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Updated: October 11, 2025
"And they know gold's worth something, too," put in Yank. "This is a scout, not a house-moving expedition," said Bagsby decidedly, "and somebody's got to keep camp." "I'll stay, fer one," offered old man Pine, his eyes twinkling from beneath his fierce brows. "I've fit enough Injuns in my time." After some further wrangling we came to drawing lots.
A moment later a compact band swept toward us at full speed, our horses in the lead, their rope halters dangling, a dozen Indians on horseback following close at their heels and urging them on. "Shoot, boys!" yelled Bagsby, discharging his own piece. Our rifles cracked. It was impossible to take aim; and I am sure we hit nothing.
Yank struck across our exultation. We had a good deal of trouble finding the exact spot where we had left him, for we could get no answer to our calls. He was down in a heap, covered with blood, and quite dead. The savages had scalped him. In our long companionship we had grown very fond of him, for he was a merry, good-natured, willing soul. "God!" cried Bagsby, deeply moved.
Bagsby led the way, and we followed closely nose to tail. It was an interesting and wonderful experience, had I had more attention to give it, for we rode mysteriously neck deep in velvet darkness over strange hills, and awful shapes rose mysteriously, and the sky silvered with stars like the glittering of little waves.
It was now about one o'clock in the morning. Bagsby appointed Vasquez, Missouri Jones, Buck Barry, Yank and myself to accompany him. Don Gaspar was suffering from a slight attack of malarial fever; and Johnny, to his vast disgust, was left to hold him company. We took each a horse, which we had to ride bareback and with a twisted rope "war halter."
They raised their heads and blew softly at us; but we lay still, and shortly they quieted down. "Now," breathed Bagsby, "when I give the word, fire. And each man grab a horse by the picket rope, stampede the rest, and hustle back to Vasquez. Ready!" We raised our pieces, but before the command to fire was given, one of the sleepers threw aside his blanket, stretched himself and arose.
The remaining half-dozen horses we ran into the corral. Night fell and still the hunters did not return. We were greatly alarmed and distressed, but we could not think of anything to do, for we had not the least idea in what direction to look. "Bagsby and Yank are old hands," speculated Missouri Jones consolingly. "And the fact that Injuns is abroad would make them slow and careful."
The older heads of the party Yank, Bagsby, Don Gaspar, and Missouri Jones overruled our young desire to jump into things headlong. "If this camp is going to get on right," said Yank, "we got to make some provision for working right. Somebody's got to be in camp all the time, that's sure to cook some decent meals, do the odd chores, and keep an eye on the stock." Bagsby nodded emphatically at this.
Bagsby had come out with Captain Sutter; and told of that doughty soldier's early skirmishes with the Indians. His tales of the mountains, the plains, and the game and Indians were so much romance to us; and we both wished heartily that fate could have allowed us a chance at such adventures. "But why don't you fellows branch out?" Bagsby always ended.
It was a white man! I confess that for a moment I turned physically sick. "Hello!" called Bagsby, quite unmoved. The white man seized his rifle, and the recumbent forms leaped to life. "Who are you?" he demanded sharply. "Speak quick!" "Keep yore ha'r on!" drawled the trapper, advancing into the light. "We're perfectly respectable miners, out looking for a lost man; and we saw yore fire."
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