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  “Can you give me one?”

  “I can, mebbe. And do you understand the inner aspirations of mules, maybe?”

  “I was brought up on a farm.”

  “And the principles of elementary navigation by dead reckoning?”

  I looked at him blankly.

  “I mean mudholes,” he explained. “Can you keep out of them?”

  “I can try.”

  He pulled up the team, handed me the reins, and clambered over the wheel.

  “You’re hired. At six o’clock I’ll find you and pay you off. You get twenty-five dollars.”

  “What am I to do?”

  “You go to the shore and you rustle about whenever you see anything that looks like freight; and you look at it, and when you see anything marked with a diamond and an H inside of it, you pile it on and take it up to Howard Mellin & Company. And if you can’t lift it, then leave it for another trip, and bullyrag those skinflints at H. M. & Co.’s to send a man down to help you. And if you don’t know where they live, find out; and if you bog them mules down I’ll skin you alive, big as you are. And anyway, you’re a fool to be working in this place for twenty-five dollars a day, which is one reason I’m so glad to find you just now.”

  “What’s that, John?” inquired a cool, amused voice. McGlynn and I looked around. A tall, perfectly dressed figure stood on the sidewalk surveying us quizzically. This was a smooth-shaven man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, grave faced, clean cut, with an air of rather ponderous slow dignity that nevertheless became his style very well. He was dressed in tall white hat, a white winged collar, a black stock, a long tailed blue coat with gilt buttons, an embroidered white waistcoat, dapper buff trousers, and varnished boots. He carried a polished cane and wore several heavy pieces of gold jewellery–a watch fob, a scarf-pin, and the like. His movements were leisurely, his voice low. It seemed to me, then, that somehow the perfection of his appointments and the calm deliberation of his movement made him more incongruous and remarkable than did the most bizarre whims of the miners.

  “Is it yourself, Judge Girvin?” replied McGlynn, “I’m just telling this young man that he can’t have the job of driving my little California canaries for but one day because I’ve hired a fine lawyer from the East at two hundred and seventy-five a month to drive my mules for me.”

  “You have done well,” Judge Girvin in his grave, courteous tones. “For the whole business of a lawyer is to know how to manage mules and asses so as to make them pay!”

  I drove to the beach, and speedily charged my wagon with as large a load as prudence advised me. The firm of Howard Mellin & Company proved to have quarters in a frame shack on what is now Montgomery Street. It was only a short haul, but a muddy one. Nearly opposite their store a new wharf was pushing its way out into the bay. I could see why this and other firms clung so tenaciously to their locations on rivers of bottomless mud in preference to moving up into the drier part of town.

  I enjoyed my day hugely. My eminent position on the driver’s seat–eminent both actually and figuratively–gave me a fine opportunity to see the sights and to enjoy the homage men seemed inclined to accord the only wagon in town. The feel of the warm air was most grateful. Such difficulties as offered served merely to add zest to the job. At noon I ate some pilot bread and a can of sardines bought from my employers. About two o’clock the wind came up from the sea, and the air filled with the hurrying clouds of dust.

  In my journeys back and forth I had been particularly struck by the bold, rocky hill that shut off the view toward the north. Atop this hill had been rigged a two-armed semaphore, which, one of the clerks told me, was used to signal the sight of ships coming in the Golden Gate. The arms were variously arranged according to the rig or kind of vessel. Every man, every urchin, every Chinaman, even, knew the meaning of these various signals. A year later, I was attending a theatrical performance in the Jenny Lind Theatre on the Plaza. In the course of the play an actor rushed on frantically holding his arms outstretched in a particularly wooden fashion, and uttering the lines, “What means this, my lord!”

  “A sidewheel steamer!” piped up a boy’s voice from the gallery.

  Well, about three o’clock of this afternoon, as I was about delivering my fifth load of goods, I happened to look up just as the semaphore arms hovered on the rise. It seemed that every man on the street must have been looking in the same direction, for instantly a great shout went up.

  “A sidewheel steamer! The Oregon!”

  At once the streets were alive with men hurrying from all directions toward the black rocks at the foot of Telegraph Hill, where, it seems, the steamer’s boats were expected to land. Flags were run up on all sides, firearms were let off, a warship in the harbour broke out her bunting and fired a salute. The decks of the steamer, as she swept into view, were black with men; her yards were gay with colour. Uptown some devoted soul was ringing a bell; and turning it away over and over, to judge by the sounds. I pulled up my mules and watched the vessel swing down through the ranks of the shipping and come to anchor. We had beaten out our comrades by a day!

  At five o’clock a small boy boarded me.

  “You’re to drive the mules up to McGlynn’s and unhitch them and leave them,” said he. “I’m to show you the way.”

  “Where’s McGlynn?” I asked.

  “He’s getting his mail.”

  We drove to a corral and three well-pitched tents down in the southern edge of town. Here a sluggish stream lost its way in a swamp of green hummocky grass. I turned out the mules in the corral and hung up the harness.

  “McGlynn says you’re to go to the post-office and he’ll pay you there,” my guide instructed me.

  The post-office proved to be a low adobe one-story building, with the narrow veranda typical of its kind. A line of men extended from its door and down the street as far as the eye could reach. Some of them had brought stools or boxes, and were comfortably reading scraps of paper.

  I walked down the line. A dozen from the front I saw Johnny standing. This surprised me, for I knew he could not expect mail by this steamer. Before I had reached him he had finished talking to a stranger, and had yielded his place.

  “Hullo!” he greeted me. “How you getting on?”

  “So-so!” I replied. “I’m looking for a man who owes me twenty-five dollars.”

  “Well, he’s here,” said Johnny confidently. “Everybody in town is here.”

  We found McGlynn in line about a block down the street. When he saw me coming he pulled a fat buckskin bag from his breeches pocket, opened its mouth, and shook a quantity of its contents, by guess, into the palm of his hand.

  “There you are,” said he; “that’s near enough. I’m a pretty good guesser. I hope you took care of the mules all right; you ought to, you’re from a farm.”

  “I fixed ’em.”

  “And the mud? How many times did you get stuck?”

  “Not at all.”

  He looked at me with surprise.

  “Would you think of that, now!” said he. “You must have loaded her light.”

  “I did.”

  “Did you get all the goods over?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll acknowledge you’re a judgematical young man; and if you want a job with me I’ll let that lawyer go I spoke to the judge about. He handed it to me then, didn’t he?” He laughed heartily. “No? Well, you’re right. A man’s a fool to work for any one but himself. Where’s your bag? Haven’t any? How do you carry your dust? Haven’t any? I forgot; you’re a tenderfoot, of course.” He opened his buckskin sack with his teeth, and poured back the gold from the palm of his hand. Then he searched for a moment in all his pockets, and produced a most peculiar chunk of gold metal. It was nearly as thick as it was wide, shaped roughly into an octagon, and stamped with initials. This he handed to me.

  “It’s about a fifty-dollar slug,” said he, “you can get it weighed. Give me the change next time you see me.”

 
“But I may leave for the mines to-morrow,” I objected.

  “Then leave the change with Jim Recket of the El Dorado.”

  “How do you know I’ll leave it?” I asked curiously.

  “I don’t,” replied McGlynn bluntly. “But if you need twenty-five dollars worse than you do a decent conscience, then John A. McGlynn isn’t the man to deny you!”

  Johnny and I left for the hotel.

  “I didn’t know you expected any mail,” said I.

  “I don’t.”

  “But thought I saw you in line─”

  “Oh, yes. When I saw the mail sacks, it struck me that there might be quite a crowd; so I came up as quickly as I could and got in line. There were a number before me, but I got a place pretty well up in front. Sold the place for five dollars, and only had to stand there about an hour at that.”

  “Good head!” I admired. “I’d never have thought of it. How have you gotten on?”

  “Pretty rotten,” confessed Johnny. “I tried all morning to find a decent opportunity to do something or deal in something, and then I got mad and plunged in for odd jobs. I’ve been a regular errand boy. I made two dollars carrying a man’s bag up from the ship.”

  “How much all told?”

  “Fifteen. I suppose you’ve got your pile.”

  “That twenty-five you saw me get is the size of it.”

  Johnny brightened; we moved up closer in a new intimacy and sense of comradeship over delinquency. It relieved both to feel that the other, too, had failed. To enter the Plaza we had to pass one of the larger of the gambling places.

  “I’m going in here,” said Johnny, suddenly.

  He swung through the open doors, and I followed him.

  The place was comparatively deserted, owing probably to the distribution of mail. We had full space to look about us; and I was never more astonished in my life. The outside of the building was rough and unfinished as a barn, having nothing but size to attract or recommend. The interior was the height of lavish luxury. A polished mahogany bar ran down one side, backed by huge gilt framed mirrors before which were pyramided fine glasses and bottles of liquor. The rest of the wall space was thickly hung with more plate mirrors, dozens of well-executed oil paintings, and strips of tapestry. At one end was a small raised stage on which lolled half-dozen darkies with banjos and tambourines. The floor was covered with a thick velvet carpet. Easy chairs, some of them leather upholstered, stood about in every available corner. Heavy chandeliers of glass, with hundreds of dangling crystals and prisms, hung from the ceiling. The gambling tables, a half dozen in number, were arranged in the open floor space in the centre. Altogether it was a most astounding contrast in its sheer luxury and gorgeous furnishing to the crudity of the town. I became acutely conscious of my muddy boots, my old clothes, my unkempt hair, my red shirt and the armament strapped about my waist.

  A relaxed, subdued air of idleness pervaded the place. The gamblers lounged back of their tables, sleepy-eyed and listless. On tall stools their lookouts yawned behind papers. One of these was a woman, young, pretty, most attractive in the soft, flaring, flouncy costume of that period. A small group of men stood at the bar. One of the barkeepers was mixing drinks, pouring the liquid, at arm’s length from one tumbler to another in a long parabolic curve, and without spilling a drop. Only one table was doing business, and that with only three players. Johnny pushed rapidly toward this table, and I, a little diffidently, followed.

  The game was roulette. Johnny and the dealer evidently recognized each other, for a flash of the eye passed between them, but they gave no other sign. Johnny studied the board a moment then laid twenty-two dollars in coin on one of the numbers. The other players laid out small bags of gold dust. The wheel spun, and the ball rolled. Two of the men lost; their dust was emptied into a drawer beneath the table and the bags tossed back to them. The third had won; the dealer deftly estimated the weight of his bet, lifting it in the flat of his left hand; then spun several gold pieces toward the winner. He seemed quite satisfied. The gambler stacked a roll of twenty-dollar pieces, added one to them, and thrust them at Johnny. I had not realized that the astounding luck of winning off a single number had befallen him.

  “Ten to one–two hundred and twenty dollars!” he muttered to me.

  The other three players were laying their bets for the next turn of the wheel. Johnny swept the gold pieces into his pocket, and laid back the original stake against even. He lost. Thereupon he promptly arose and left the building.

  *

  CHAPTER XII

  TALBOT DESERTS

  I followed him to the hotel somewhat gloomily; for I was now the only member of our party who had not made good the agreed amount of the partnership. It is significant that never for a moment did either Johnny or myself doubt that Talbot would have the required sum. Johnny, his spirits quite recovered, whistled like a lark.

  We arrived just in time for the first supper call, and found Talbot and Yank awaiting us. Yank was as cool and taciturn, and nodded to us as indifferently, as ever. Talbot, however, was full of excitement. His biscuit-brown complexion had darkened and flushed until he was almost Spanish-black, and the little devils in his eyes led a merry dance between the surface and unguessed depths. He was also exceedingly voluble; and, as usual when in that mood, aggravatingly indirect. He joked and teased and carried on like a small boy; and insisted on ordering an elaborate dinner and a bottle of champagne, in the face of even Johnny’s scandalized expostulations. When Johnny protested against expenditure, it was time to look out!

  “This is on me! This is my party! Dry up, Johnny!” cried Talbot. “Fill your glasses. Drink to the new enterprise; the Undertakers’ Mining Company, Unlimited.”

  “Undertakers?” I echoed.

  “Well, you all look it. Call it the Gophers, then. Capital stock just eight hundred and eighty dollars, fully subscribed. I suppose it is fully subscribed, gentlemen?” He scrutinized us closely. “Ah, Frank! I see we’ll have to take your promissory note. But the artistic certificates are not yet home from the engravers. Take your time. Maybe a relative will die.”

  “Talbot,” said I disgustedly, “if I hadn’t happened to smell your breath before supper I’d think you drunk.”

  “I am drunk, old deacon,” rejoined Talbot, “but with the Wine of Enchantment–do you know your Persian? No? Well, then, this:

  “Drink to me only with thine eyes,

  And I’ll not ask for wine!”

  “A woman!” grumbled the literal Yank.

  “The best, the most capricious, the most beautiful woman in the world,” cried Talbot, “whose smile intoxicates, whose frown drives to despair.”

  “What are you drivelling about?” I demanded.

  “The goddess fortune–what else? But come,” and Talbot rose with a sudden and startling transition to the calm and businesslike. “We can smoke outside; and we must hear each other’s reports.”

  He paid for the dinner, steadfastly refusing to let us bear our share. I noticed that he had acquired one of the usual buckskin sacks, and shook the yellow dust from the mouth of it to the pan of the gold scales with quite an accustomed air.

  We lit our pipes and sat down at one end of the veranda, where we would not be interrupted.

  “Fire ahead, Yank,” advised Talbot.

  “There’s two ways of going to the mines,” said Yank: “One is to go overland by horses to Sutter’s Fort or the new town of Sacramento, and then up from there into the foothills of the big mountains way yonder. The other is to take a boat and go up river to Sacramento and then pack across with horses.”

  “How much is the river fare?” asked Talbot.

  “You have to get a sailboat. It costs about forty dollars apiece.”

  “How long would it take?”

  “Four or five days.”

  “And how long from here to Sutter’s Fort by horse?”

  “About the same.”

  “Depends then on whether horses are cheaper here o
r there.”

  “They are cheaper there; or we can get our stuff freighted in by Greasers and hoof it ourselves.”

  “Then I should think we ought to have a boat.”

  “I got one,” said Yank.

  “Good for you!” cried Talbot. “You’re a man after my own heart! Well, Johnny?”

  Johnny told his tale, a little proudly and produced his required two hundred and twenty dollars.

  “You had luck,” said Talbot non-committally, “and you ran a strong risk of coming back here without a cent, didn’t you? I want to ask you one question, Johnny. If you had lost, would you have been willing to have taken the consequences?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Johnny blankly.

  “Would you have been willing to have dropped out of this partnership?”

  Johnny stared.

  “I mean,” said Talbot kindly, “that you had no right to try to get this money by merely a gambler’s chance unless you were willing to accept the logical result if you failed. It isn’t fair to the rest of us.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Johnny slowly. “No; I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “Well, as I said, you had luck,” repeated Talbot cheerfully, “so we needn’t think of it further.” It was characteristic that Johnny took this veiled rebuke from Talbot Ward in a meek and chastened spirit; from any one else his high temper could never stand even a breath of criticism. “How about you, Frank?” Talbot asked me.

  I detailed my experiences in a very few words and exhibited my gold slug.

  “That’s the best I can do,” I ended, “and half of that does not belong to me. I can, however, in a few days scrape up the full amount; there is plenty to do here. And barring bull luck, like Johnny’s, I don’t see much show of beating that, unless a man settled down to stay here.”

  Talbot stared at me, ruminatively, until I began to get restive. Then he withdrew his eyes. He made no comment.

  “I suppose you have your money,” suggested Yank to him, after a pause.

  “Oh–yes,” said Talbot as though awaking from profound reverie.

  “Well, tell us about it. How did you get it? How long did it take you?”