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Updated: May 24, 2025
I told you all along," said Anderson heavily, "that there's no mineral in the Gavilan. I've been over every foot of it and I'm a miner. We get no news because no man makes haste to announce his folly. You'll see!" "Creede and Cripple Creek had been prospected over and over again before they struck it there," objected Zurich. "Silver and gold!" retorted Eric scornfully. "This is copper.
Son, if our copper claims had really been in the Gavilan, instead of a-hundred-and-then-some long miles in another-guess direction then what?" "We'd have found our claim jumped and a bunch to swear they'd been working there before the date of our notices; that they didn't find the scratch of a pick on the claim, no papers and no monument that's what we'd have found." "Correct! Pass the meat."
But his turning south to meet Walker instead of north, where ostensibly his duty called him, immediately aroused the suspicions of the Californians. Though ordered to leave the district, he refused compliance, and retired to a place called Gavilán Peak, where he erected fortifications and raised the United States flag. Probably Frémont's intentions were perfectly friendly and peaceful.
From Gavilan heights, near by, the explorer looked down and saw the warlike preparations directed against him, and from there wrote his declaration: "I am making myself as strong as possible, in the intention that if we are unjustly attacked we will fight to extremity and refuse quarter, trusting to our country to avenge our death."
Copper advertises. No, sir! I'll tell you what's happened. There's been no battle, and no treachery, and no mine found. We've been trapped. That Gavilan location was a fake, stuck up to draw our fire. We've tipped our hand. Mr. Johnson can now examine the plans of mice or men that your combined sagacities have so obligingly placed face upward before him, and decide his policies at his leisure.
The Mexican eagle flutters listlessly over the sea gates of the great West. The serpent coils of foreign conspiracy are twining around it. "Quien Vive!" A sentinel's challenge rings out. The sounds are borne away on the night wind sweeping Gavilan Peak. No response. March breezes drive the salty fog from Monterey Bay into the eyes of the soldier shivering in the silent hours before dawn.
"We'll have to risk it. Not so much of a risk, either. Cobre is the last outpost of civilization. South of here, in the whole strip from Comobabi to the Colorado River, there's not twenty men, all told, between here and the Mexican border except yonder deluded wretches in the Gavilan; and none beyond the border for a hundred miles."
Peter Johnson's arrival in Morning Gate Pass was coincident with that of a very bright and businesslike sun. Mr. Johnson had made a night ride from the Gavilan country, where he had spent the better part of a pleasant week, during which he had contrived to commingle a minimum of labor with a joyous maximum of innocent amusement.
With the boot in his hand he pointed to the south. High on the next shadowy range, thirty miles away, a dozen scattered campfires glowed across the dawn. "What the Billy-hell?" he said, startled. "Stan-ley!" "I will say wallop! I won't be a lady if I can't say wallop!" quoth Stan rebelliously. "What's doing over at the Gavilan?
Juan de Pedrahita, Nuno Mendiola, and Diego Gavilan were made captains of foot; Albertos de Ordunna standard-bearer, and Antonio Carillo serjeant-major; all of whom were ordered to raise soldiers to complete their companies with every possible expedition.
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