# A La California/Chapter 14

CHAPTER XIV.
EARLY TIMES.
The Days of '49 and '52.—How they Administered the Law in Tuolumne County, and Justice in Sierra.—Old Put and Judge Hollowbarn.—Pike's "Sasherarer."—Peart Times on Rabbit Creek.—A Game that was Spoiled.—An Appeal that wouldn't hold, and Prediction that wouldn't do to Bet Upon.—Stories of Wagers.—Insulted Dignity Avenged.—Base Ingratitude.—Dead or Alive, Drowned or Not.—A Glass-eye Bet.
Brave old days were those of '49, How mankind has degenerated since, any old California pioneer will tell you with a sigh. "Things was lively then, you bet, and one man was as good as another!" he says, with a shake of the head which implies volumes. Nevertheless, California was not wholly a Paradise even then, though it pains me to be compelled to say so. The fierce, aggressive energy of the Anglo-American invaders, when it overthrew the social habits, long established customs and local laws of the quiet, unambitious descendants of the old Spanish conquerors, could not establish a new system perfect in all its details in a day, and something of chaos and confusion necessarily followed. Judge Lynch generally did his work quickly and well, though being human, and as such liable at times to err, there was something a little rough in the operation of his decisions when a mistake did occur. An old Spaniard, ​domiciled in a robber-infested section of the State of Jalisco, Mexico, once told me that he had organized all his neighbor rancheros into an armed corps, who, by waging unceasing war upon the banditti, had already almost cleared the district of the gentlemen of the road within two years. His plan was, whenever a number of them, two or three, were found lounging about the country, "without visible occupation or means of support," to go for them and shoot them on sight. In this way they avoided the delays and uncertainties of the law, and saved a great deal of unnecessary expense and waste of time. But, my friend, is it not possible that you sometimes make a mistake, and shoot a man who is not a highwayman? "Well, yes; I suppose we do, but the average is on the right side however!" was his emphatic and self-satisfied reply. The advocate of Lynch law generally took the same view of the case in California, and saw the regular courts and written laws take the place of Judge Lynch and summary justice with a sigh. And, in truth, there was some ground for their apprehension that society might not, immediately at least, gain greatly by the change.
​The people of San Francisco bore with her trifling and misdoings, until patience ceased to be a virtue, and then, rising in their might, ousted the old lady by violence, and installed Dame Vigilance for the time being in her place. This made things lively for the crowds of evil-doers who had made the name of San Francisco a by-word and a reproach, and the moral atmosphere was so purified by the storm that, when the old dame came sneaking back and resumed her place in the temple, she could see more clearly.
Up in the mountains it was hard to get a first-class lawyer to accept a position so low down as even a County Judgeship, and as for the Justices of the Peace—well, some of them were from rather indifferent stock, to say the least. "Old Tuolumne" was the great county of the "Southern Mines." Placer gold was found on nearly every hillside, and on the banks and in the bed of every stream, while every "bar" on her rivers, the Tuolumne and Stanislaus, was a thriving village or mining camp, where miners' stores and gambling tables abounded. Whisky was as free as water, and a fight and a man for breakfast was a part of the daily programme. Society became organized, and courts were established in Tuolumne county earlier than in most of the counties of the State; and, if the machinery worked a little rough at the start, it is hardly to be wondered at, considering the incongruous materials of which it was composed, and the hurried manner in which it was knocked together.
Among the first Justices of the Peace appointed ​in Tuolumne was Judge Hollowbarn, a shrewd, unpolished, slightly educated, and, as his enemies were wont to say, not over-scrupulous man from the mountain districts of Tennessee, "nigh unto the Kaintucky line." He was a natural genius; and had he come into the world a few years later, and taken to patriotism and politics instead of whisky and the law, would have become a millionaire, and made his mark in the world. He was one of the old school, and believed in State rights and such a construction of the Constitution as would least hamper and encumber him in the discharge of the duties of his office as he understood them. His school believed that all powers not expressly delegated by the Constitution to the Federal Government were intended to be reserved to the States as the high contracting parties and first repository of authority. By parity of reasoning he had arrived at the conclusion that the Justice's Court, being the first on the list and nearest the people, the source of all authority, was entitled to exercise all the powers not specially prohibited by statute. This crave him a wide range in cases both civil and criminal, and he played his hand for all it was worth, and literally went for everything there was in sight. He was also fully satisfied that what he had a right, as a magistrate, to do, he had also in the same capacity the right to undo. Thus, if he could marry a couple—and the statutes clearly gave him that power—it followed that he could divorce them again. It is true that the law conferred the power of granting divorces on the higher court, but ​there was not a line in the "Statutes and By-laws" of the State of California which said that a Justice of the Peace should not have and exercise the same power; and until the Supreme Court decided against him, he meant to transact all that kind of business which fell in his way—and he did. The eldest Judge of the Supreme Court of the United States, or at least the one longest in office, was by right the Chief Justice of that august tribunal, and he being the first in rank by priority of commission in old Tuolumne, was, as a matter of course, Chief Justice of the Peace of the county, and the other Justices ranked as Associate Justices of the Peace. Could any proposition be plainer than that to the legal mind? Certainly not! So he regarded it, and so he, for a time, at least, half coaxed, half bullied, his colleagues into believing. And this was not all. He was satisfied that a traveling pedlar, who took his goods right to everybody's door, could sell double the amount on the same capital that could be worked off by a merchant tied down to his own store, and the same rule would hold good in his own business. People might object or neglect to come all the way from a distant mining camp to Jimtown to patronize his court, but if his court followed the example vulgarly ascribed to Mohammed, and went to the Mountain, i. e., to them, at stated intervals, the case might be different, and litigation would be made a convenient and easy, not to say popular, amusement for the entire community. Acting on this idea, he dubbed his court "The Circuit Justice's Court of Tuolumne County," and, ​accompanied by his constable and clerk, made periodical trips through all the mining camps, going down the Tuolumne river and returning up the Stanislaus, stopping at every bar, hearing all cases at shortest notice which came before him, and dealing out justice, plain or fancy, according to the wealth and social position of the litigants, as long as there were any complaints preferred, or there was even a moderately remote chance of his services being called for. Township lines were nothing to him; no pent-up Utica should contract his powers. Putting up a canvas for an awning, and setting out his table with pens, ink, paper and a few law books, ostentatiously displayed thereon, he would call out in a loud voice, "Oh, yis! Oh, yis! Oh, y-i-i is! This yere Honorable Circuit Justice's Court of Tuolumne County is now legally opened for transaction of bizness at Dead Man's Bar!" and then glancing around with an air of defiance which implied a readiness to make good his words at any sacrifice, adding, "an' any d—n man that says it ain't can jist settle it with me right yere!" A man of pluck and a "rightist from the word go," with his reputation in that line already well established, he seldom found anybody to contradict him, and for a long time he had it pretty much all his own way. But, as time wore on, and lawyers grew more numerous, trouble began to come upon him, as it is liable to come upon the worst of us. Colonel James, Major Hoyt, Sam Platt, and other refractory and unmanagable attorneys, badgered and worried the life nearly out of him. They caviled at his assumption of legal ​knowledge; questioned his claims to authority in many cases, and even denied the justice and legality of his decisions. The worst affliction came last on the list. A lawyer, familiarly known as "Old Put," with whom he had been on intimate terms for years, actually had the impudence to take an appeal to the County Court, and had one of his decisions reversed. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Judge Hollowbarn, when the notice of the reversal of his decision was served upon him, was nearly prostrated by the shock, and for some days he hardly raised his head to respond when invited to drink. But in the end his strong and vigorous nature reasserted itself, and he rose equal to the emergency.
A few days after the occurrence of this disaster, Old Put had a case before him, and the Judge went in for even. In the face of the plain letter of the law, the testimony, and his own precedents, he decided squarely against Old Put's client. Then Put boiled over. Seating- himself on the edge of the Judge's table, he shook his fist under the nose of the impersonation of the majesty of the law, and proceeded to relieve himself as follows:
"And so you derned old skeesicks, you have gone back on me, have you? Cuss you; haven't I winked at your iniquities; put up with your impudence; excused your ignorance; borne with your ill-temper, and furnished you with the best whisky and grub in camp for months and months? And now, you infernal old scoundrel, you propose to throw off on me! I'll have you broke as sure as my name is—" ​"This yere Honorable Circuit Justice's Court for Tuolumne County is adjourned for five minutes, while I lick hell out of Old Put!" roared Judge Hollowbarn, as he sprang to his feet, fairly purple in the face, and gasping for breath in his rage, shucking himself on the instant, and going for Old Put like a double-action earthquake under full headway.
Old Put, surprised by the suddenness of the demonstration, sprang for the door, dextrously throwing a chair and a three-legged stool behind, Parthian-like, as he fled, and "lit out" for home on the double-quick. One of the stools got mixed up with the Judge's legs, and they went down together. Before they could disentangle themselves and the Judge had regained his feet, his friends, who knew well enough that Put had gone after his revolver, got round him and persuaded him to let the matter rest for the moment, having amply vindicated his honor by putting his insulting adversary to ignominious flight. The Judge was fain to follow their advice, but he determined in his heart to have his revenge.
Next day he was riding across the country when he suddenly come upon Old Put mounted on horse-back like himself, and armed with a double-barreled shotgun as well as a revolver. The Judge took in the situation at a glance; there was no show for talking fight under the circumstances, but he had his legal remedy for his wrongs, and he determined to avail himself of it. Riding up to him, he demanded to know why he insulted him the day before.
"Because you deserved it, you infernal old scamp!" ​"Well, look here, Put, I'll just convince you that you are damnably fooled if you think you can play me. I jest fine you two hundred and fifty dollars for contempt of court."
"You fine me for contempt of court? Why you natural born idiot, don't you know that your Court ain't in session, and you can't punish for contempt—either felt or expressed?"
"I can't, eh? Well, you jest see! I'll show a thing or two before I'm through with you!"
And they parted without saying good-bye, each going his way in wrath and bitterness of heart.
Next day the "Honorable Circuit Justice's court in and for the County of Tuolumne" was in session, and Old Put appeared for the plaintiff in a case, involving the possessory title to a piece of bottom land, on which an honest, rough and wholly unsophisticated son of Missouri, known as Pike, had been settled for a year or more cultivating vegetables, or "garden-truck," which he peddled around among the different mining camps. Some outsiders had jumped Pike's claim and held possession by force of arms in clear violation of right and law, and Pike had brought suit to eject them. When Put arose to open the case, he was promptly shut off by Judge Hollowbarn, who informed him that he was fined $250 for contempt of Court committed two days previously, and he could not say a word in that tribunal until the fine was paid. Old Put was in a towering rage, and he cursed and expostulated until he was black in the face, but justice personified by the Judge sat stern and ​imperturbable. Let the heathen rage; was he not strong in his position, and could he not smile at all attempts to brow-beat or convince him? Of course he was, and he did. Old Put, seeing that it was useless to attempt to argue the matter and determined not to be robbed, refused to come down with the money, and drew out of the case, advising Pike to substitute Major Hoyt as his counsel, and go on with the trial. Pike took his advice, went on with the case, proved as clear as the sunlight at mid-day that he was in the right, and then listened in blank astonishment to a decision in favor of his opponents from the Judge. Thereupon Pike and his counsel withdrew and talked the matter over outside. The decision was clearly an outrage, and in utter defiance of justice and the law; but what could they do? The Major advised an appeal and, Pike consenting, he returned and made in open court his notice to that effect.
"Not if this honorable court knows herself! That thing is played out. We don't allow any more appeals from this tribunal. That's our new rule, and we're goin' to stand by it every time after this," was the prompt and decided answer of the "Chief Justice." The astonished counsel attempted to argue the illegality of such a rule, but desisted on the threat of a fine for contempt of court, and, considerably crestfallen, withdrew again to consult with his client. Pike wanted to know if that was the end of the matter, and he must quietly submit to be ruined in that infamous way. The Major told him that there was but one way now left him to obtain a remedy, and as ​he knew that he, Pike, was a poor man, he feared that it would be too expensive for him. Pike said, "damn the expense," he wanted justice, and he would have it or die. "Well," said his counsel, "if you can give the requisite security and get a writ of certiorari from the County Court at Sonora, you can have the case carried up there and tried before a jury in spite of the old scoundrel."
"How much security, Major?"
"Well, double the value of the ground; say $800 in a bond, with two good sureties, or the amount in dust."
"And the other thing; what d'ye call it, Major?"
"Why, a certiorari!"
"A which?"
"A certiorari!"
Pike repeated the last phrase over several times, and in deep thought made his way to the nearest saloon and called for "whisky straight," of which he swallowed about half a pint, and then sat down to think it over. As the liquor, little by little, took effect on his brain, he saw his way clearer and clearer out of the legal muddle, and at last rising equal to the occasion, he started a little unsteadily to his feet, and made his way as straight as he was able to the court room. Entering the hall of justice with the light of coming triumph in his eyes, and calm determination depicted on his severely classic countenance, he advanced boldly to the Judge's table, and striking an imposing attitude, opened the campaign as follows:
"Well, Judge, I've talked this yere matter over ​with my li-yer, an' he 'vises me that if I can give the security an' perduce a sasherarer, I kin hev this yere case carried up ter Sonora in spite of yer!"
"Yes, Pike, if you think it will pay, and you ain't satisfied with my decision, I s'pose you can do it, but all I can say is, I've decided 'cordin' to law, and tried to do you justice, and you'll find that out when you have spent what money you have got in lawin' it, and feeing these infernal thievin' lawyers."
"Never yer mind what I'll spend, nor what you've tried ter do fur me, Judge ; what I want ter know is, will the security on a sasherarer do it?"
"Of course it'll do it; but, as I was sayin'—"
"That'll do, Judge! Yer infernal old skunk, I've just got yer this time whar the har's short, you bet!" Here he drew a large buckskin bag of gold-dust from his pocket, and slapped it on the table with one hand, while with the other he dexterously pulled from its scabbard from behind him his huge army-sized Colt's revolver, swung it over his head, cocking it as he did so, and bringing it down with a heavy thud on the table, with the muzzle pointing directly in the line of the Judge's diaphragm. "Thar's my security, an' dern yer connubiating old gizzard, whar's my sasherarer?"
​"'Tain't no use of our quarreling, Pike; you can take an appeal this time!"
"Oh, I kin, kin I? Well, fer fear of anythin' happenin' ter make yer disremember it, yer kin jist pass them ar papers rite over heyer this minnit, an' the thing 'll be settled!"
And Pike, as good as his word, stood there covering the Judge with his "sasherarer" at full cock, until the clerk made out the document without any unnecessary verbiage, you may be sure; and they were duly signed by his Honor with slightly unsteady hand, and passed over to him. The precedent established in this case was ruinous to Judge Hollowbarn. He never fully recovered from the shock; and other summary proceedings following thick and fast upon if, he soon after threw up the judicial sponge, retired from the field, and drifted away from the sight—almost from the memory as well—of the dwellers in Old Tuolumne, going, none knew or cared where, to seek the obscurity he was so well fitted to adorn.
A FORCIBLE ARGUMENT.
​Oregon Bulletin, who has knocked around the Pacific Coast in all its highways and byways for many a year, and studied the character and peculiarities of its people as closely as any man living, chipped in and gave us, in his own peculiar and characteristic style, a story of the doings of himself and companions in the summary justice line, in the days when they had "peart times on Rabbit Creek:
The bustle among the inhabitants of La Porte, the principal mining camp on Rabbit Creek, as observed through the silvery gray atmosphere which encircled the town on the morning of the 19th of March, 1852, indicated that something unusual was on the tapis. Red-shirted men, whose faces were covered with shaggy beards, whose hair fell in tangled disorder over their shoulders, and who wore their pantaloons stuffed into the top of their boots; who carried revolvers and huge bowie knives in their belts, and constantly puffed volumes of smoke from their lips, were to be seen going from one saloon to another, or stopping for a moment on the only street of which the town could boast, for the purpose of shaking hands with some old acquaintance or exchanging a few words. The very atmosphere seemed to impress even the most casual observer that something more than the usual dull routine of a mining camp life was about to transpire.
Four long weary months had dragged themselves by since the snow came down upon Rabbit Creek Canon, and put an end to all out-door operations of the miners. For four months the little town had been ​cut off from all communication with its neighbors. The earth was buried deep beneath the white shroud which had so silently fallen upon it. The creek was bound in fetters of ice, and the piercing blast from the trumpet of rude Boreas, who sat amongst the crags high up the Sierras, had come down through the canons and gulches with a keenness that made them cut like a razor, and kept everybody within doors. Four months had elapsed since a mail had been received, and during all of that time the inhabitants of the camp had eaten their food, made snow-shoes, and waited patiently for news from the outer world.
A slight thaw, followed by a severe "cold snap," occurring a few days before the opening of my sketch, had formed a thick crust upon the snow. This crust being sufficiently strong to support the heaviest man, its advent was hailed with universal delight, because it enabled the miners to get abroad. The reader may rest assured that after having been held in snowy fetters so long, the residents were only too glad to visit the town, where they could spend a few hours in the drinking-saloons and stores in talking over the prospects of the coming season, or visit the gambling-house and indulge their passion for gaming—a passion that existed in the breast of nearly every miner in California during the five years following the advent of the mining population.
The gamblers, those who dealt faro, monte, and other games of chance, and who followed no other occupation, were delighted with the change. For weeks it had been "dog eat dog" with them, and ​now the prospect of having a few outsiders to fleece was a source of great gratification. In order to celebrate the event they had clubbed together, raised a purse of a thousand dollars, and offered it as a prize to the person who could make the quickest time on snow-shoes over a track to be designated by a committee. The contest was to be free to all who chose to engage in it; and it was to witness this race that so many of the hardy sons of toil came into La Porte, and their arrival in the village had caused the bustle alluded to in the opening paragraph.
La Porte, at the time of which we write, consisted of half a dozen saloons, where liquor was sold and games of chance played, two or three stores where groceries, mining tools, etc., were kept on hand, a couple of blacksmith shops, a shoe shop, and a hotel. It was as flourishing a camp as could be found in the mines; and the miners on Rabbit Creek were as industrious and thrifty as any in California.
The miners as they came into the town on the morning referred to, would drop into a saloon, exchange a few words with the inmates, take a drink or two, and then go to another saloon, where the proceedings would be repeated. Upon the countenance of every one could be observed a look which indicated relief from confinement, a determination to enjoy the day, and a sort of I-don't-care-for-anything appearance generally.
The attention of a group of persons standing in front of the hotel was attracted to a man who was descending the hill, at the foot of which the town was ​built. He was a tall, raw-boned man of about thirty years of age; although his stooping shoulders and swinging gait gave him the appearance of being much smaller than he really was.
There was something in the movement of the man to attract attention, and as he drew nearer and a better view of his features were obtained, the broad, high forehead and piercing nut-brown eyes indicated that he was a man equal to any emergency, and one who could upon occasion wield a powerful force for good or evil amongst his acquaintances.
Gabe Husker, for such was the name of the person who had become the centre of attraction, was the owner of a valuable mine a couple of miles above the town. It was generally thought he had a large amount of gold dust hidden away; and this belief being shared by the gamblers, they had made numberless efforts to induce him to play, but so far without success. In fact Gabe had no love for gaming, nor liking for those who managed games of chance. He regarded all gamblers as thieves, and was no way bashful in speaking his sentiments. The gamesters, however, refused to be insulted by him, because they hoped ultimately to be able to succeed in their designs, when they would be avenged for all the insults he had ever given them.
​"Hello, Gabe, is that you? I'm dern glad to see you!" "How's things out in the hill?" "Many of the boys comin' down to-day?" "By jingo, yon look sorter blue round the gills; come up and name yer ruin," exclaimed a dozen voices, and as many hands were extended to welcome the new arrival.
Amongst those welcoming Gabe was Hank Seymour, the owner of one of the most valuable claims on the creek — a good natured fellow, whose worst enemy was his appetite ; who never visited the town without getting drunk, and, when in that condition, and unfit for any business, visiting the gambling-houses and losing heavily. He had been one of the first to arrive on the morning alluded to, and had immediately commenced drinking.
"Thank yer; 'blieve I will wet my sofergrass with a mite of Kaintuck wine. It's powerful good for a steady drink; a miserable sight better nor champagne and absence; sticks closer to yer ribs, and don't leave no headache behind. Then, again, it's a home production, and I allers allow that a man as don't patternize home products ain't worth shucks. So, bar-keep, yer may jiss pass over yer corn-juice!"
"Will you take bitters or sugar, sir?"
​A bottle was placed before him. Pouring a glass nearly full, Gabe raised it in his hand, held it between the light and his eye, and after gazing at it affectionately for a few moments, said:
"Here's to we uns; may we all have heaps of luck and water when the winter breaks."
"We'll all drink to that!" exclaimed the miners as they raised the glasses to their lips and poured the liquid fire down their throats.
"As I remarked, when I first came in, times are right peart on Rabbit Creek, ain't they?'
"Yes, sorter, kind o' peart," responded one of the group. "The fact is, times has been infernally dull for a long while, and 'twas necessary for to do something to bust the shell. Things having got a boost, there is a right smart chance of peartness goin' on." The speaker was the proprietor of a faro game, who, being anxious to cultivate Mr. Husker's acquaintance, sought to improve the occasion. He was a large-framed, bull-necked, dark-eyed, scowling- countenanced fellow, known by the name of Chadwick, who, rumor declared, had, since his advent into California, killed one or two men and robbed a great many others, but during his residence on Rabbit Creek he had conducted himself in a manner to give no offense. His features were marked with several deep scars, which gave evidence of his having participated in many a desperate combat, while the bowie-knife and revolver in his belt indicated that he was prepared for war at any moment.
By eleven o'clock between three and four hundred ​miners had assembled in the town, and all were more or less under the influence of liquor. The gamblers, after treating all hands until they began to show symptoms of inebriation, opened their little games and commenced winning the money of those who were foolish enough to play. Around each table could be seen a crowd of hardy fellows betting their hard-earned dust, and indulging in rude jests and boisterous laughter. The harsh oaths that would occasionally escape from the lips of some of the players, gave evidence that luck could not prevail against scientific attainments in the art of cheating, and that the gamblers were making hay while the sun shone.
After the noon-day meal had been disposed of, the committee of arrangements set to work to arrange the preliminaries for the snow-shoe race. Judges, time-keepers, referees, starters, etc., were appointed, rules established, and everything fixed in consonance with the ideas of the majority of the committee. Then those who were to take part in the contest were notified to appear at the starting-post. The judges took their positions; those who had been absorbed in gambling forsook the tables, and sought places from whence a good view of the race could be had.
When the hour for starting arrived the signal was given, and the contestants bounded off with the speed of lightning. At the last moment a woman appeared upon the scene and started with the others. She was evidently an expert in the use of the snow-shoes, and passed several of the contestants during the first ​hundred yards. Those who were watching the race became fearfully excited, and whenever the woman would succeed in passing one of the racers, they would make the welkin ring with their shouts of joy and encouragement.
"Who is she?" was asked on all sides, but no one answered the question.
It is not my intention to give a description of the snow-shoe race, nor to paint a picture of the exciting contest. I only allude to it for the purpose of giving the reader a clue to what is yet to come. The race was soon over, and was won by the mysterious female, who had been materially aided by the wind catching in the skirts of her dress.
Perhaps her success may partially have been caused by the gallantry of the other contestants, who thought it would be ungentlemanly to beat a woman. But of this we cannot speak knowingly.
There were but two or three females on Rabbit Creek at the time of which we write, and consequently great curiosity prevailed to learn which one had entered the lists and carried off the prize, and no sooner had the contestants crossed the home mark than the crowd rushed forward and surrounded them.
"Who is she?" cried a dozen voices, the owners of which were pushing with might and main to get a glimpse of the lady's features.
The victor threw back the bonnet and veil that covered and concealed her features, and revealed the face of a man, bearded like a pard.
"Oh, pshaw! 'taint no woman, after all!" exclaimed ​Hank Seymour, as he elbowed his way from the center of the circle.
"Then who in thunder is it?" asked one who was using his best efforts to get a sight of the champion.
"Well I'm danged ef that ar woman don't turn out to be Jim Wilkinham, who lives over on t' other side of the hill," said Gabe Husker, whose curiosity appeared to have been satisfied. "Jim has been playing roots on the boys, and is a thousand dollars better off fur havin' done so. But dog me ef I don't think the race ought to be run over agin. I wouldn't stand being cheated that way ef I was one of 'em."
At this moment fierce, angry words were heard within the circle. Several persons appeared to be taking part in the dispute, and again the crowd pressed forward to see what was the matter. Suddenly the sharp report of a pistol rang out, and the crowd which had formed the circle fled pell-mell. Turning quickly, Husker saw that a murder had been committed. The winner of the purse was lying motionless upon the snow, while the blood, pouring in a stream from a wound in his bosom, was rapidly crimsoning the ground. The bullet had passed through his heart, and death had been instantaneous. A few feet distant stood Chadwick, coolly returning his revolver to its resting-place in the scabbard which hung over his hip.
"What in hell have yer been a doing?" yelled Husker as he jumped toward the murderer.
"Bin a givin' a dern skunk his deserts. No dang dead-beat can ever git any of my money by such a ​fraud upon the community as this one. I go fur all sich, every time, you bet!"
"I guess we'll have to go fur you," said Husker, as he laid his hand upon the shoulder of the murderer. "Don't you lay yer hands on me, or by the holy St. Paul I'll put daylight through you," yelled the gambler as he leaped back and made a motion as if to draw a weapon.
"That's played out, and it won't be remarkably healthy fur you to attempt to draw yer weapons on old Gabe. He has fit too many grizzlies to be afeard of such a catamount as you. Ef you surrender yerself into custody, I'll see that you have a fair, square trial, but ef you make a dern fool of yerself, you'll go up the flume without judge or jury."
"I don't propose to have you interfere in my affairs, and I guess I'll prepare you for a funeral," cried the gambler, as he drew his pistol and pointed it at Gabe.
Before the desperado had time to pull the trigger, his arms were beaten down and he was seized from behind by some of the miners, who soon overpowered and securely bound him, hand and foot, and carried him into the tavern, around the door of which a number of excited persons instantly collected. Some proposed to satisfy the ends of justice by hanging the prisoner at once, but Gabe, who appeared to have been intuitively accepted as a leader, declared that the fair name of the Rabbit Creekers should not be tarnished by acts of lawlessness.
The prisoner, notwithstanding that he was bound ​hand and foot, and entirely at the mercy of his captors, was as cool and collected as if he was seated behind his gambling-table, shuffling cards for a lot of greenhorns. He would sneeringly address those who were crying out for his life, and say:
"You dern fools are a-wastin' of yer breaths. Yer can't hang me. 'Tain't in the cards. I wasn't born to be hung. So 'tain't no use making a fuss about sich a little matter, and you'd be making money ef you'd stop botherin' me."
"What makes you think there is no danger of our hanging you?" asked one of those who had been stationed as guard over the prisoner.
"'Cause when I was born'd, the stars showed that I was to be drownded."
"May be the stars will fail."
"They can't. They have shone in the heavens ever since the creation, and will remain thar until the end of time; so 'tis impossible for 'em to fail."
"We'll see about it after a while."
The question of how the prisoner should be tried was a difficult one to settle. There was no regularly instituted court nearer than Marysville, and to send him there and await the law's delays would cost too much money, occupy too much time, and be certain to result in the prisoner's escaping merited punishment. After the subject had been thoroughly canvassed in all its bearings, it was decided to organize a court, and have the trial take place immediately. Gabe Husker was chosen judge, another miner sheriff; a jury was then selected to try the prisoner, and ​sworn by the judge to perform their duties to the best of their ability. A person who had witnessed the shooting volunteered to act as prosecuting attorney, and a gambler who had been a friend of the prisoner was sent for to appear and conduct the defense.
In response to the summons, the latter entered the room where the court was being held, and seated himself beside the prisoner. His eyes no sooner rested on the faces of those chosen as jurors than he felt that the fate of his client was decided, and, though he labored ever so hard, he would be unable to accomplish anything.
The preliminaries having been arranged, Judge Husker took a seat upon the table, and directed the sheriff to declare the court open for business. "Oh, yes! Oh, yes! All ye are hereby notified that this court is now open for the trial of David Chadwick for the high crime of murder. All assembled will take notice, and govern themselves accordingly," cried the sheriff.
A few moments' confusion followed this announcement, during which the crowd endeavored to secure seats or favorable positions from which to observe the proceedings. Silence having been secured, the judge said:
"This 'ere honorable court is now open for the trial of a person accused of the murder of a human being. I find myself in a peculiar situation, and must own that I have some misgivings of my ability to discharge the duties of that position. But I'll try ​my level best to be equal to the occasion. We are away up here in the mountains whar we hain't got no Californy law, therefore I propose to put it to a vote whether we shall try the prisoner by Lynch law or Missouri law. I hold in my hand a copy of the Constitution and By-Laws of the State of Missouri, which are good enough law for me, and ought to be good enough for any one. It will look better abroad ef we try the prisoner by real law than by Lynch law, consequently I'm in favor of usin' Missouri law on this trial; but having been elected judge by you, I shall be governed entirely by your decision.
"Your head is level, you bet, Judge," cried one of the spectators.
"Now all that is in favor of trying the prisoner by Missouri law say yes," continued his Honor.
A tremendous "yes" went up from the throats of the assembled multitude, the prisoner voting in the affirmative, and saying:
"I like Missouri law better than Lynch law, 'cause you see real law has a restrainin' influence onto the jurors."
"You have decided that this trial shall be governed by real law," continued the Court. "I think it would be doin' the neat thing ef some one would heft up a prayer as a sort o' starter. If any of you have had experience in wrestling with the Lord, I hope you won't be backward about volunteerin.' Tom Rayburn, yer father was an old prayer fighter; can't you give us a heft?"
"No, thank you, Judge; the old man consumed all ​the prayer there was in our family, and didn't leave any for his boys."
"Bill Gillam, you used to 'tend meetin' afore you come to Californy; what do you say?"
"Raly, Gabe, yer Honor, ef yer please, I don't feel ekal to the task."
After calling upon several others with like results, Gabe knelt down and offered up a fervent but homely petition to the Throne of Grace for guidance during the trial. He prayed that the hearts of the jurors might be softened towards the accused, so that they might judge the prisoner at the bar justly, and deal with him rightly. He pleaded for courage to perform the disagreeable duty that had been imposed on him, and closed with an appeal for mercy for him whose hands were yet warm with the blood of a fellow-being.
"I say, Judge, let's have something to drink afore we go any further with this ere show," said the prisoner; "that dern long prayer of yourn has made me feel as dry as a tinder-box."
"Well, I don't keer ef I do take a little tarantaler juice to make things run smooth," replied the Court. The sheriff, without waiting for orders, hastened to fetch the liquors and some glasses from the bar. His Honor and the prisoner took a drink together, the latter saying:
"I drink to the success of yer show; now go ahead and get through with this dern nonsense. I want to get back to my game."
The sheriff was going to remove the bottle, when ​his Honor stopped him, saying-, "This ere will probably be trying work, and I guess you had better leave the liquor, I may want some more of it."
The trial was then commenced, and conducted with perfect fairness. A number of witnesses testified to the shooting; in fact, the prisoner himself declared to the jury that he had killed the miner, and gave as a reason for having done so, that he had fooled everybody by putting on woman's clothing, exciting their curiosity, and swindling those engaged in the race. For his part, he thought "any dern skunk as would humbug a whole mining camp deserved to have a bullet-hole bored through his diaphragm."
After the testimony had been taken, the case was summed up in short speeches by the counsel and submitted to the jury. A whispered conversation for a few moments followed, and then the verdict was announced. The prisoner had been found guilty of murder in the first degree, and sentenced to be hanged by the neck until he was dead,
"I'll bet any man in the room five to one that I am not hanged until I am dead," coolly remarked the prisoner, when the verdict was rendered.
"I'll take you for a half-dozen ounces," replied the foreman of the jury, who was none other than our old friend, Hank Seymour, "fur it's the only time I ever had a dead thing on you. And now, my dying friend, let me give you a little advice. Select the spot you want to buried in, and engage your undertaker."
"Thank you for your advice, but I guess it hain't ​any use to take it, for I tell you that I'll be riding over these mountains when your bones are bleaching in the wind."
"Ef you do ride over these hills after to-day, it will be as a first-class ghost, for you will be a dead man in an hour from now."
At this moment Gabe Husker approached the prisoner and said: "I hope you'll 'scuze me for the part I've taken in this matter, and b'lieve that I've only done my dooty to my feller-citizens. You have had a fair trial, 'cording to the by-laws of Missouri, and I hope the decision is agreeable to you."
"I hain't got nothing to say agin it; it's all been conducted on the square; nary Jack was turned from the bottom. I am satisfied with everything so far. But you'll be doing me a favor if you'll hurry up matters a little and get through with it. I am anxious to get back to my game. I'm losin' a heap of money through the dern foolishness of you fellers."
"You had better be puttin' your cards in order for a game in the other world, 'cause you'll soon be a lay-out for the devil," remarked a bystander.
"May be you have something to bet that my lamp goes out to-day?"
"Yes, I have."
"Look here, Dave, you are making a dern fool of yourself," exclaimed the gambler, who had acted as the prisoner's counsel. "You are a bettin' agin yerself. The fust thing you know you'll have so many bets out that these fellers will lift you outen the world fur to win their bets. My advice to you is to prepare ​to shuffle. 'Tain't no use lookin' at fate with your eyes shut. These fellers mean business, and hav got it in fur you."
"You are mistaken in your knowledge of the game of human natur. Thar ain't goin' to be no hangin' so far as I'm consarned. Dog on it, hain't I told yer that a fortune-teller read it in the stars that I was born'd to be drownded; and, if I am to be drownded, I can't be hanged!"
"I'm afeard the fortune-teller had lost the run of the cards when he told you that. Thar ain't no chance for yer neck now."
The sheriff, accompanied by several men who had been erecting a gallows under a tree, which grew near by, now entered and took charge of the prisoner, whom they conducted to the scene where the last act of the drama was to be played. The preliminaries were quickly made, the rope placed around the neck of the doomed man, and when everything was in readiness, the prisoner was asked if he had anything to say before he was launched into eternity.
"This 'ere joke has gone fur enough, and as my feet are gettin' cold, I wish you would wind it up. I'm tired of bein' fooled with."
The sheriff now addressed the prisoner, saying: "You have been tried according to the laws of the State of Missouri; you have been found guilty, and the time for the execution of the sentence of the Court has arrived. I, therefore, must proceed to perform my dooty."
"I say, hold on. I appeal this 'ere case to the ​Supreme Court of Missouri," said the prisoner, "and you can't carry out the sentence until after the appeal has been decided."
This change in the aspect of affairs somewhat staggered the crowd, and delayed the execution a short while. Judge Husker was called upon to give his views upon the case, and did so, as follows:
"The prisoner was tried by Missouri law, found guilty, and sentenced to death by the law; and thar cannot be a doubt about his right to appeal to the Supreme Court of Missouri. So fur so good. But courts are always in the habit of goin' on until the Supreme Court issues its mandamus stayin' perceedin's. Therefore the sentence of this court will be carried out, unless properly stayed by a mandamus. Ef the perceedin's ain't reg'lar, they can be reviewed when the case reaches the higher court."
The decision of his Honor was received with a shout, the prisoner said, "all right, go ahead." The sheriff gave the signal and the trap was sprung. The rope broke, letting the murderer drop in the snow beneath the scaffold. He struggled to his feet, returned to the scaffold, and looking over the crowd, said:
"Thar, didn't I tell yer that I couldn't be hung? I claim my bets. Now, gentlemen, as this show is over, I thank you for your kind attendance, and all of you as has got any money and wants a lay-out at faro, just foller me and I'll give you a lively game."
He turned to leave the scaffold, when he was met by the sheriff, who held in his hand a much stronger ​rope than the one first used. This was soon knotted about the neck of the victim, who looked at the rope and then at the faces surrounding him, but failed to see any sympathy for him.
"See here, gentlemen," said he, "this 'ere thing has become serious, and before you make another pull, give me time to change my bets. I'll copper the fortune-teller this time, and play him to lose, 'cause I b'leeve you fellers can call the turn."
He stopped speaking, waived his hand to the Sheriff as a signal to proceed, and in a moment more the unfortunate man was standing in the presence of Him who judgeth all things.
"Times are right peart on Rabbit Creek," said Hank Seymour to Gabe Husker, as they turned to leave the scene of execution.
"Yes, right peart," was the reply.
At this point the doctor, who had apparently been asleep for the last hour, rolled over in his blankets and, with a yawn, inquired:
"And how long did you remain on Rabbit Creek after all that took place, Don Carlos?"
"Oh, not long; I left the next day, I believe."
"Well, that is just what I'd have advised you to do if I'd been there."
​Charley evidently took the doctor's attempted pleasantry a little ungraciously, and the subject was dropped.
This reprehensible-propensity for betting on every possible subject is a peculiarity of California, and crops out distinctly on all occasions. Your genuine Californian, whether of Spanish origin and to the manner born, or Yankee by habit and only a son of the Golden State by adoption, has two peculiarities which strike a stranger most forcibly, next to his pardonable admiration for everything Californian, and, as a matter of course, contempt for anything which is not. He is perfectly cosmopolitan in his sympathy for misfortune, want, or suffering, and ready to give on the instant with reckless liberality, to any person or cause appealing to him for assistance, and is ever ready to bet his last dollar, the shirt off his back, or the boots off his feet, for or against any proposition on any subject which any person may advance in his hearing. Say to him, "Mrs. Smith, who has seven fatherless children, lost her house by fire last night," and he answers, "That is all I want to hear, bet your life, old boy! Here is all the loose change I have got about me; but if you cannot make up enough, come again and I'll give you a check!" Does he ride in a stage-coach over the Sierra Nevada, and in turning a short curve it misses stays and goes over the precipice—a by no means uncommon occurrence—he improves the opportunity as the vehicle goes crashing over the rocks, to shout in his neighbor's ear, "I go you the drinks for all hands, that over half ​of us ain't killed!" This betting is confined to no class or race; it pervades society from its out-croppings on the surface down to the bed-rock. It appears to be inherent in the air. Juan, the native Californian or Mexican, bets his week's earnings in the mine on the color of the seeds of a watermelon which he bought for a dime, on the result of a break-neck race between two wild mustangs, ridden by two wilder vaqueros, on the issue of a cock-fight, or the turn of a card, loses, and is happy. John, from the Celestial Empire, bets his money, earned by the hardest kind of hard work, on the game of "Than," or "Tan," or on the Chinese game of dominoes. Jonathan, from "away down east," loses all regard for his early schooling, and bets his pile on anything, no matter how absurd.
The native Indians are as fond of betting as the native or imported Californian of Caucasian blood. Once upon a time I found myself on the bank of the Colorado River, among the stalwart Mojaves, the largest and finest race of Indians on the continent. An old sub-chief had traded with a gold hunter for a Spanish jackass, known as a buro in Spanish-American countries, and was riding him up and down the river-bank in great state, as full of new-born dignity as the King of all the Mosquitoes, when he mounts a new breech-clout, and is saluted as "His Royal Highness, the good friend and ally of Her Majesty, Victoria, by the grace of God," etc., etc. Unluckily, at the moment of his supreme happiness, a fellow Mojave dared him to play a game of the swindling crib​bage with Spanish cards, so much affected by the red sons of the burning desert. The banter was accepted, down went both parties on their bellies in the dirt, a ring of admiring spectators was formed, and the game commenced. My chief lost, and in an instant loud jeers arose on all sides; they resemble "Melican man" astonishingly, and have no sympathy for the man who gets cleaned out. Without a word, and with a face as impassive and devoid of expression of any kind as a side of sole-leather, the grim old warrior arose and walked to the spot where the buro was tied. Taking the cord in his hand, he solemnly lead the diminutive animal to his new owner and formally delivered him. Thus much for his word, but now for revenge for insulted dignity. As the winner stretched out his hand and took the rope, the loser, quick as lightning, drew a long, sharp knife, and at one blow cut through the buro's neck, and dropped him in his tracks, "as dead as Kelsey's hen," then turned away in gloomy silence and sought his first and ugliest wife, doubtless with the intention of giving her a good drubbing on general principles.
I had at that moment a fragmentary suit of clothes in which I had just crossed the desert. The shirt was of many colors—mostly of earthen hue—and the collar was as stiff with sweat and dust as a piece of sheet-iron. The drawers had once been of woollen goods, and had a seat to them, but from contact with the saddle and the great heat of the atmosphere, had done their work, and there was a frightful vacancy where the seat had been. The socks were pretty ​much of a piece with the shirt, and the cravat ditto. A fit of generosity came over me. I had donned a new suit of under-clothing, and the old one was worthless; I could afford to be liberal. Calling a young buck, I bade him strip himself, put the shirt, drawers—what there was left of them—socks and neck-tie upon him, turned the collar of the shirt up so that it reached nearly to the top of his head, and then turned him loose. I saw him going down to the encampment or rancheria all right, with two buxom squaws following admiringly behind him, the condition of his drawers being no draw-back on his appearance in that society. I felt that I had done a noble thing and made a fellow-creature happy. Judge of my surprise, not to say disgust, when I came back an hour later and found him stretched at full length on the dusty earth, playing cards for the various articles of clothing I had bestowed upon him, with a hump-backed squaw and two gallant young bloods belonging to the first families of the Mojaves. They had played everything off him but the neck-tie when I arrived, and, clad in that light and airy costume only, he was then gambling for that, with a fair chance of losing. I almost felt like giving him a new rig, but did not on reflection.
I was once walking along one of the streets of that part of San Francisco most expressively known as the Barbary Coast, where "pirates, rovers and assailing thieves" most do congregate to prey upon the unwary, in company with a friend, a well-known physician, when we heard a shot, and saw a man bare​headed and in his shirt-sleeves run out of a house and dash into an alley, pursued by a crowd of policemen and citizens who chanced to be in the vicinity, all joining with a will in the chase. The pursued ran like a deer, turned and doubled on his pursuers, and climbed fences, and went over low buildings into all sorts of out-of-the-way places to escape, but in vain. At every turn his pursuers increased in number, and he was constantly headed off and more nearly cornered. Several times a policeman raised his revolver to bring him down, but did not fire—for a wonder—lest he should hit somebody else; and as often the pursued would drive back his volunteer pursuers who were closing around him, by pointing at them a pistol, with one barrel of which he had just shot his ex-mistress through the head, and shouting to them to keep out of reach or he would give them the contents. Surrounded at last, he sat down in an area, placed his head against a fence, and putting the pistol to his head, sent a bullet crashing through his skull, before a policeman who was hard upon him could catch his hand. The doctor and myself were in the area in a minute more, and two men who had followed him in all his turnings were close behind us. The doctor stooped to raise the head of the miserable suicide, just as one of these men exclaimed, "He is dead as a mackerel!" "Hold on, doctor, don't touch him yet!" said the other, reaching out to prevent the doctor's hand falling upon him, and then turning to his friend, "I'll bet you $5 that he ain't!" "Done!" said the other. "Is he dead, doctor?" "Dead as the ​bull-rushes around little Moses!" was the doctor's reply. "Here is your money. Blame me, I never could win, even when I bet on a dead thing!" said the loser with a grim pleasantry, as he turned away.
The writer was riding once on the Cliff House road on a pet mustang which, when pushed, would win a race or kill somebody in the attempt. A friend came up on a livery-stable nag which he fancied had speed in him, and said to me, "I have got an animal here that can beat yours!" Another acquaintance standing near, who knew both animals, replied on the instant, "When, where, how far, and for how much?" The race was made inside of half a minute by the reply, "Now, here, a mile, and for twenty dollars." I afterwards had some of that money.
In the latter part .of 1867, the ferry steamer Washoe was crossing the Bay of San Francisco to Oakland just at night-fall, when a passenger who had been watching a suspiciously - acting man, thinking him probably a thief, saw him creep stealthily to the stern of the boat, look around to see if he was watched, and then jump overboard. The cry, "man overboard!" was raised in an instant, the steamer stopped, and a boat was lowered to look for the drowning man. He could not be seen in the water, and the man who raised the cry was accused by somebody of selling the crowd; he had not seen anybody jump overboard at all. He swore he had, and would lick any man who said he did not. He found an individual ready to accept the proposition, and licked his man. The boat started on, and the discussion ​waxed warmer as it got nearer the landing. At last a bet of five dollars was offered that no man had jumped overboard, and a taker was found at once; had the first party offered to bet that a man did jump overboard, number two would have been equally ready to bet the other way. The money was placed in the hands of the bar-keeper, and left there until he should decide who won. Next day it was discovered that A. Marius Chappelle, at one time one of the wealthiest men in San Francisco, impelled by the fear of becoming insane—a fear which was the effect of insanity itself—had loaded himself down with old iron, jumped overboard and gone immediately to the bottom of the bay, never to rise again alive, he having left letters on shore announcing his determination to drown himself. The money was paid over to the winner on this discovery being made known.
A man known as "Little Zeke" applied one day for a position on the police force of San Francisco. His appearance at the police office was the signal for a regular burst of laughter. His face had called up a ludicrous reminiscence of old times. Some years ago an animated contest was going on between Frank Whitney and James Nuttman for the office of Chief Engineer of the Fire Department, and the present applicant for the silver star was an excited and deeply devoted partisan of the latter. Little Zeke was in a saloon where Whitney had his headquarters, late in the evening of election day, pretty well panned out and deeply dejected, but still clinging to the hope of his friend's election, as a drowning kitten will cling to ​a stick. There was a rush at the door, and a friend of Whitney, half breathless, crowded in and announced that Frank was elected. At that, Little Zeke, struggling wonderfully to suppress the sobs which rose in his throat and would choke his utterance in spite of him, exclaimed:
"Well, boys, I (sob) am dead busted—have treated away all my money, but this eye cost (sob) fifty dollars (sob, sob), and I'II put that tip agin twenty-five that Jim Nuttman wins, after all!"
As he said that, he ran his finger under his glass eye, and slipping it out of the socket, laid it defiantly down on the counter, glaring around at the crowd with a single optic and an unsightly hole in his head. One of the opposition was just hauling out his money to see Little Zeke on the glass eye bet, when one of Nuttman's friends came in and said: "We give it up—Jim's beaten!" Whereupon, Little Zeke snatched up his eye, slipped it back into the socket, and started out on the run, while yells of laughter from the crowd made the building fairly shake.
Such are some of the eccentricities of Californians.