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There, fair as a garden of the Lord, the grassy knolls of the foothills melt into the golden wild-oat fields of the San Joaquin. Behind him, to the east, the virgin forest rises to the serrated peaks of the Nevada. He drops his bridle on his horse's neck. He dreams of a day when he can visit the unknown canons beyond his new home. Several Ute chiefs have described giant forests of big trees.
It struck the planking of the wharf a resounding smash, bounced along fifteen or twenty feet, and was pounced upon by the amazed onlookers. It all happened in a flash, for the next minute Antioch was behind and we were heeling it up the San Joaquin toward Merryweather, six miles away.
This did not last long, for I brought out one of my boxes of cigars and that settled the question right there. The next day we were in the San Joaquin Valley and continued the trip, paying the men as we went along, until we reached Bakersfield. This was the end of the road at that time.
Some of the finest groves I have yet found are on the southern slopes of Lassen's Butte. There are also many charming companies on the head waters of the Tuolumne, Merced, and San Joaquin, and, in general, the species is so far from being rare that you can scarcely fail to find groves of considerable extent in crossing the range, choose what pass you may.
These matters, these eternal fierce bickerings between the farmers of the San Joaquin and the Pacific and Southwestern Railroad irritated him and wearied him. He cared for none of these things. They did not belong to his world.
The man was William Byrnes who had known Joaquin Murieta well in the days before that lynching at Murphy's Diggings. Murieta was washing his thoroughbred mare in the bed of the ravine. She stood, without halter or tie-rope, as docile as a dog while he laved her fine limbs with a dampened cloth. His saddle lay about ten or fifteen yards away with his pistols in the holsters beside the horn.
As the two gentlemen ride on, Hardin uses the confidential loneliness of the trip to prove to the Creole that war and separation must finally come. "We want this rich land for ourselves and the South." The young man's blood was up. "I know the very place I want!" cries Valois. He tells Hardin of Lagunitas, of its fertile lands sweeping to the San Joaquin.
And Pixley of the Argonaut has given me a chance to do some stories. I shall be an author pretty soon like Harte and Clemens." "Or a poet like this Cincinnatus Heinie Miller, whom one hears about. Fancy such a name. I should think he'd change it." "He has already," laughed Francisco. "Calls himself Joaquin after Marietta, the bandit. Joaquin Miller rather catchy, isn't it?
Down into the valley of the San Joaquin the feet of the agile mustangs bear the jaded travellers. They cross the San Joaquin on a raft, swimming their horses. Valois sees nothing yet to hint his impending fate. Far away the rich green billows of spring grass wave in the warm sun. Thousands of elk wander in antlered armies over the meadows. Gay dancing yellow antelope bound over the elastic turf.
John Marsh, early American settler, back of the present city of Oakland, opposite San Francisco. 1841 In October and November, 1841, the Bay of San Francisco, and the Sacramento and San Joaquin Rivers are surveyed by the Government exploring expedition under command of Captain Charles W. Wilkes, United States Navy.
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