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Updated: June 21, 2025
Their drivers dismounted to join the gathering throng. One of the men was Bostwick, down from the hills. He had searched for Beth at Mrs. Dick's, and then had followed here. "Barger! Barger's dead in camp and the 'Laughing Water' claim was stolen and Culver killed!" One man bawled it to the crowd and it sped to Bostwick's ears.
"Got nuthin'," the lumberman ejaculated. "What's the good of all these lyin' papers when I seen Matt myself, readin' the piece about him goin' back to the pen?" McCoppet rose, went to the window, and returned again. "Larry, you're all right," he said. "Where's Barger now?" Trimmer winked. "That's his business, and mine." "All right that's all right," agreed the gambler.
Christler, the sheriff, arrived a little after eight, bringing in a wounded deputy. Barger had shot him in the thigh. Van did not wait for his man to eat, but urged him home to his bachelor shack and sat him down to a drink of something strong, with a cracker to munch for a meal. Christler was tired.
He was pierced in the body and leg. He had met the posse, fought his fight, escaped with wounds that must have stopped any animal on earth, and then had dragged himself to Van, to repay his final debt. "I haven't called I haven't called for anything," said Van. "You're wounded, man, you're " Barger rose up weakly to his knees. "Need the money, don't you now?" he interrupted.
I said 'Thank God, we are over the first one; and so it was with the other two; and each time I said, 'Thank God for taking us over, and too, for not letting the water get into our boat." A week later I embarked on the steamer Olaf Barger, sailing from Fredriksen, Denmark, to Sweden.
The others of the Mormon gold discoverers, Alexander Stephens and James Barger, had died before that date. Looking Toward Southern California
"I'm going to round up all this gang to-day if it kills you to keep on the trail." Christler still sat staring. "By the Lord Harry!" he said. "By the Lord but, Van, I didn't come home to rest. I've got Barger going, somewhere, shot to a sieve. But he's some disappeared. If that ain't just my luck! I'm goin' to git him though, you bet!
He dared not step beyond the bank, and so involve himself. Barger was well out from the edge. The throw at best was long and difficult. "Hold up your hands, above your head!" he called. "Don't thrash around!" The convict obeyed. His haggard, bearded face was turned to Van like a mask of horror. The eyes were blazing fearfully.
Van's head had fallen forward on his breast. He looked at nothing. His face was set and hard. Barger raised his pistol, sighted down the barrel and repressed the impulse to fire as the horseman came onward, unsuspiciously. No sooner was Van around the turn, where in less than a minute he would find his progress blocked, than Barger arose and ran with all his might down the slope.
"Try to move your legs when I pull!" He wasted no time in attempting to haul the convict out himself. He led his pony quickly to the edge, took two half hitches of the rope about the pommel of the saddle, then shouted once more to his man. "Ready, Barger. Try to kick your feet." To the horse he said: "Now, Suvy, a strong, steady pull." And taking the pony's bit in hand he urged him slowly forward,
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