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Updated: October 11, 2025
"Bagsby," I whispered, "there's a fire not more than a half mile away." He too lay down in order to get my angle of view. "It's not McNally," he pronounced after a moment's careful inspection, "for it's too big a fire, and it's a lot more than half a mile away. That's a good big fire. I think it's Injuns." "Probably the same gang that lifted our hosses!" cried Buck. "Probably," agreed Bagsby.
Yank had ridden one of our horses; the other had been stolen in the Indian raid. We approached Don Gaspar, who had his own saddle horse and that of Vasquez, not to speak of the remaining pack-animals. To our surprise and delight he offered to accompany us; and Bagsby, too, decided to leave.
"That leaves us only four men to work the cradles," I objected. "Four men out of nine working." "Well, thar won't be no men out of nine a-workin' if you don't watch out," predicted Bagsby. "You-all forgit this is a self-supportin' community. We got to work for our living, as well as for gold." "The hunters might go out less," suggested McNally.
"And somebody's got to rustle game and fish. Yere's nine husky men to eat. If we leave one man in camp and two to hunt, we have six left for gold washing. That's three to a cradle, and that's just right." We came to that, too; and so settled into our routine. Bagsby was the only permanent office-holder among us. He was unanimously elected the official hunter.
"Their rancheree is down the valley somewhars," said Bagsby, "and we'll have to scout for it. We must go back to camp first and get a ready." McNally and I murmured against this check to immediate action, but saw the point after a moment. The Pines packed their slender outfit; we bound the body of our poor friend across his horse, and mournfully retraced our steps.
But at that moment one of our own horses dashed up to the bunch of picketed animals and wheeled, trembling. Its rope bridle dangled broken from its head. Sam Bagsby darted forward to seize the hanging cord. "It's cut!" he cried. "Quick! Out across the valley, boys!" We followed him into the moonlight, grasping our rifles.
Make a name for it? Better call it whiskey straight. Drink to us, my boy! Come, join my friends! We're all friends here! Come on, and here's to luck, the best luck ever! We've got two horse-loads of gold out there nothing but gold and it all came from our old diggings. You ought to have stayed. We had no trouble. Bagsby was an old fool!"
"They'd drive those hosses away five or six miles before they'd stop; and McNally was with us just a little piece back. He'll be in by the time the venison is cooked." But he was not; nor by an hour later. Then we decided that we must go out to look for him. "We can't see nothin' till daylight," said Bagsby, "but we can get started back for the last place we saw him."
They claimed their dirt would prove to be very rich; but I thought myself that they were labouring in great faith. Also we learned what Bagsby had known right along, but which he had not bothered to tell us; that we were now about to cross the main Overland Trail. We stopped that night near the road, and at a wayside inn or road house of logs kept by a most interesting man.
"The country is just lousy with gold," he pronounced. Then we blew up. We hugged each other, we pounded each other's backs, we emulated McNally's wild Irish whoops, finally we joined hands and danced around and around the remains of the fire, kicking up our heels absurdly. Bagsby, a leathery grin on his face, stood off one side.
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