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Updated: June 18, 2025
I should make wonderful discoveries. "In old houses, whose roofs are supported by great beams of oak, I know they call the stoutest and most important the 'king beam, for without him the roof would fall. Just so, the Grizzly Giant is the king tree of the Mariposa Forest.
So you see that by ten o'clock in the morning the whole affair was settling into the impenetrable mystery which it ever since remained. Not that there wasn't evidence enough. Apparently the robber ran up and down half the streets of Mariposa before he vanished. But the stories of Pupkin and Gillis were plain enough.
"But who ever heard o' gettin' cattle out o' Old Mexico after they've once been driven in?" Anton growled. "It can't be done!" "Money in cattle can't be hid like money in jewels or cash," said The Kid. "Theah not so easy to get rid of, even in Mexico. The town of Mariposa lies just over the bordah, am I right?
In point of geography the lake is called Lake Wissanotti and the river running out of it the Ossawippi, just as the main street of Mariposa is called Missinaba Street and the county Missinaba County. But these names do not really matter. Nobody uses them.
This blood-stained gold may lie hidden beneath the soil of Mariposa, but it is beyond human ken. There are wild rejoicings at Stockton. Harry Love, splendid in gayest trappings, is the hero of the hour. The dead mountain tiger was the last leader of resistance to the Americans. The humbled Mexicans sink into the condition of wandering helots.
By half-past seven on the following morning it was known all over Mariposa that Peter Pupkin the junior teller of the Exchange had been shot dead by a bank robber in the vault of the building.
In the open spaces on the slope, beyond the farthest shadow-reach of the manzanita, poised the mariposa lilies, like so many flights of jewelled moths suddenly arrested and on the verge of trembling into flight again.
"The Golden Gate," "Mount Shasta," "The Yosemite," were especially provocative. A beautiful bird known as the "Californian Canary" appeared to have been shot at and winged by every poet from Portland to San Diego. Lines to the "Mariposa" flower were as thick as the lovely blossoms themselves in the Merced valley, and the Madrone tree was as "berhymed" as Rosalind.
I don't mean to say that it was a failure. On the contrary, in many ways it couldn't have been a greater success, and yet somehow it didn't seem to work out just as Henry Mullins had said it would. It may be that there are differences between Mariposa and the larger cities that one doesn't appreciate at first sight. Perhaps it would have been better to try some other plan.
If they can't have it with lager beer and brandy, they'll have it with plain soda and lemon pop, and so the whole gloomy scheme of the temperance people breaks down, anyway. But I was only saying that Eliot's drug store in Mariposa on a Saturday night is the gayest and brightest spot in the world. And just imagine what a fool of a place to commit suicide in!
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