why did you leave La Grande after you
had stopped for the night?"
"Because the town was full of toughs and we
wanted to overtake you so that you could get no
advantage of us."
For an instant I thought the man might be telling
the truth. Then caution said be careful, your life
is at stake. But what was to be done? We dare
not let them pass, and it was equally dangerous to
ride on with these men so close behind us. I was
never in such a close place in my life, and I have
been in some pretty tight ones, I tell you. Mike
wanted to fight and it was with difficulty that I kept
him from firing. For a time there was silence, not
a word was spoken until it seemed that nothing but
the crack of pistols could break the suspense. I
have thought since what a picture we would have
made. The mountain top, the open glade, the dark
grove of fir, the four steeds, two of them in the
moonlight and two in the shadow standing, breath-

JACK HART'S ENCOUNTER WITH ROAD AGENTS 237
ing hard, with heads bent low and all unconscious
of the dreadful predicament of their riders. I was
thinking very hard, and at last called out: "I be
lieve you are wretches who should be shot down like
dogs, but it is possible there may be a mistake here,
and I will make you a proposition. I am willing to
take my chances and ride by the side of one of you
to the Station. What do you say?"
Sesesh Jimmy spoke first and said: "That's fair;
I'm your man."
Plumber agreed, and Mike by silence consented,
but kept his pistol half raised. I whispered to him
to take the left side of the road and told Sesesh to
ride forward and I would meet him. He came up
boldly, and side by side we took the road. Mike and
Plumber fell into line and each man's right fore
finger pressing a trigger, we rode into the dark
grove. When we came out into the moonlight again,
I could see I had no slouch to deal with. He kept
his horse well in hand and the firm poise of his body
and half bent pistol arm showed plainly he was not
to be caught napping. As for myself, I fully realized
my situation. I knew a man of cool, determined
pluck was riding by my side and every atom of
nerve about me was roused to meet it. We talked
but little. In some places there were mud holes in
the road and this caused our horses to swerve apart

238 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
or to jostle together. At such times each kept a
close watch that the other got no advantage. Being
on the left side, I could have raised my arm to fire
quicker than Sesesh could, who would have to turn
partly around before he could bring his gun to bear
upon me. Thus we rode about five miles, when we
came in sight of the station. I had made up my
mind that when we reached it, the robbers would
expect to find us off our ground and would leave us
and run. So I was especially alert as we neared the
huge lamp in front of the house, determined they
should not escape. To my surprise both rode boldly
up to the light and dismounted. The proprietor,
Meacham, came out and in his cordial way greeted
all four of us, "Hello, Ward. How are you, Hart?
Well, I declare, Splawn and Reed; all old friends;
how are you ? Go right in to the fire and I will take
care of your horses."
I was surprised and yet for several moments I
had been half suspecting such a denouement. So
there were no highwaymen to shoot at after all. For
a moment each man looked his pardner full in the
face, a broad grin overspread my robber's features,
and I gave a little laugh which Meacham did not
notice. As we entered the well lighted hall, Splawn,
for he was our Plumber, caught Mike and I each by

JACK HART'S ENCOUNTER WITH ROAD AGENTS 239
the shoulder and whispered, "This is too good ; let's
never tell."
"Agreed," we answered in a breath.
After a good, warm supper we spun a few yarns
and then all went upstairs, where we found two com
modious beds in the same room. Here, when alone,
we had a talk and compared notes a little. Each
party had been suspicious of the other from first
sight and all were afraid of being robbed and had
maneuvered to be safe. Now that real names were
known, we knew each other by reputation, although
it had happened we had never met before. Splawn,
a real jolly, good-natured, honest-looking fellow now
that our fear was gone, roared out with laughter :
"What made you fellows afraid of us?" he asked.
"We are as timid a pair as ever came over this road
with a sack of gold dust, I can tell you. I was shak
ing so in my boots when you called me alongside of
you that I was actually afraid I would fall off my
horse and that you would take that for a hostile
movement and shoot me."
"You had your pistol ready cocked for me," I said.
"Cocked ! I should say it was cocked. I have had
it cocked ever since I saw you on Burnt River," he
answered, roaring again. "Now tell me why you

240 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
took us for those cutthroats. Do we look like such
people?" "Not now," I said, laughing with the rest, "but
to make a clean breast of it, Mike and I got scared
first at your horses; they were as rakish looking
steeds as I ever saw; then your saddles and bridles
were too elegant and too new to look honest. We
were prejudiced against them when we went into
the Adobe House to find the highwaymen, and I
thought you two were the most villainous looking
rascals I had ever set eyes upon."
"That's just what we thought of you," Splawn
laughed again. "I would have bet my last dollar
you were planning to murder us while you were
eating your supper. I could see villainy in every
motion you made. Moreover, we both had a kind
of a presentiment that you were after us and I fully
expected you to run for your lives when we reached
the station. We thought you were Wild Bill and
that Mr. Ward was Six-told Pete. In fact, we men
tioned our suspicions to several men along the route
who had seen you pass, and they all agreed with us.
I believe we could have had you both hanged on sus
picion and circumstantial evidence when you
sneaked around La Grande and took to the moun
tains in the night with your jaded horses. The
whole thing is good enough for a story, but we had

JACK HART'S ENCOUNTER WITH ROAD AGENTS 241
better keep it to ourselves unless we want to be
laughed out of the country. There will never be
another such ride, I reckon."
With our money in our cantenas on the floor by
our bedsides and our pistols with hammers down,
we all slept so soundly that Meacham had to come
to the head of the stairs and call us the second
time to breakfast.

ONE OF THE COLUMBIA RIVER FALLS

Was It Luck or Providence?

XII.

Developments throughout Eastern Oregon were
taking place very rapidly. The Oregon Steam Navi
gation Company had a line of steamers on the Co
lumbia, running to the Umatilla and Wallulu.
Lighter vessels were also running on the Upper Co
lumbia and Snake Rivers. The whole country was
settling up with hardy farmers and stockmen.
Towns, villages, and cities were springing up as
if by magic, and the Great Inland Empire, once Old
Oregon, was being divided and subdivided into many
territories. She was coming to her own, but as yet had no rail
roads, and all supplies were hauled by teams or
packed on trains from the Columbia as far east in
some instances as Virginia City, a thousand miles
inland. On every trail or road were long caravans
of teams and trains of pack animals; everybody
seemed to be moving. On every stream, and by

244 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
every spring campfires blazed at night. It looked
as if all the West were camping out.
The campfire was the forum around which all ad
ventures were related and all questions discussed.
We had no papers, no magazines, no books, no mail ;
one might suppose stagnation would ensue; but it
was not so. Every conceivable question was
broached, and argued with energy around the camp-
fire at night. As one might suppose, great talkers
were developed, and many latent talents brought
out. Here is an illustration of an evening's enter
tainment. The question seemed to be, "Was It Luck
or Providence?"
"There is no such thing as luck," said the young
schoolmaster. "Nothing happens. Everything
which occurs is the direct result of causes sufficient
to produce that result. No one believes in luck but
the most ignorant people; and I cannot understand
why anyone should believe such stuff. There is
nothing to support the idea whatever."
It was a cold evening in December, of 1862. We
were sitting before a fire of blazing pine logs on the
south side of the Spokane River, Washington state,
near the site now occupied by the city of Spokane.
We were en route from Pen D'Orille Lake, traveling
with a four-mule team to Walla Walla, Washington.
Two brothers, John and Robert Shaw, Arthur Grey

WAS IT LUCK OR PROVIDENCE 245
and myself composed our company. The schoolmas
ter had been teaching at Fort Colville and was re
turning to his home at The Dalles. The brothers had
been for several years trapping for the Hudson Bay
Company and, becoming tired of that pursuit, were
seeking other scenes. They were good, manly, hon
est fellows, but extremely illiterate, which fact an
noyed Mr. Grey not a little. John, who was the most
talkative of the two, was continually being corrected
in his ideas and speech. In fact, Mr. Grey was one
of those teachers who never dismiss school, but feel
it their duty to correct error wherever they find it.
There was constant friction between these two.
The remark with which this sketch opens was
called forth by John, who persisted in speaking of
luck, both good and bad. His eyes opened wide when
his pet notions about luck were thus unceremoni
ously attacked.
"Don't you think anything ever happens that
wouldn't happened if every thing had gone on smooth
and regular?" he asked at the conclusion of the
schoolmaster's remarks.
"I can't say as to that," answered Mr. Grey, smil
ing, "but I adhere to my original statement. There
is no such thing as luck and I assure you, if you had
enjoyed any educational advantages, you would
agree with me. I know you are honest in your con-

246 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
victions, and I would gladly instruct you about such
things, but your mental vision is so extremely limited
I find it difficult to make you comprehend what I
say." "Jist so," said John; "I can't argue with you for
you've got all the biggest words and I know it. But
I'm going to tell you about a streak of luck me an'
Bob got into and I'll bet you'll give in when you
hear it.
"Well, as I told you, we have been trappin' and
freightin' for the Hudson Bay Company up in Brit
ish Columbia. Trappin' is done mostly in the win
ter; so is freightin'. They use dogs for horses and
the rivers an' lakes for roads. A good pullin' dog
is worth ten dollars an' a well broke greyhound is
worth a hundred. They run the greyhounds on the
express. "We was up on the lakes, about four hundred miles
above Fort Colville. We had bad luck all the time
and never made anything. We took a notion to quit
and started down afoot, packin' our blankets and
camp things on our backs. We made it all right till
we got in about thirty miles of the company's sta
tion. "One evening we struck a parara and it com
menced to snow. We couldn't see where we wus
goin' no more than nothin'. Maybe we went around

WAS IT LUCK OR PROVIDENCE 247
and maybe we went straight ahead. Jist about dark
we cum to a little grove of pine trees. Right in the
edge of it there was an old cabin. We went in and
got out of the storm. There was a fireplace and
plenty of wood layin' around. We struck a fire and
felt purty good, but the chimney smoked so it drove
us out doors. Bob looked up and said, "Thar's some
boards layin' across the top of the chimney.' He
climbed up to take them down. Jist as he throwed
the boards off, his holt broke an' he fell. I run out
an' thar he was, holdin' his leg with both hands. He
fell in a hole where they tuck the mud out to build
the chimney and broke his leg. It would jist swing
around sideways. I never was so bad skeered in
my life; but I helped Bob in and he laid down on
the blankets. I didn't stay skeered long. I knowed
i would have to fix that leg somehow. I'd seen sich
things done, and went at it. I made a lot of splints
and got it all straight and tied it up with some
strings we found in the cabin. Then we commenced
to think about our cussed luck. There was no doctor
anywhere in reach. Bob couldn't walk; he was too
big for me to pack on my back, and we were nearly
out of grub and it was snowing terrible. I wish you
had been there to argue the case then. How would
your cause come in then? Why, Bob didn't fall ten

248 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
feet. I seed a man once fall fifty and it didn't hurt
him a bit.
"We jist had one little streak of good luck — we
was in a cabin where I could keep Bob from freezing
to death. It kept on snowing an' next mornin' it
was knee deep and snowin' still. I told Bob we must
hold out till it quit, then I would go for help. So
we eat light that day.
"I had my old Yager, but there was no game in
that country then. Bob had been at me all the way
to throw it away, but I held on to it. I got in a
good lot of wood and kept the cabin warm. Long
towards mornin' I though I heard something tramp-
in' around the house like horses or cattle, but I
knowed thar want any such stock around. Jist as
it was gittin' light, I heard a kind of snort and
knowed thar was sunthin' out thar. I peeped out of
a crack and thar stood a big buffalo not ten feet
from the cabin.
"My heart cum right up in my mouth an' nearly
choked me; but I poked the old Yager out and let
him have an ounce bullet right in the ear. He didn't
know what hurt him. He went down kerwhollop.
"Bob yelled out, "What in the nation ar' you
shootin' at?'
" 'I've killed a big buffalo.'
" 'Not much,' said Bob, 'thar ain't a buffalo in

WAS IT LUCK OR PROVIDENCE 249
two hundred mile of here. You must a killed sum-
thin', though, for I hear it kickin'.'
" 'By the Moses, Bob, I tell you I've got the biggest
buffalo you ever saw. He's right here against the
house as dead as a door nail. We can live on him
till you git well.'
" 'What's that?' said Bob, lookin' toward the other
side o' the cabin.
"I crawled over an' peeped out that side, thinkin'
it might be another one. I cum near a jumin' out of
my boots. I would a done it only I didn't have them
on. The whole grove was full uv 'em. They wus
a standin' around under the trees to keep out of the
snow. I never saw it snow harder. I loaded up the
old gun and downed another big bull. The gun didn't
make much noise. They don't, you know, when
thar's snow on the trees. It never scared 'em a
bit. I kept on loadin' and shootin' and seein' more
buffalo all the time. Bob was so excited I could
hardly make him lay still and not hurt his leg. He
twisted around so he could see out and I had to give
him the gun an' let him shoot one. He done it in
good shape. I kept on shootin' all morning. When
thar wasn't any more in sight I crept out to see what
I had done. They wus layin' everywhere. Thar wus
three standing out in the edge of the grove. I
crawled out an' got one of 'em ; the other two run off

250 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
on the parara. They cum back after while and I
got 'em both. What made them act that way nobody
can tell. When I had counted 'em, I had twenty-
eight as purty beeves as you ever saw. All seal fat.
The fust thing I done was to skin oixt a piece of the
one by the house for breakfast. Bob was nearly
tickled to death. He laughed at everything I said.
Bob's got a long head on him. While I was shootin'
he had been a studyin' up what we wus goin' to do
with all that meat. I was just poppin' away without
thinkin' o' anything. I jist killed them cause I seed
them, like a weasel in a hencoop. But Bob's idea was
to sell 'em to the Company. I forgot to tell you that
the Company was short of pimecan. That's part
of the reason we quit 'em. They said they couldn't
let us have it but twice a day.
"Every trapper knows it gits too cold up thar too
' work on anything else, so a lot of us pulled out for
a warmer country. Thar was plenty of it stacked
up in the buffalo country, but the lakes an' rivers
hadn't froze over so they could get it in yet.
"What's that you say? You don't know what
pimecan is? Well, that beats me. I never heard of
the like o' that. What would you say if I didn't know
what bread and meat wus? Don't know what pim
ecan is! Never heard of it afore! Well, that does
me up. Bob, don't that beat anything you ever

WAS IT LUCK OR PROVIDENCE 251
heard of? The schoolmaster don't know what pim
ecan is. Well, I'll be dogoned! Say, did you ever
hear of the Hudson Bay Company afore?"
"Oh, yes," answered the schoolmaster, feeling he
was now being placed on solid ground, "the Hudson
Bay Company is the largest fur company in North
America. It has several thousand trading posts and
employs several thousand men, besides purchasing
all the furs taken by the Indians."
"You bet they do. It is the biggest company in
the world. It has eat up all the buffalo in the-
United States. Every bit of it was made up into
pimecan afore they touched it. An' you never heard
of it afore ! Why, man, that is the only thing they
can eat down there and keep warm. Up thar on
the lakes it is about the only thing they think about
when the thermometer gets down a couple of hun
dred below freezin'. When they git out of pimecan
nobody dasen't leave the fire. Why, the dogs know
what pimecan is and won't stretch a trace unless
they git plenty of it. If a dog starts out on them
lakes in the winter, without his belly full of pimecan,
he is a dead dog sure. And you never heard of it!
Well, I'm clean done up! With all your education
you didn't know what pimecan was! But I'm glad
there's something you didn't know. I thought you
knowed most everything. It makes me feel like I

252 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
wouldn't be so uncomfortable any more when you are
talking. But maybe I am wearin' you out like you
do me sometimes. If that is 'so I'll jist quit now. I
ain't got nothin' agin you. I really wish me and Bob
knowed as much as you do. But I don't see how
you could have got along without findin' out some
thin' about pimecan. Are you tired? If you are,
say so."
"No," answered the very much worried but good-
natured schoolmaster, "go on. I assure you I am
very much interested in what you are relating.
Please go on with your story."
"That's good. Now I'm all right. I'll tell you all
about it and tell it as quick as I can ; but it stretches
over a good deal of ground. Maybe you would like
to know jist how to make it. Well, the furst thing
is to skin the buffalo; then cut the skin up and
make little sacks jist big enough to hold fifty pounds
of the meat; sew 'em up with strings of the hide,
and fill 'em with meat. Ater it is cooked a little,
then pour two gallons of hot taller in each sack, sew
it up and your pimecan is done. The taller makes it
all solid and it will keep fresh all winter. There
were some old traps in the cabin, an' among 'em I
found a big camp kettle. That was jist right to cook
our meat in. Then I went to work on my buffalo.
I worked all day and night to get as many of 'em

WAS IT LUCK OR PROVIDENCE 253
cut up afore they froze as I could. Bob sewed up
sacks and kept the pot a bilin'. I tell you we worked.
Day and night we never let the fire go out. It kept
on snowin' and got colder and colder. I had to chop
the meat with a hatchet. We kept on bilin' and
stackin' up the sacks until we had the cabin nearly
full. We worked four weeks as hard as ever you
see men work an' then I had ten buffalo we hadn't
touched, except I took the insides out the furst day.
But they wus all right. They wus froze as hard as
rocks. Bob's leg was gittin' along furst rate. We
had nothin' to eat but meat. When the snow got a
little hard, I made a pair of snowshoes and started
for the fort. I left Bob plenty of wood and meat to
work on. After I struck the lake the travelin' was
purty good. Thar was about fifty men at the fort
and not a pound of pimecan in camp. When I told
my story they jist laughed at me. One feller said,
"What's the use of tellin' such stuff? Thar ain't no
buffalo in this country. You are just a blowhard."
"Now look here," I said, "I don't like that and
ain't goin' to take any more of it. I ain't no liar and
won't stand any more foolishness. I don't care
whether you believe me or not. I've got the stuff,
6000 pounds of it, all stacked up in the cabin."
"After while they thought may be I wus tellin'
the truth and wanted to talk about it. One feller,

254 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
the only one that had any sense, asked me if I found
a salt mine in the cabin, too. I told him I put it up
without salt in it. Then he wanted to know if I
had any of it with me. I told him thar was some in
my pack. That told the tale. They knowed if I had
bought the pimecan it would be salted.
"The next mornin' twenty men started back with
me. We tuck all the dogs and sledges they had.
They wus the best tickled set of fellows you ever
saw when we got to the cabin and they found I
wasn't lyin' about the pimecan. I sold it all to them,
right thar, for thirty cents a pound. As soon as they
were gone with thar load I commenced on the frozen
buffaloes. They hauled and me and Bob biled and
stewed until thar want a pound of good meat on
the bones.
"When we got done we tucked Bob in one of the
sledges (I had saved a good buffalo robe to keep him
warm), and went down to the fort. His leg was
nearly well.
"We bought the team that brought Bob down for
sixty-five dollars and started to Fort Colville. We
had four good pullin' dogs and come most of the
way on the ice. When we were on the land the snow
was packed hard. We had lots of pervisons and felt
purty good.
"It takes a good driver to run a dog, you bet. Most

WAS IT LUCK OR PROVIDENCE 255
any body can drive a mule, but a man has got to
know a. few things to drive dogs. They are so much
smarter than a mule. If they ain't managed right,
they will take up all kinds uv tricks. Most of their
harness is made of raw hide an' every now and then
a dog will turn thief and git up in the night, when
you are asleep, and eat up his harness. That's lots
wus than a balky mule, I tell you. After you feed
your dogs, after you stop at night, they go off and
dig down in the snow, four or five feet, so they will
be warm. If it snows you can't see whar they are,
and the holes is all covered up. A good dog will al
ways come when you call him for breakfast, but a
rogue will sometimes lay still and let you whistle
until he gits too hungry to stay any longer. You've
got to be careful not to feed too much so your dogs
will be hungry in the mornin'. You've got to know
jist how much each dog needs. The first night Bob
fed. I was gettin' supper and didn't see what he
give 'em. Bob never druv much and fed 'em all
they wanted. That night it snowed. In the mornin'
when we called, not a dog showed up. Their bellies
wus full and they had a warm nest. They jist laid
low. Me and Bob whistled ourselves nearly to death.
No use, nary dog was ready to be hitched up. We
had to stay there until next day. We wus mad as
blazes. I found what looked like a dog's nest and

256 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
run a pole down in the snow. He came out a yellin'
but I couldn't find any more. Late in the evenin'
they all crawled out for some more pimecan. They
didn't get much. Next mornin' when we called 'em,
they wus ready for their breakfast, I tell you. After
that I done the feedin' and we got on all right.
"When we got to Colville they said the sleighin'
wus good, so we drov on to the lake whar we struck
you fellers. I held on to my old Yager. I ain't never
going to let that go. It is my lucky stick, an' I think
purty near as much of it as I do of Bob. Now what
do you call all that but luck, pure luck? Every word
I told you is true. Thar were no buffaloes ever seed
thar before and I bet thar won't ever be again. It
is a long way too far north for 'em. Then who ever
heard of 'em actin' that way? Why didn't they run
when I shot the fust one? Who ever heard of a
band of 'em millin' around a cabin till they wus all
killed afore? How do you suppose I'd got along
after Bob broke his leg if that meat hadn't come
along or bin sent jist as it wus? If that ain't pure
luck I don't know what you'd call it. It want no
management shore. Me and Bob didn't think about
calkilatin' on such a thing. I wasn't even thinkin'
about buffalo when I heard 'em trampin' around the
cabin. And packin' that old gun three hundred
miles, it ain't worth six bits; why I didn't throw it

WAS IT LUCK OR PROVIDENCE 257
away when Bob wanted me to, if it wasn't to be used
to help us out of a scrape. Oh, pshaw ! It ain't no
use to talk about thar bein' no luck and about every
thing coming round regular like. It is agin reason.
If everything is jist pushed along by some other
thing, why can't you tell what's goin' to happen?
Thar wouldn't be any bettin' if a feller could tell
what's a comin'. Luck? I tell you thar's luck and
lots of luck all around every day. Most of it bad
luck, too. That was the first streak of good luck
me and Bob ever had since we was born, breakin'
that leg. We've got twenty-seven hundred dollars
to show for that leg breakin' scrape, besides the
dogs We left at the lake to sell.
"Now what do you say about thar bein' a cause
for everything? What caused everything to turn
our way all at once when everything had been dead
against us all along? Bad luck runs in our family,
too. I'v heard Dad say he had bad luck all his life."
"The schoolmaster and myself had been deeply in
terested in John's narrative. When he paused, ap
parently for a reply, Mr. Grey said :
"It would be difficult, if not impossible, for me,
not knowing all the circumstances preceeding and
connected with the story you have related, to ac
count for all which occurred affecting you and your
brother. But I was thinking the buffalo might have

258 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
been frightened out of their range by hunters or
a storm, and becoming lost, Wandered up into that
cold country, not knowing where they were going.
They might have sought shelter from the storm you
speak of, in the grove and about the cabin. Pos
sibly you shot the leaders of the band first and
the rest, accustomed to their guidance, lingered
about until they all fell victims to the well-directed
shots of your deadly Yager. There are many ways
it could all be accounted for on a rational ground
without doing violence to our reason by thinking it
was caused by luck or mere chance or that it hap
pened without sufficient cause. While I deny that
there is any such thing as luck, as it is understood
by uncultured people, I do not wish to be understood
to deny the existence of an overruling Providence
which watches over us at all times and it may be
this Providence aided you and your brother in your
distress." "That's it," said John, "I thought I'd fetch you
afore I was done with you. It don't make any dif
ference to me whether you call it luck or Providence.
If it want for them big words of your'n it would be
the same thing. I will always believe them buffalos
would never a left the range they wus born in, and
cum 200 miles north to git killed, if Bob hadnt

WAS IT LUCK OR PROVIDENCE 259
broke his leg, and that, too, when Pimecan wus up
to the very highest notch. Good-night, Grey, I'm
goin' to turn in.

BLUFFS ABOVE CATHLAMET, WASH.
From a Water Color by Capt. Cleveland Rockwell

Buckskin's Fight With the Wolves.

XIII.
On my arrival at Walla Walla, I met my teams
and again loaded them for Boise City. I had now
business interests scattered more or less through
out the mining regions of Oregon and Idaho. One
of these required a journey to Idaho City. Not rel
ishing so long a stage journey, I went on horseback.
There were stations along the route where one could
find accommodations which removed the necessity
of camping out, and rendered the journey less
laborious. At Powder river I fell in company with an ac
quaintance by the name of Grier. He was riding
a buckskin colored Mexican pony, a very handsome
one, which I could not but admire. As we rode
along, my companion told me of some battles the
pony had gone through, which interested me, and I
think are worth relating:
What was known thirty years ago as Central
Ferry was some eighteen or twenty miles above

262 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
Farewell bend on Snake river, a camp so well re
membered by those who crossed the plains to Ore
gon as the one where they bid farewell to the river
down which they had been traveling several hun
dred miles. They saw no more of it on their jour
ney except after its waters were mingled with those
of the great Columbia, west of the Blue mountains.
At the time of which we write, the Snake river
valley was entirely unsettled, there being only a
few stations scattered along the route to Boise gold
mines. The city of Wieser, ten miles below, and
Payette three, and Ontario six miles above on the
river, as seen now, had no existence, not even in
imagination. The coyote and jack rabbit then bur
rowed on the sites these thriving places now occupy.
Central Ferry was owned by two brothers, John
and Martin Parton. It was operated by Martin, or
as he was more familiarly called, Mart and Guy,
John's eldest son. The great rush to the mines made
the ferry a valuable property, but the deep snows,
which fell on the Blue mountains between the mines
and the Columbia river, almost closed the road to
travel except during the summer and early fall
months. Those who kept the ferries and stations
along the roads to the mines were, therefore, left
almost alone, and thrown entirely upon their own re-

BUCKSKIN'S FIGHT WITH THE WOLVES 263
sources for amusement during the winter months.
When the travel ceased for the winter of 1863, Mart
and Guy remained to take care of the ferry. Mart
was a well-preserved bachelor of 35 or 40 years,
and Guy was a handsome boy of 16. They had a
little shanty made mostly of clap-boards with dirt
piled up on the outside to keep out the cold winds.
They were supplied with plenty of provisions to last
them until the travel commenced again, and looked
forward to having a cozy time, the monotony of
which could be broken at any time by shooting at
jack rabbits or coyotes with now and then a shot
at an antelope or grey wolf.
As the winter holidays approached, there came a
heavy fall of snow, covering the ground to the
depth of two feet or more. The weather had been
intensely cold, but our bachelors did not mind that.
They had an immense pile of sagebrush stacked in
the front yard for fuel and easily kept warm. The
only domestic animal near them was an old pack-
horse which had been turned out early in the fall
by some packers. His back had become injured by
his saddle, and being old and worn down with labor,
they had turned him loose to live or die, as it might
happen. Before the snow fell he had found plenty
of good grass and had grown strong and fat. He was

264 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
on the opposite side of the river from the house and
frequently came down to the ferry landing, looking
for company. At such times he would look across
at the house and neigh, as much as to say, "Come
and ferry me over. I am lonesome here all alone,
and the winter coming on." Sometimes Guy, out
of sympathy with his loneliness, would take the
skiff and cross the river to see old Buckskin, as he
was called, in compliment to his rich tan color.
The old fellow showed almost a human longing
for society, and would follow his visitor down to the
water's edge and look at his frail skiff, as much as
to say, "Why did you not bring the big boat over,
then I could have gone home with you." But he
was on the side where the best grass was found, and
so was left alone.
After the snow fell, nothing was seen of him
for many days. It was feared he had fallen a prey
to the large timber wolves or grey wolves which
were sometimes seen wading through the snow, hav
ing been driven by its greater depth in the hills to
seek the river bottoms. Guy and his uncle spent
much time looking with a glass for some trace of
the missing pony. At last he was seen on the point
of a hill about two miles distant. He was standing
up to his knees in the snow, digging away industri-

BUCKSKIN'S FIGHT WITH THE WOLVES 265
ously for his dinner. With one forefoot he would
make about fifteen or twenty strokes, making the
snow fly in every direction, then he would rest that
foot by using the other one. In this way he reached
the grass and satisfied his hunger. Of course, it
was a cold diet, bunch grass mixed with snow morn
ing, noon and night, but he seemed to understand
that was his only chance to escape starvation. He
could be seen with the first and last light of morn
ing and evening working away. He would gnaw the
grass from all the ground he had bare of snow, then
he would clear more. As time went on, and the
deep snow continued, he became quite an object of
interest, as the bachelors had nothing else to occupy
their minds. They spent most of their time watch
ing Buckskin dig for food.
It was interesting to see an animal adapting itself
so quickly and intelligently to the conditions sur
rounding it. He had been reared in Western Oregon,
and knew nothing about such deep snows as now
confronted him. Yet he soon discovered his broad
hoofs could be used for other purposes than merely
to walk upon.
One day, as Guy was standing in the yard with
the glass in his hand, he cried :
"0, Uncle Mart! Come here quick! There's a

266 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
lot of wolves fighting old Buckskin. Look! Look!
A great band of them."
"How can I see him without the glass?" said Mart.
"Here! Here! Quick! They are trying to pull
him down. What can we do?" said the impulsive
boy. "I wish we had another glass."
"Don't be uneasy," said Mart, as he adjusted the
glass to his eye and leveled it on the distant pony,
"the wolves are getting the worst of it so far. Old
Buck is a warrior. He is knocking and kicking them
right and left. I believe he will whip them all. There
are but four there that I can see. He is holding them
at bay. Now he turns this way and is running.
Moses! How he runs! I believe he is coming for
help. He can outrun the wolves in the deep snow.
It only comes to his knees, while it is side deep to
them. But don't he run ! Hurrah for Buck ! He is
coming down hill. Now, look! Look! How he
makes the snow fly."
"How do you expect me to look at him two miles
off while you have the glass," said Guy.
"That's so. Here it is. I do wish we had two
here. Take it. See how he is doing on the flat."
"Bounding like an antelope," said Guy. "The
wolves are away behind. Who would have thought

BUCKSKIN'S FIGHT WITH THE WOLVES 267
the old fellow had so much mettle in him as that.
He is a race horse sure."
Buckskin made straight for the ferry. When he
arrived at the landing the wolves were nowhere to
be seen, though they arrived a few moments later.
The beleagured horse neighed loudly to the ferry
men, who now realized they were powerless to help
him in this, his hour of sorest need. The river was
frozen over, except a channel of about 100 feet in
the center. The skiff had accidentally become loos
ened from the bank and floated off some time before
the freeze came, and the ferryboat was f ozen fast in
the bank. The river was too wide for the range
of a rifle at this place. Buckskin might have brought
his enemies within range by coming out on the ice
near the channel, but he was afraid to do this, prob-
laby knowing if he should fall, he would be at their
mercy. It looked as if, however much sympathy was
felt for him, he would have to fight the unequal battle
alone. Neighing frequently for help, he selected his
position near the bank of the river and waited the
attack. It was sharp and furious. The wolves were
hungry and determined to waste as little time in
combat as possible. Two sprang at his throat, and
two tried to reach his haunches. Neither was suc
cessful. With his ears laid flat on his neck, his

268 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
eyes flashing, and with his teeth bared and gleaming
white as the snow, he struck down those in front and.
before the two behind could fasten on him, they-
were sent by two well-directed licks, rolling in the
snow. So completely were they cowed they did not
dare to attack again, but after maneuvering some
time for advantage, without success, sneaked away.
Guy's hat went high in the air when he saw the
result of the battle. The horse remained two days
about the river bank. Being pressed for food, he
again sought the hills for grass. He remained un
molested for several days, when he was again seen
making for the ferry with another pack of wolves
at his heels. This time there were no less than a
dozen, and it looked as if Buckskin's last moments
were approaching very fast.
Mark ran out on the ice and fired at the wolves
when they had surrounded their victim on the bank,
but the distance was too great for him to hit them.
The report of the gun, however, frightened them so
they did not attack, but sneaked around until it was
dark, when the noise of snorting and snapping of
teeth told Buck's friends that battle was on again.
It raged with more or less fury through the nightt
It was impossible for our bachelors to go to rest
while the old horse was so bravely fighting for his.

BUCKSKIN'S FIGHT WITH THE WOLVES 269
life. A fire was built on the bank and guns were
fired at short intervals until morning.. When it
came, old Buck was still defiant, yet his tireless ene
mies still beset him.
"What shall we do," said Guy. "It is awful to
stay here and not aid the poor old fellow when he
neighs to us so piteously. He almost talks. I feel
just like it was a man who is begging us to help
him. Can't we cut a channel through the ice for
the ferryboat?"
"That would be impossible. The ice has drifted
and lodged about it many inches thick," answered
his uncle.
"Then let us make a raft."
"I have been thinking about that," said Mart,
"but we have nothing with which to make it. Our
whole house, if taken down and made into a raft,
would scarcely float us and we would freeze to death
in this weather before we could build it up again."
"I'll tell you what," said Guy, "there are two large
barrels in the house. They would float one of us."
"Yes, but one of them is full of old rye whisky,
which cost $4 a gallon, and there is nothing in which
to empty it," said Mart.
"Let us pour it out," begged Guy. "We can put

270 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
some of it in the water bucket and camp kettle, and
then pour it back when we are done."
"I am afraid your father would not approve of
that," answered Mart.
"If he was here he would. I know him too well
to think he would ever let a horse die like that.
None of us like whisky. What does he want with it?"
"It belongs to the man at Payette station, and it
is here because he has not yet come for it," answered
Mart. "He will be after it when the snow melts a
little, and would not like it if we threw it out."
Guy had again taken the glass, and was looking
intently at the battle. He could plainly see the old
horse was being worried and starved to death. Blood
showed on several parts of his body, where the
wolves had torn him with their sharp teeth. All at
once a large one darted from the pack, and missing
the horse's throat, fastened on his shoulder. Buck
skin seized the wolf in his teeth, and tearing him
loose, pressed him to the ground and struck him
again and again furious blows with his forefeet until
he lay apparently lifeless. The rest attempted to
close in, but the courageous horse showed such a de
termined and hostile front that they paused, afraid
to invoke the fate of their comrade.
Guy could endure it no longer. He turned to his
uncle, with his face streaming with tears. "I can't

BUCKSKIN'S FIGHT WITH THE WOLVES 271
stand it any longer, uncle. You and father prom
ised me $50 a month to help run the ferry. You owe
me $150. I will pay for that whisky, and you can
take it out of my wages, and I want that barrel. I
am going over the river to help old Buck."
Mart was a noble-hearted, impulsive man, whose
own heart had been swelling with pity for the fate
of the brave old horse. He threw both arms around
the boy and blurted out : "That's just like you, Guy.
God bless you. I am with you. We will save old
Buckskin if it takes all the ferry is worth to do it.
Now run and rip off those two planks fastened to
the stanchions of the ferryboat while I get the
barrels." In a very few moments the two large barrels were
rolled down on the ice. They were placed about
eight feet apart and lashed securely to the broad
planks Guy brought from the boat. Then they had
a sled and boat combined. When it was ready, Mart
said : "Now bring both rifles, our pistols, and plenty
of ammunition. The wolves may attack us. They
are very hungry or they would not be so bold."
Mart had managed to save most of the whisky
in emptying the barrel. The cooking vessels were
all filled, including the frying-pan and coffee pot;
and last, but by no means least, a pair of Mart's

272 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
huge boots did good service in holding a couple of
gallons of the fiery liquid.
When all was ready, they pushed the raft ahead
of them on the ice until they came to the channel.
To prevent accidents the guns were tied to the raft,
then the novel boat was launched. The barrels were
tightly corked, and proved quite bouyant enough to
bear the two men. With clap-boards for paddles,
they soon crossed the current and landed safely on
the ice.
The wolves paid but little attention to them. They
had renewed the fight with greater vigor than ever
and were pressing old Buckskin closer and closer.
One would dart from the pack, snapping at him as
he passed. They appeared to be trying to get him
to run, but were careful about getting in reach of
his heels or teeth. More than once he was seen to
seize a wolf and hurl him several yards. In his
battles he had developed a kind of science of fight
ing. He kept near the bank, never allowing his
foes to get behind him. When he found it necessary
to charge, to drive them back, he did it with such
vigor as to drive everything before him. Then, be
fore they could rally, he regained his place and
turned a solid front to them. Never did a horse

BUCKSKIN'S FIGHT WITH THE WOLVES 273
show more courage or sagacity, and seldom, if ever,
was one more deeply sympathized with than he was.
As the two rescuers crept up to the bank, to
within twenty yards of the combatants, said Mart,
as he leveled his rifle.
"Take good aim and get ready before you fire."
Both guns rang out with one report, and two of
old Buck's foes fell. Then with pistols, the battle
was opened in earnest. Crack! Crack! Crack!
The wolves scampered off, leaving four of their
number dead on the field, while several that ran
away were badly wounded, as was shown by the
bloody trail they left behind in the snow.
Buckskin was nearly as much surprised at his de
liverance as were the wolves at their defeat. He
was cruelly gashed in many places, nearly starved
and utterly worn out with fatigue and the loss of
blood. But he had made a most gallant fight, and
was looked upon as quite a hero by his rescuers.
They led him out on the ice, but he, who had
fought so bravely, was reluctant to try a bath in the
cold waters of the swift river. He was coaxed and
pushed into the channel, led across behind the raft,
and pulled out on the ice, on the other shore. The
next morning his two friends helped him to break
a trail through the snow to the hills, where the

274 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
wind had blown the grass bare, and left him with
plenty of food at his feet. Soon after the snow dis
appeared and spring invited the wolves back to their
native haunts in the mountains. When the flowers
came again Buckskin was fat and sleek, coming
every few days to the ferry to see his friends, and
to look for company of his own kind. He was quite
a handsome pony, but through his shining, glossy
coat could be seen the scars of his many wounds,
mute witnesses of the terrible conflict through which
he had passed.

*! f*

A HOMESTEAD IN THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST

A Chance Meeting of Old Friends.
XIV.
At Boise City, whom should I meet but Thomas
Miller, my old friend of the earlier days, the days
when we chased old Bob around the cabins on the
Santiam. He was looking fine, and was evidently
in the best of spirits, and I gladly listened to an ac
count of his adventures since last I saw him. For
several years all his efforts had been failures; as
soon as he would accumulate a few hundred dollars
he would invest in a mining claim, which never paid.
Then he would work at his trade again for another
start. The spring before I met him he had walked from
Walla Walla to Boise, over 200 miles, carrying a few
carpenter tools on his back. He had an adze, a
hand ax, a saw, and a 2-inch auger. At Boise City
he fell in with some packers who had an extra horse
and let him ride, for he concluded to go on to Ban
nock City. Some distance above Boise City they
came to a creek — I think it is called Reynolds creek.

276 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
It was rather deep fording, and Thomas did not
like to get wet, and could not be persuaded to ride
across. He was always afraid of water when he
was with me in '61. He would never ride across a
stream if he could help it, and when we encountered
one that looked like it would reach above his horse's
knees, he would drive his horse after me, and he
would follow up the stream on foot until he found
a foot-log or went around the head of the creek.
Well, he turned the horse loose to go with its
owner, and he, following his old custom, started to
find a foot-log. Thinking he might not be able to
overtake his new acquaintances, he took his tools
on his back and started up the creek. About half
a mile up he found a foot-log across the creek, a
large fir tree blown down by the wind. He walked
across in perfect safety.
Then he was stricken almost paralyzed with an
idea. He laid down his pack and walked back and
forward across the creek. He would make a bridge.
He would do it, sure. Never did he feel so certain
of a paying investment before. He took his adze
and commenced to cut off the top of the log. He cut
it down until he had a good, almost level, walk two
feet wide. Then he got out his great auger and
bored holes on' each side of the walk. Into these
he put stanchions, spreading them out at the top.

A CHANCE MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS 277
Poles for a railing were fastened to these, and he
had a splendid bridge for pack animals.
The ford below was already very deep, and the
melting snows soon made it too deep to ford. Of
course, loaded animals could not swim. Thomas cut
a trail from each end of his bridge to the old trail,
and the thing was done. He had some provisions in
his pack, so he camped at the root of his toll bridge
and began to take in toll. The travel was immense.
Sometimes 300 or 400 pack animals crossed in a
single day. At first he charged only 25 cents a head,
but as he gained confidence, he increased the toll
until he had a dollar a head for every four-footed
animal that crossed.
He split boards and made a little house, and gave
meals at $1 a plate. In short, he had the best pay
ing business within 1,000 miles. When the creek
went down so it could be forded with safety, Thomas
counted his gains and found that in two months'
time he had made $6,000, and concluded to go home.
He was on his way when I met him, and I rejoiced
with him over his lucky strike.
Rejoiced as I was, I could not but feel amused
over the cause of his prosperity. A trait of char
acter, or as we would call it, a weakness, a cowardice
about crossing water, which I had ridiculed so much,
the very weakest spot in the man from a frontier

278 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
standpoint, had been the sole cause of his discover
ing that log and making his fortune. I concluded
there was no use in one's forming any opinion about
the probable success of a friend, as the very thing
that we would condemn might prove of the most
value. In the economy of Nature, I suppose there
is a value and use for every trait of human char
acter. A few days concluded my business at Bannock,
and I again returned to Boise City. What was my
surprise on entering the hotel to see Dave Snell. Of
all I knew, he was the very last one I would have
thought to find there. I had supposed him to be
married and settled down for life on his farm. As
we shook hands, I saw that something serious had
occurred, and as soon as we were seated together I
asked :
"What is it, Dave? Something has happened."
"Why, hadn't you heard my wife was dead? She
died the very day I met you here, the day I was to
start home. I knew nothing of it until I reached
The Dalles. I have not been home at all. I could
not go back."
"You say your wife. You were married then
before you came up here?"
"No, we were not married, but it is all the same
to me. But I am all right; don't look so sad about

A CHANCE MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS 279
it, old boy. I have been putting in the time rather
lively since I came back. I just came into town from
a trip across Snake river."
"What have you been doing?" I asked, hoping to
turn the channel of his thoughts away from the sor
row that I knew was consuming him. His "I'm all
right" had told the whole story. It meant to me
that he was all wrong, or was very unhappy. I re
peated my question before he answered:
"O, fighting Indians like a devil. I have been out
after the red rascals with Captain Jeff Stanifer
twice, and had great times, plenty of excitement, and
that does us good, you know. We have a band lo
cated now on the head of Rennels creek, and will
go and stir them up in a few days."
"Did you get any Indians when you were out?" I
asked. "O, yes, haven't you read the papers? We have
been cleaning them out all round, and haven't lost
a man; that is, not when We went out after them.
We lost the best man I ever saw while prospecting
on Boise river just before I went out with Jeff.
That's what gave me a notion to fight Indians. It's
the best sport I ever had. I've got my racer yet,
and when I get after a Snake Indian riding a spotted
horse he had just as well say his prayers."

280 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
"Tell me some of your adventures," I urged.
"Well, I might tell you about Jim, or Dandy Jim,
as we called him."

WHERE THE RIPPLING WATER FLOWS

Dandy Jim.

XV.
Dandy was the handsomest man I ever saw. Yes,
the most perfect specimen of the genus homo I have
ever met. He was really good to look at. Without
an ounce of superfluous flesh, he weighed 180
pounds, and stood six feet as straight as an arrow.
Besides what seemed physical perfection he had a
manner and disposition so engaging that friends
flocked to him wherever he went. For a frontiers
man, he was particular about his dress, and this
had caused an admiring friend to call him Dandy
Jim. This name seemed to fit him so well that no
one ever thought to inquire for another one. He
was about 40 years of age, and as far as we knew,
unmarried. No one about the camp had ever heard
him speak of any relations or of where he came
from. All we knew was, he was Dandy Jim, the
best rifle or pistol shot, and the best all around
athlete at any game in the camp. Of course, he
was popular. He was also known to be dead game,

282 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
and an Indian fighter, so reckless that whenever he
Went out with the boys against a marauding band,
it was freely predicted he would never return. But
in spite of such predictions, time after time he did
return as handsome, neat and attractive as ever,
and covered with glory from his daring exploits.
I remember one peculiarity about him which
seemed more prominent than many others he pos
sessed. He always wore neckties. Now, neckties
are considered a superfluity on the frontier. I don't
mean the old-fashioned, black silk handkerchiefs
worn to keep the grey flannel shirt collar in place,
but a genuine necktie of some light, flashy-colored
stuff at least twenty years ahead of its time. More
over they were always clean. No matter how hard
the journey might be nor how much dust was en
countered, Jim's ties shone out resplendent, and
added to the respectability of the camp. The boys
used to declare they believed he got up and washed
his shirts and ties in the night while they were all
asleep. If from our point of view, Jim had some
little follies, they appeared rather to increase his
popularity than to incur anything like ridicule.
Dandy Jim joined our party of seven prospectors
while we were in camp about ten miles northeast of
Idaho City (then called Bannock) . We were on our
way to the headwaters of South Boise, and were all

DANDY JIM 283
¦delighted when Jim rode into camp and asked to
join us. We were going into the Snake Indian coun
try, and felt a little shaky about it, knowing that
small parties were likely to be attacked at any time
in that region. Jim was well mounted, and carried
a Henry rifle, one of the first repeaters we had ever
seen. We all were armed with muzzle loading rifles,
but carried Colt's revolvers. Jim had not been in
camp an hour until we saw another horseman rid
ing down the trail toward us. At first we only
looked at the horse, a splendid Morgan bay, a thor
oughbred without a doubt, and one to attract at
tention anywhere. The rider was a boy about 14
years of age, and looked for all the world as though
he had just escaped from a bandbox. There was not
a button about him that belonged to the frontier.
Jauntily he rode his spirited horse; a picture for
a painter. How he ever reached our camp so im
maculately clean was a miracle. There wasn't a dust
spot upon him and his cheeks were as rosy and deli
cately tinted as those of a girl. Everything about
him was as elegantly and as fancifully gotten up as
though he was tricked out to appear in a circus ring.
His weapons were in keeping with the rest ; a silver
mounted repeating rifle was slung at his back, and
an enamelled leather belt supported a navy Colt's
pistol. Jim was making his toilet a few rods be-

284 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
low the camp, and did not see the youngster as he
rode up, but the rest of us did him full justice, for
getting all manners as we stood and gazed at him
as at something not mortal. This he appeared not
to notice, but lifted his cap as a Chesterfield might
have done, and in a clear, sweet voice, said :
"Good evening, gentlemen. Is Mr. St. Clair in
your camp ?"
Receiving a negative answer, he added :
"The postmaster at Bannock told me he was
sometimes called Dandy Jim."
Just then Jim came up. He literally pulled the
kid from his saddle and took him in his arms.
"0, Roy, Roy, my boy, how did you ever get
here?" A dozen questions he asked without waiting for an
answer to any of them. We all looked upon Jim as.
rather a dry-eyed man, but great tears were rolling
down his cheeks as he embraced the boy again and
again, until by a kind of sympathy we began to feel
a lump in our throats and pretended to busy our
selves with the camp fixtures and not to notice therm
After a few moments, Jim brushed his hand across.
his face, and said:
"Boys, this is my son, Roy St. Clair from Chi
cago. I can't tell you how glad I am to see him..

DANDY JIM 285
He is my only child. I knew him in a moment, al
though it is five years since we were together."
Some way, none of us felt like asking any ques
tions, and that was all we learned about them at
that time, though little by little we came to know
Roy's mother was dead, that he had few relatives,
and that Jim had plenty of money and a good name
back in the great city. Why he had left all to
come West to live as we did, we could not under
stand. Ater breakfast next morning, Jim said: "Now,
boys, we must have a little talk. I know how care
ful you fellows are about your comrades on such
a trip as this, and how necessary it is that every
one should know how to act in an emergency. Roy
is just a boy, but he has crossed the plains and come
2,000 miles to find me, and now we must stay to
gether. I will never leave him again if I can help
it. I have no one but him, and we will keep the
same camp hereafter. If you think he will be in
your way while prospecting, we will go back to
Bannock." Now, none of us relished the idea of having such
a boy as Roy with us, but none wanted to give up
Jim, so we agreed and insisted that the boy should
go along. So, nine in party, we set out on our trip

286 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
in search for gold. I liked Jim, but I was just in
love with Roy from the first. He was very intelli
gent, and was well educated for his age, but knew
nothing about our mode of living. Until he met
us, he had never taken a meal by a campfire in his
life. Many of his attempts to assist about the cook
ing were amusing, still we never laughed at him, and
he became like his father — a general favorite. Like
him, too, he seemed never to get his clothes soiled,
and we had two wonders in camp instead of one.
Our journey led through the mountains across the
north fork of Boise river, and on to the headwaters
of the south fork. About twenty miles north of
What has since been known as "Rocky Bar" dig
gings, we found a favorable looking place, and made
camp to prospect. Knowing we might be surprised
at any time by Indians, we selected a camp easily
defended, and felt rather secure from attack. For
four or five days we prospected around, only find
ing enough gold to make us think we would strike
something better. Roy kept camp, gathered wood,
attended to the horses, etc., while we sunk holes in
the neighboring gulches. We had concluded to move
camp, and after working one forenoon about a mile
away, were returning along an open ridge when we
were fired upon by about forty Indians. None of us

DANDY JIM 287
were hit, but turning we saw them charging toward
us on their ponies, and yelling like devils. We all
had our rifles, but without waiting to return the fire
we ran toward camp, about half a mile distant. No
more shots were fired for a time, but the yelling
grew louder as our pursuers gained upon us. Jim,
the fleetest of all, ran ahead, and called to us to do
our best. We did not need this advice, for picks,
pans and shovels were left behind, and each man
was making his best time down the ridge. Fright
had so nearly equalized the speed of all but Jim
that we ran together like a herd of antelope toward
the camp. Ten or twelve Indians were behind us,
but the rest dashed down a little ridge parallel to
ours, the two being separated by a sharp ravine until
near our camp, where the ravine flattened out so
it could be crossed by horsemen. This was a
maneuver to cut us off from the protection which a
bluff almost surrounding the camp afforded, and we
knew we had no show unless we reached cover before
the Indians intercepted us. The Indians, finding
themselves nearly abreast of us, drew up and began
firing across the gulch. I saw Jim totter and fall.
We ran to him, and turned upon our foes. We were
excited and out of breath, but this did not interfere
with our aim, and three ponies were left without

288 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
riders at the first fire. This checked the advance,
and those left behind us scampered back, but those
across the gulch rushed their ponies down into it,
dismounted and commenced to crawl up toward us,
keeping covered by the hill, and having decidedly
the advantage. They would raise and fire, and drop
out of sight. No one was hit by this fire, and we
reloaded our rifles, using our pistols now and then
to keep the Indians back. Jim called me to him, and
I saw that he was mortally wounded. Blood was
coming from his mouth, which showed the ball had
struck his lungs. He was lying on his back, and
caught me by the knees as I reached him.
"Run," he said, "for the camp. You can whip
them there. You have no show here. Don't mind
me. I am shot through both lungs, and can't live
twenty minutes. I have no earthly show to live.
Go, for God's sake, and save yourselves and take
care of Roy."
Just then a shot aimed at me struck him on the
side of the head. He stiffened out, and feeling sure
he Was done for, I ran again, calling to the boys
that Jim was dead. When we reached camp, Roy,
who had heard the firing, was standing as pale as
death, holding the bridle of his horse. He had
brought the Morgan to camp to give him salt or

DANDY JIM 289
sugar, as was his custom, and now stood by him
paralyzed by his first emotions in danger. As we
breathlessly tumbled below the bank he asked:
"Where is father?"
It was no time to evade the question, and I an
swered :
"He is dead. He fell on the ridge a quarter of
a mile above."
"Do you know he was dead?" he asked.
"Yes. I stood by him. He was shot through both
lungs, but talked to me, then a ball passed through
his head, and he died without a struggle."
Just then we heard three shots in rapid succes
sion upon the ridge where Jim fell.
"That's father's Spencer," said Roy. "You
cowards !"
He caught up his rifle, which lay near him, and
with a bound Was on the racer's back. The spirited
horse needed no urging as he was reined against a
bank that no one would have thought a horse could
climb. Like a flash he gained the top, and was rac
ing toward where the firing was heard. Knowing,
as did the boy, that Jim was not dead, but was fight
ing the Indians alone, we followed as fast as we
could. All fear was gone. We ran past the few
Snakes who had already commenced firing on the

290 STORIES OF OLD OREGON
camp. The crack of that Spencer rifle which told
that Jim was alive, the taunt of that boy whom we
all loved, and the terrible courage he displayed in
rushing to die with his father, had roused every soul
and nerved each heart until there was no thought of
self in that charge. Before we were half way Roy
had met the Indians, and we could hear the sharp
crack of his rifle as we ran. When we reached him
the Morgan was down. He had fallen with a bullet
in his forehead just as he reached where Jim was
surrounded by the Indians. Roy stood by him and
fired as fast as he could work his repeater, killing
an Indian at every shot. After one shot from our
rifles we drew our pistols and charged so furiously
that what was left of the band took flight and did
not fire another shot. Just as we charged, I saw Roy
fall. When we came back, he was dying. He had
six shots through his body, and he never spoke after
he fell. I went to look for Jim. He was lying about
twenty yards from Roy. As I came up he turned
his face to me and said:
"I saw Roy fall. Is he dead?"
I bowed my head in answer. He rose to his feet
as lightly as though he was not hurt, and walked
slowly to Where Roy lay. He laid down beside him,
and took his dead boy in his arms. The effort was

DANDY JIM 291
his last. Without a word, Dandy Jim was gone.
We found his rifle empty. He had fired his last
cartridge before the boy reached him. We had
little difficulty in comprehending all that had taken
place. The ball that struck Jim while I was stand
ing by him had not penetrated the brain, but had
glanced along the side of the head and only stunned
him for a few moments. He revived just as the In
dians came up to take his scalp. He got to his feet
and made a desperate fight. Three dead Indians lay
within twenty feet of where he had fallen; one of
them must have been killed after Jim's gun was
empty, for he had not been shot, but his skull was
broken by a blow with the gun, then Jim had re
ceived two more shots and had fallen again, unable
to rise until his last effort, when he learned that his
boy was dead. We had no fear of another attack,
for our foes had paid dearly for their assault, and we
knew they would not come again without reinforce
ments. We counted twenty-two dead Indians and
six horses within 100 yards of where Jim fell, be
sides the line of retreat showed' that many were
wounded who ran away.
Of our crowd, we had but two wounded, and they
were but slight flesh wounds. This might have been
considered a great victory, but we all felt dreadfully

292 STORIES OP OLD OREGON
defeated. The terrible mistake we made in leaving
Jim for dead, and thereby causing Roy's death was
not to be easily forgotten.
Poor Roy. How nobly he died, and what heroic
blood was oozing into the sod from his slender form.
Reared delicately, and in the lap of luxury and re
finement, he came a mere child to meet the most ter
rible ordeal of the frontier, and put to shame its
boldest. When it was all over, we stood and wept like chil
dren, then each one knelt and kissed him as he lay
in his father's arms. We did not disturb their last
and holiest embrace, but laid them where they so
nobly fell side by side to await the Resurrection
Morn, and none there doubted that to such as they,
it would surely come.
We buried them deep, that nothing might disturb
their slumber, and marked the spot with a rugged
slab of granite. Old Ike Patton managed to cut,
with the point of a pick, on its surface, "Dandy Jim
and Son."
As we turned to go, he said: "I hope their rich
relations won't ever come to take them back to Chi
cago." "Why?" we asked in a breath.
"Because they belong to Old Oregon, and sich
bones as them don't hurt a country any,' I'm
thinkin'."

(By courtesy of O- R. & N.)
SUNSET ON THE PACIFIC