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Updated: June 27, 2025
From all this it must not be inferred that Carquinez, who is my dear friend and dearer comrade, was a sot. Far from it. He rarely erred. As I have said, he was an artist. He knew when he had enough, and enough, with him, was equilibrium the equilibrium that is yours and mine when we are sober. His was a wise and instinctive temperateness that savoured of the Greek. Yet he was far from Greek.
"It is now definitely ascertained," said "The Slumgullion Mirror," "that Sheriff Dunn met his fate in the Carquinez Woods in the performance of his duty; that fearless man having received information of the concealment of a band of horse thieves in their recesses.
I thought the fire began there until I came here." Then it was as he feared. Obeying the same mysterious law that had launched this fatal fire like a thunderbolt from the burning mountain crest five miles away into the heart of the Carquinez Woods, it had again leaped a mile beyond, and was hemming them between two narrowing lines of fire. But Low was not daunted.
We started on the first of the ebb, and as we slipped down the Carquinez Straits, I looked my last for some time upon Benicia and the bight at Turner's Shipyard, where we had besieged the Lancashire Queen, and had captured Big Alec, the King of the Greeks.
On the morning of the fourth, we found the trail described to us by Mr. Greenwood, and, crossing a ridge of mountains, descended into the valley of Nappa creek, which empties into the Bay of San Francisco just below the Straits of Carquinez. This is a most beautiful and fertile valley, and is already occupied by several American settlers. Among the first who established themselves here is Mr.
For a few moments only the plunging hoofs and rattling wheels were heard. A dull, lurid glow began to define the horizon. They were silent until an abatement of the smoke, the vanishing of the gloomy horizon line, and a certain impenetrability in the darkness ahead showed them they were nearing the Carquinez Woods.
Even then preparations were being made for carrying tents, blankets, and pillows to the adjacent redwoods; dinner and supper, cooked at campfires, were to be served there on stumps of trees and fallen logs. The convulsion of nature had been used as an excuse for one of the wildest freaks of extravagance that Carquinez Springs had ever known.
I guess it was the disappointment written on my face that made him desist; for I, also, had a pride in my boat-sailing abilities, and I was almost wild to get out alone with the big sail and go tearing down the Carquinez Straits in the wake of the flying Greek. As usual, Sunday and Demetrios Contos arrived together.
Carquinez broke off abruptly and asked, "Have you ever read, 'Love's Waiting Time'?" I shook my head. Well, it was that bit of verse that gave me the clue. One day, in the window-seat near the big piano you remember how she could play? She used to laugh, sometimes, and doubt whether it was for them I came, or for the music.
And senility is another name for satiety. It is satiety's masquerade. Bah!" "But look at me!" I cried. Carquinez was ever a demon for haling ones soul out and making rags and tatters of it. He looked me witheringly up and down. "You see no signs," I challenged. "Decay is insidious," he retorted. "You are rotten ripe." I laughed and forgave him for his very deviltry. But he refused to be forgiven.
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