Washington standard. [volume] (Olympia, Wash. Territory) 1860-1921, 1873-07-12
A Gold-Hunter's Story.
By AN OLD MINER.

our campfire, but as you have de-
cided that shall lead of, promise to
do my best One thing: What ever
my story lacks in the manner of telling,
it will make up in truth.
We lit our pipes, assumed comfort
able positions in our blankets, and then
Harry asked:
"Did you ever meet Bob Adams in
Californian
"No; none of us ever had that pleas
ure."
"Well, you would have met with q
first rate fellow; but this will illustrate
his virtues.
Bob Adams went up to Puget Sound
with Sim Robbins and steamboat full
of others, to get rich in the placers of
British Columbia, in which, by the way,
never took much stock.
Jim Robbins was an ex-lieutenant in
the army, who had been forced to re-
sign for some unusual violation of the
rules and regulations.
Being an engineer and West-Point-
er, Robbins went down to the Tule Riv-
er, after leaving the army, feeling GER
tain of turning his skill to account; but
he didn't, for, rs you know, it doesn't
require much scientific training to stake
off claim and go to panning out dirt.
Bob Adams had been gulching on
Tule River, and being good, sober
fellow, with no taste for poker or its
kindred games he made money and
friends, and it was we'll known why he
worked SO hard and exercised so much
self-denial.
Bob had a romantic attachment
as love is called now-a-days-for Mary
Stanley. They had been children to-
gether, and when DR.. Stanley, Mary's
father, was appointed to the army,
Bob still wrote to her, and distance
made no abatement in the warmth Of
his affections; and Mary, though separ-
ated from her first love, went on, cher
ishing in the temple of her pure heart,
the idol reared there in her childhood.
Bob Adams was poor, yet he built q
castle for his little brown-haired dar-
ling--that is, he drew the plans, and
he went to California for the material
to construct it, and every time he raised
his pick in the auriferous soil, he
thought "There, Mary, I'm digging the
foundation of home for you-and for
me-" .
He was queer, unselfsh, old-fash-
ioned young fellow; and was often
laughed at by those who loved him, for
he never entered bar, and spent his
spare time reading prosy book, or a
threadbare letter in woman's hand.
He never swore, yet l have heard
bearded fellows swear, after wiping
their lips and bringing down their
strong fists upon the bar of the Eureka
Saloon, that "thar wasn't no better
clay dug than that Of which Bob Adams
was built"
Thar's no use O. tryin' to so back
on Bob Adams!" said San Diego Mart,
one night, when some fellow intimated
there was good deal of the old maid
about Bob Adams" Thar's no use
tryin' to go back on him, by the ghost
of the Sierra"
Mart brought down his fist with an
emphasis that made the glasses leap
with spasmodic nervousness on the
bar, and Monte Pete, the bartender,
looked pale and glanced around for an
avenue of retreat, in case San Diego
Mart should look so savage again and
repeat his terrible oath. For the pal
pable body of the Sierras, that held our
camp between his feet, and raised its
snowy heads above us and above the
clouds, was such huge affair that any
man with spark Of Imagination must
see that its ghost was something simply
tremendous.
Didn't Bob Adams 60 into the noun
tain last winter, through ten feet of
snow, and bring Illinois Tom back, q
living skeleton, when we all thought
him deadP Say, answer that!
Mart brought down his fist again,
and little Pete, the bartender, trembled
down to the bottom of his lately half
soled boots.
"Y-a-s, that ar's true" said the man
who had dared to intimate that Bob
Adams was effeminats.