The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1881-04-21

that was solemn fact expressed IN as
few words as possible--and beloved she
loved me, but the top of Mount Shasta
was not more unattainable to me than
Jennie. Her father, an old Philadelphia
druggist, had money, and l had none.
He was proud as Lucifer, and as ambi-
tious for his daughter as he was proud.
1 felt that I could move a mountain if
1 could find a mountain to move, so
Jennie and I said goodbye one afternoon
under an old oak in Paramount Park,
and in the the very depths OF my heart
l believed she would be true to me. 1t
was not seven days ride in palace car
from New York to San Francisco those
days, and the tall, slender, hungry, pen
niless lad who tramped along here
twenty nine years ago, seeking his for
tune like another Dick Wilmington, was
a weary and homesick one, as well"
"By here which you twice used, do
YOU mean this veritable valley of the
Sacramento?" asked Ruth.
'The very same. My objective point
was place now famous in the annals OF
that period, called 'Bidwells Bar, on &C
count of rich bar in the Feather river,
full of golden sand, which was discov-
cred by General Bidwell. The place
was many miles from me, the country
was sparsely settled, did not know
soul (for even tramps were scarce In
those early days., and so my courage
and my legs gave out together. Pulling
off my old boots about five o'clock one
sultry day, barred my blistered feet to
the cool evening breeze, and creeping
into clump of young manzanitas, fell
asleep, hoping I would never again wake
this side the stars. did, however, con-
scious that my toes were being licked
in gentle fashion, and discovered that
it was being done by young brown set
ter dog, about as hungry looking and
generally dilapidated as was myself.
Where he came from never knew, but
looking into his half human eyes, we
speedily entered into q sort of dumb
compact to trudge on together. I found
that the poor fellow I could never call
him brute) had sore knee, inflamed
and bleeding. I tore strip from off my
last handkerchief to bind it up, and in
place of the good Samaritan's oil ard
wine, gave him my last scrap OF cold ba-
con. 1t is strange, but forlorn as was
in those days, recall them with ten
der pleasure, almost unaccountable. If
I had been raised Bramin, 1 would
have believed that some immortal
spirit of unfailing cheerfulness and
unending resources was imprisoned
in that dogs body. Did you ever
read the fairy legend of the White Cat,
WHO, after she had persuaded the
young prince, her lover, to cut off her
read and tail and throw them in the fire,
suddenly stood before him a woman, as
fair as Aurora? Fritz, for that was the
name by which I called the dog, looked
at me with Jennie's brown eyes, half
roguish, half thoughtful, and together
we resumed our journey. Nor would l
have followed in the wake of the young
prince, even had I known the result
would be similar, for Fritz, the dog, was
invaluable, just as he was. All lone
someness was gone, now that he rarely
left my side, and although our shadows
had grown less by the time we reached
the Bar our immaterial entities were in
prime order for anything in the shape of
adventure. Have never seen any gold
dug Then I'll not at this late day spoil
your first impressions of a miners camp
by describing mine, as I approached
Bidwell's Bar. l may say though that
one might have supposed an earthq Quake
or tornado had been at work there, tear
ing up the hundreds of thousands of
cubic feet that had been moved and re-
moved by mortal hands in their frantic
and persistent search for gold. The
Bar was world in miniature. Almost
every nationality was there represented,
and almost every feature of human kind
but humanity. Armed with o pick, pan,
and shovel, 1, like hundreds Of others,
began 20 dig, and burrow, and wash dirt.
But my labor and its results would not
balance, for somehow my little leather
bag of gold dust grew no heavier, toll as
l would. Wages being good, I stopped
digging and hired myself as sort of camp
scullion. did every kind of jobbing |
within the range of miners wants. |
Washing dirty flannel shirts and cotton
overalls, patching leather trousers, and
cooking flap jacks is not the most digni- |
fed and flower strewn path to fortune,
you must know; and to boy, whose
ideas of chivalry, independence, and
deeds of knightly valor were purely and
Byronic. such fate you must
was q sort of poetic injus-
tice. My aim, though was to earn money
with which to buy a certain claim of
which l knew, that had, in advance,
Bonanza I might have sue
ceeded, but was Frustrated by malar-
ial fever. and for days and weeks lay I'M
non,osoro ~ kho konIar orov ~ foW