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Thure and Bud both ran after him, and told him that, although they would prize the nuggets above anything else he could give them, they did not wish to take them from him, the one who first picked them up, that they belonged to him, that he ought to keep them; but Marshall would not listen to them, would not take the nuggets back, would not even stop to hear the boys' thanks, and strode on down the trail to where the lights of Hangtown were beginning to twinkle through the gathering shadows of night.
His sincerity and brainpower commanded attention, and his pluck enforced respect. In one case it seemed to be needed. He was sent to preach in Placerville, popularly called in the old days, "Hangtown." It was then a lively and populous place. The mines were rich, and gold-dust was abundant as good behavior was scarce.
A preacher who would fight for his rights suited those wild fellows better than one who would assert a claim that he would not enforce. Sanders preached to larger audiences after this episode in his "Hangtown" pastorate. It was after this that he went out one day to stake off a lot on which he proposed to build a house of worship. It was near the Roman Catholic Church.
We continued along the foothills without any trail until we struck the road from Sacramento to Hangtown. This sounded like a bad name for a good village, but we found it was fittingly named after some ugly devils who were hanged there. The first house that we came to on this road was the Mormon Tavern.
The end gate of a prairie schooner was lost on a hill, and Tail Gate mountain came into being. Humbug Creek panned light with gold. Red Dog, Hangtown, Round Tent Claims, Dry Diggings, Let 'Er Rip, You Bet, Yuba Dam, One Horse Town, and Hell's Delight shriek for themselves, or should! This, then, is the tale of Grizzley Bob, who mined in Snake Gulch at the foot of Bear Mountain.
On the wall near the fireplace hung the frying-pans and the other rude cooking utensils; and in a corner were piled the bags, barrels, kegs, and boxes containing their camp supplies. When you are told that this, at that time in Hangtown, was considered a rather luxurious style of living, you may be able to form something of an idea of the kind of style in which the average miner lived.
However, we stayed two days longer, after which we pulled out for the Sierra Nevadas, by the way of Hangtown, a little mining camp situated at the American Fork. Here we crossed over a pass that Jim had told me of more than a year previous, which led us to the headwaters of the Carson river.
"He saw th' prisoners kill a man three days ago in th' Sacermento Valley! Not unless he's got a double-barreled long-shot gun ahind him that can shoot his body clean from Hangtown tew th' Sacermento Valley in less time than I could take a chaw of ter-backer; for three days ago I seen this identickle man, Skoonly, run out of Hangtown for tryin' tew steal th' gold-dust of a sick miner.
The trail to Hangtown, after leaving the Sacramento Valley, entered the rough and picturesque regions of the western slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, where the traveling was slow and difficult, especially with heavily loaded pack-horses; and, although the distance from Sacramento City, as the crow flies, was scarcely more than forty miles, yet it was not until near the middle of the afternoon of the third day that our friends came in sight of the rude log cabins and tents of Hangtown.
She's just bin pourin' 'em down all evenin'. What's that?" at a loud banging on the doors. Some one opened them and Curly rode into the place on the handsome horse he had bought that morning. "Well, boys, I'm cleaned! Tried to copper the jack in Hangtown and the whole $50,000 went. George, I'll be askin' for this place back, I guess." "This place belongs to me, Curly Gillmore." "Who says so?"
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