Weekly Trinity journal., 1874-01-03


tions from the decanter in ordinary use
were too large to leave any margin for
profit. He drank the poorest and cheap
est quality. He was never sick, always
at work, always blessed with a good ap-
petite. No one on the Bar ever thought
of saying, "Jones Is drinking himself to
DEATH" The old residenters " would
have laughed at such an idea. They had
found Jones there in 1852, drinking and
mining industriously, making an ounce
or two daily, and attired in that same old, ,
unwashed shirt and string tied duck pants
and his excessos had long since ceased to
be novelties. Delirium -trcmens had no
terrors for him. He said the "snakes "
did bother him once, but he got used to
'em. He "told 'em to go oil about their
business, and they went"
Jones was bit of mechanic, and
he once made door for Thompson
Thompson" said he, when the job was
finished, that's a good piece of work,
amt it? Well, when | was planin' out
that bit o. stun to day, planed tho heads
off N moron fourteen hundred snakes /!
Say, give us snorter, won't yer?"
One night, he said he heard lot of
voices talking near his cabin. They were
planning to kill Thompson, and rob the
store. He got up, and went out softly,
but could see no ono. Still, no heard
them ahead in the darkness. And they
would somehow keep ahead, and altho'
he followed them mile and half down
to Texas Bar, when all at once they
seemed to cross the river, and were audi
Bile the other side, on Graveyard Hill.
"Thcn," said Jones, 81 said to myself,
it's only snakes, by thunderr 2 and l
turned and como home"
"Tho beast with ten horns humph I"
remarked he one evening, the talk at the
store having taken theological turn !;
"why, I've seen him lots o. times-know
him like book ~
Years before Paddy Rourke and Jones
had been intimatos. Paddy would get
drunk, and then devote his time and en-
ergy to the beating Of Jones. At last,
Paddy fell overheard from his skiif while
crossing the river, and was drowned His
countrymen gathered and "waked him."
after their usual fashion. Jones was pres
ent, gravcly and silently improving the
occasion by turning into himself success
sive tumblers Of whisky. When tho last
howl had died away, and tho last custo-
mcr had succumbed, late walker on the
Bar found two cabins lit up. He looked
into one. There in his coffin, stir and
motonlcss, was Patrick Rourkc, with
six spcrmaccti candles, half burned away,
ON either side. The walkers lay sprawlod
about, giving vent to the stertorous breath
cabin-that Of Old Jones. o. j. lay on
the floor at his feet black bottle in
that famed n solitary tallow candle.
"What are you doing there, laid out
in that way?" was asked.
Waking myself" said Jones. "Pad-
dy's dead, and so am dead drunk ~
Finally, Jones made "small raise, -
and went to San Francisco. The report
crcpt back to the Bar that he had been
"shanghaed," and put on board clip
per bound for Calcutta. Everyone said
that was the last Of Jones. Long his
cabin remained shut up. Sometimes n
wandering miner would stray along, and
if he desired to cast anchor and try his
luck on the Bar, Thompson would allow
him the use Of Jones cabin. For all real
estate on Stony Bar, or ranyother Bar --and
there are hundreds Of such in California
in any similar unaccoun.able absence
Of the owner, naturally reverts into the
care and possession Of the store-kecper.
or a winters evening, the boys would
often mournfully recall Old Jones and
his legs. Because there was an individ-
uaity about those legs. Jones was one
recollection F; his legs another. No one
ever expected to see Jones again. lie
had drilted into the Bars ancient history.
One dark winters afternoon, Josh put
his head out of prospect-hole which
had been dug out, raked, scraped and
creviced for the twentieth time. lie spoke
in solemn fashion to Old Grizzly {:
"There's ghost, or there is Old Jones
coming down the Red Mountain trail ="
Legs unstable, yet never prostrated,
duck pants tied by the same string and
ever on the verge of coming off, gray
shirt, and Old Jones, were all there after
his two years absence. lie went direct
ly to the store, turned down a tumb!erful
of whisky, took possession Of his cabin,
and moved along the same as ever in his
accustomed track Of chronic inebriaton.
Another regular attendant at Stony
Bar Store was Bloody Bill. He was an
Englishman, a hard and persevering
drinker, one of the ugliest in fact of the
race, and his sole expletive for purposes
Of description, admiration, indignation,
pathos, or any other sentiment, was
"bloody," from whence he derived his
name. But he seldom spoke. Nor did
his silence impress one with the idea of
profundity. He was intellectually torpid.
While others talked, he was content to
listen heavily. lie seemed not to gather
therefrom any idea or suggestion, but
sort of inert and stupid wonderment,
such as any one may suppose a Hotten-
tot might derive from hearing the "Ora-
torio of the Creation" He never ven
tured an opinion. He seemed never to
speculate, never be curious, never admire.
The oyster cemented to the rock, and SIM
ply gaping for its sustenance. is emblem