University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
A HOUSE TO LET.

THAT night the Prince talked a long time
with Paquita about the new country on the
other side of the Shasta, and putting her
account and my brief knowledge of the country
together, we resolved to go there, where gold, according
to her story, was to be had almost for the picking
up, if the Indians did not interfere.

A new trouble arose. What was to be done with
the two little savages? What would any other man
have done? Gone about his business and left them
to shift for themselves. Had he not saved their
lives? Had he not fed them through all that dreadful
winter? What more should he do?

One morning this man rested his elbows on the
table, and with his face buried in his hands was a
long time silent.

“Pack up,” said the Prince, at last, to the little
girl. In a few moments she stood by his side with
a red calico dress and some ribbons tied up in a

handkerchief in one hand, and a pair of moccasins in
the other.

The Doctor was anxious to get away—more anxious,
perhaps, than any one. For what had the camp been
to him? If I could have had my way or say, I
would have left this mysterious, sad-faced, silent man
behind.

I think the Prince would have done the same.
We cannot always have our own way, even with
ourselves.

Why does the man not do thus and so, we say?
What is there to hinder him? Who shall say yea
or nay? Is he not his own master? No. No man
is his own master who has a conscience.

If this man had been of stronger will, had he not
been so utterly helpless and friendless, we could
have left him, and would have left him gladly; as it
was, it was not a matter of choice at all.

Ponies were scarce, and mules were high-priced and
hard to get, but the Doctor was not so poor as we,
and he put his money all in the Prince's hands. So
we had a tolerable outfit.

A very little pony would answer for me, the
commonest kind could bear Paquita and her extra
dress, while Klamat could walk and make his own
way through the woods, like a greyhound.

The Prince procured a great double-barrelled shot
gun, throwing buck-shot by the handful, for himself,

and pistols for all, for we were going into the heart
of a hostile country.

An officer, it was rumoured, was on the watch
for the Doctor, and Klamat prepared to lead us by
way of a blind trail, up the mountain side, without
passing out by way of the Howlin' Wilderness at The
Forks.

One of the most interesting studies, as well as one
of the rarest, is that of man in a state of nature.
Next to that is the state of man removed from, or
above the reach of, all human law, utterly away from
what is still more potent to control the actions of
men, public opinion—the good or ill-will of the
world.

As far as my observation has gone I am bound to
say, that any expression on the subject would be
highly laudatory of the native goodness of man. I
should say, as a rule, he, in that state, is brave,
generous, and just.

But in civilization I find that the truly just and
good man is rarely prominent, he is hardly heard of,
while some little sharp-faced commercial meddler,
who never spends or bestows a farthing without first
balancing it on his finger, and reckoning how much
it will bring him by way of honour in return, is
often counted the noblest man among you.

Therefore, I say that the truest men are those who
are men for the sake of their manhood. A true man

does a good deed for the sake of doing good, for the
satisfaction of it, for the dignity that it gives him in
his own eyes, and not in the eyes of the world.

You see some noble and interesting things when
the winds have blown men away from the shore to
where there is no law to punish crime, no public
opinion to reward merit, where men act from within
and not from without.

That aristocratic and highly respectable gentleman,
the Hon. Mr. Perkins, of Perkinsville, who gave the
thousand dollars to the Sanitary Commission, and a
like sum to the church, and had it published over all
the land, received offices and posts of honour for the
same, and always cherished a fond hope that the
facts would be appropriately set forth on his tombstone,
for which he had just contracted with a dealer,
in finest Italian marble, and at a splendid bargain,
too, as the man was about to fail and compelled to
have the money,—would probably have acted quite
otherwise here.

Similar deeds done under the eyes of an approving
world might not take place in the mountains where
there is no public opinion, no press to pronounce
a man a benefactor, no responding public to build a
monument. Such gifts have their reward on earth.
In fact, they are more than repaid. The glory is
worth more than the gold; and the poor are under
no obligations whatever. “Let not thy left hand

know what thy right hand doeth” means very much
more than is expressed.

With his moccasins bound tight about his feet and
reaching up so as to embrace the legs of his buckskin
pantaloons, his right arm freed from the hateful
red-shirt sleeve which hung in freedom at his side,
some eagle feathers in his hair, and his rifle on his
shoulder, Klamat, with a beaming countenance, led
the way from the cabin.

The Prince had assigned him the post of honour,
and he was carried away with delight. He seemed to
forget that he was the only one on foot. No doubt
he would gladly have given up the red shirt and
buckskins, all but his rifle, with pleasure, at this
supreme moment, had they been required, to insure
his position as leader.

Alexander gave away to his friends the last of the
spoils after a great battle. “And what have you
kept for yourself?” said one. “Hope and glory,”
he answered.

Klamat was an infant Alexander.

I followed, then Paquita, the Doctor next. The
Prince took up a piece of charcoal from the heap
of ashes outside the cabin, and wrote in great bold
letters on the door:

We crossed the stream at a cabin below, just as
the men were beginning to stir.

They seemed to know that something unusual was
taking place. They straightened themselves in the
fresh light and air, washed their hands and hairy
faces in the gold-pans on the low pine stump by the
door, but tried, or seemed to try, not to observe.

Once across the stream, Klamat led steeply up
the hill for a time, then he would chop and cut to
right and left in a zigzag route until we had
reached the rim of a bench in the mountain. Here
he stopped and motioned the Prince to approach, after
he had looked back intently into the camp and taken
sight by some pines that stood before him.

The Prince rode up to the boy and dismounted;
when he had done so, the little fellow lifted three
fingers, looked excited, and pointed down upon the
old cabin. It was more than a mile away, nearly a
mile below; but the sun was pitching directly down
upon it, and all things stood out clear and large as life.

Three men rode quickly up to the cabin, leaned
from their mules and read the inscription. The
leader now dismounted, kicked open the door and
entered. It does not take long to search a cabin,
without a loft or even a bed to hide under, and the
man did not remain a great while within.

Without even taking pains to close the door,
to keep out coyotes and other things, as miners
do, so that cabins may be habitable for some wayfarer,
or fortune-hunters who may not have a house

of their own, he hastily mounted and led the party
down to the next cabin below.

The miners were evidently at breakfast, for the
man leaned from his saddle and shouted two or three
times before any one came out.

The door opened, and a very tall, black-bearded
hairy man came forth, and walked up before the man
leaning from his mule.

What was said I do not know, but the bare-headed,
hairy man pointed with his long arm up the
mountain on the other side, exactly the opposite
course from the one that had been taken by the
fugitives.

Here the officer said something very loud, pushed
back his broad-brimmed hat, and pointed down the
stream. The long-armed, bare-headed, hairy man
again pointed emphatically up the mountain on the
other side, and then wheeled on his heel, entered,
and closed the door.

The interview had evidently not been a satisfactory
one, or a friendly one to the officer, and he led his
men slowly down the creek with their heads bent
down intently to the trail. They did not go far.
There were no fresh tracks in the way. The recent
great rain had made the ground soft, and there was
no mistaking the absence of the signs.

There was a consultation: three heads in broad
hats close together as they could get sitting on their

mules. Now a hat would be pushed back, and a
face lifted up exactly in our direction. We had
sheltered behind the pines. Klamat was holding
the Prince's mule's nose to keep it from braying to
those below. Paquita had dismounted a little way
off, behind a clump of pines, and was plucking some
leaves and grasses for her pony and the pack-mule
to keep them still. The Doctor never seemed more
stupid and helpless than now; but, at a sign from
Klamat, stole out to the shelter where Paquita stood,
dismounted, and began to gather grasses, too, for his
mule.

A poor, crooked, imitative little monkey he looked
as he bent to pluck the grass; at the same time
watching Paquita, as if he wished to forget that there
was any graver task on hand than to pluck grass
and feed the little mules.

Mules are noisy of a morning when they first set
out. The utmost care was necessary now to insure
silence.

Had the wind blown in our direction, or even a
mule brayed below, these mules in the midst of our
party would have turned their heads down hill,
pointed their opera-glasses sharply for a moment or
two at the sounds below, and then, in spite of kicks
or clubs, have brayed like trumpets, and betrayed us
where we stood.

There was no excitement in the face of the Prince,

not much concern. His foot played and patted in
the great wooden stirrup, and shook and jingled the
bells of steel on his Spanish spur, but he said
nothing.

Sometimes the men below would point in this
direction and then in that with their long yellow
gauntlets, then they would prick and spur their
mules till they spun round like tops.

When a man pricks and spurs his mule, you may
be sure that he is bothered.

A Yankee would scratch his head, pull at his ear,
or rub his chin; an Englishman would take snuff;
a Missourian would take a chew of tobacco, and
perhaps swear; but a Californian in the mountains
disdains to do anything so stupid and inexpressive.
He kicks and cuffs and spurs his mule.

At length the leader set his spurs in the broad
hair-sinch, with the long steel points of the rowels,
and rode down to the water's edge. A twig was
broken there. The Doctor had done that as we
crossed, to get a switch for his mule, and brought
down the wrath of Klamat, expressed, however, only
in frightful grimaces, signs, and the flashing of his
eyes. The officer dismounted, leaned over, brushed
the burrs aside, took some of them up, and examined
them closely.

An arm was now lifted and waved authoritatively
to the two men sitting on their mules in the trail,

and they instantly struck the spurs in the broad
sinch, and through into the tough skins of their
mules, I think, for they ambled down toward the
officer at a rapid pace and —consternation! One of
them threw up his head and brayed as if for life.

The Prince's mule pointed his opera-glasses, set
out his legs, took in a long breath, and was just
about to make the forest ring, when his master sprung
to the ground, caught him by the nose, and wrenched
him around till he fell upon his haunches.

Here Klamat made a sign, threw the Doctor on
his mule, left Paquita to take care of herself, and led
off up the hill. We mounted, and followed as fast as
possible; but the Prince's mule, as if in revenge, now
stopped short, set out his legs, lifted his nose, and
brayed till the very pine-quills quivered overhead.

After he had brayed to his satisfaction, he gave a
sort of grunt, as if to say, “We are even now,” and
shot ahead. The little pack-mule was no trouble.
He had but a light load, and, as if in gratitude, faithfully
kept his place.

A pony or horse must be led. Anything but a
mule will roam and run against trees, will lodge
his pack in the boughs that hang low overhead, or,
worse still, stop to eat of the branches or weeds, and
grasses under foot. The patient, cunning little
Mexican mule will do nothing of the sort. He
would starve rather than stop to eat when on duty;

and would as soon think of throwing himself down
over one of the cliffs that he is familiar with as to
injure or imperil the pack that has been trusted to
his care, by butting against trees, or lodging under
the boughs that hang above the trail. He stops the
instant the pack is loose, or anything falls to the
ground, and refuses to move till all is made right.

We could not keep pace with Klamat, hasten as
we might, through the pines. Like a spirit, he
darted here and there through the trees, urging and
beckoning all the time for us to follow faster.

We could not see our pursuers now, yet we knew
too well that they were climbing fast as their strong-limbed
sturdy mules would serve them, the hill that
we had climbed an hour before. The advantage,
on one hand, was theirs; on the other, we had things
somewhat our own way. The chances were about
evenly balanced for escape without blood.

Any one who frequents the mountains of the north
will soon notice that on all the hill-sides facing the
sun there is no undergrowth. You may ride there,
provided you do not wedge in between the trees that
grow too close together to let you pass, or go under
a hanging bough, the same as in a park. But if you
get on the north side of the hill, you find an undergrowth
that is almost impassable for man or beast.
Chaparral, manzanita, madrono, plum, white thorn,
and many other kinds of shrubs and trees, contribute

to make a perfectly safe retreat from men for the wild
beasts of those regions. In a flight, this is the chief
thing to do. Keep your eye on the lay of the hills,
so that you may always be on the south side, or you
will find yourself in a net.