Mower County transcript. [volume] (Lansing, Minn.) 1868-1915, 1883-04-11
SNOW-CAPPED SHASTA,
BY JOAQUIN MILLER.

BY JOAQUIN MILLER.
Early i'll the fall of 1866 I reached
Shasta City, in my slow journey from
Soda Springs, after the battle of Castle
Rocks, and there had the services of ar
Italian doctor, who quite healed my
wounds and set me once more upon my
feet. We became greatly attached, and
this new friend of the Old World
seemed resolved to be my friend indeed,
He had cabin and a mining claim nea,
Shasta City, and was counted rich in
gold dust. In this cabin he established
me, set me to reading all kinds of good
books, and began to teach me Italian
and Spanish. But my heart was not al
ways IN that cabin or with my books.
Often and often 1 climbed the highest
mountains looking away toward Mount
Shasta to the north. Somebody vas
waiting up there, I knew. / knew that
two dark eyes were pee1ing through the
dense wood toward the south; two soft.
brown hands parting the green foliage,
looking out the way that I should come.
certain that would come ut last. NV
friend and benefactor had furnished me
with fine horse and the finest saddle
that the place could furnish; besides, he
had armed me like a brigand, clad me in
a rich, wild fashion and filed my purse
with gold dust. Great plans he had for
our future going to the Old World and
resting all the years in Italy. was not
quite strong enough or yet quite con-
tent enough to work much, and so was
often absent, riding, dreaming, planning
how to get lack to the north and not
hurt the kind heart Of my new friend.
One Eight when was absent thus he
and his partner were both murdered in
their cabin and robbed of their gold.
When l returned the cabin was cold and
empty as the dead mems hands.
As the spring came tripping by from
the south over the chaparral hills of the
Shasta, leaving flowers in every footprint
as she passed, set my face for Mount
Shasta, the lightest-bearted lad that
ever mounted horse. A hard days ride
brought me to Portuguese Flat, the last
new mining camp and the nearest town
to my beloved Mount Shasta. Here
found my former partner in the Soda
Springs property, Mountain Joe. But
Mountain Joe was on great drunk, as
usual, and was the butt of the camp.
Whaley, then about the widest youth in
the land, but now leading state senator
in Oregon and one of the richest men of
Portland, had arranged sham duel, and
poor drunken little old Mountain Joe
was In a desperate state. NV heart
went out to him in this plight, for we
had slept under tbe same blanket. been
hungry together, had stood together and
bled together in fights, and SO I took
hum out of all his drunken trouble, got
him sober, and, 80 far as my few hun
dred dollars went, set him fairly on his
feet once more at dear old Soda Syringe.
But he could not pay me back, and so 1
found myself once more tied to Soda
Springs. Yet this was not 80 sad as one
might think. For here I was, within
short days ride of the two dark eyes.
which I think had never, as yet, looked
upon any white mans face but my own
Il did not stay much at Soda Springs.
AS winter came on Mountain Joe took
in another partner, one Reese, an inso-
lent, grasping Yankee, who made it I'M
pleasant for me, and 80 far as I was con-
cerned he soon became master of Soda
Spriogs. The Indian chief, Blackboard,
had given me beautiful little valley.
then known as Now-ow-wa, but now
called by the euphonious (?) name of
Squaw Valley, and I had built cabin
there. As the winter settled down and
the snow fell deep and fast, however,
the Indians all retreated down from out
the spurs Of Mount Shasta and took re-
fuge on the banks of the McClcud Riv-
or. 1 nailed up my cabin and on snow
shoes recrossed the fifteen miles of steep
and stupendous mountains and got down
to winter at my home with Mountain
Joe. But the new Yankee partner had
got his grasp about the throat of things
there, and instead of pitching him out
into the snow, I determined to give it all
up and set my face where l left my
heart, once more, finally and forever,
with the Indians. Loaded down with
arms and ammunition, one clear, frosty
morning in December [ climbed up the
spur of Mount Shasta, which lay be
tween me and my little valley of snow,
and left the last vestige of civilization
behind me. It was steep, hard climb
ing. Sometimes 7 would sink into
the snow to my waist. Sometimes the
snow would slide down. the mountain and
bear me back half buried to the place
had started from half ON hour before. A
marvel that I kept on. But there was
hatred behind, love before-element
that have built cities and founded EN-.
pires. As the setting sun gilded the
snowy pines with gold stood on the
lofty summit, looking down into my IN
peopled world of snow.
An hour of glorious gliding, darting,
shooting on my snowshoes and I stood
on the steep bluff that girt above and
about my little valley. A great, strange
light, like silver, enveloped the land.
Across the valley, on the brow of the
mountain beyond, the curved moon, new
and white and bright, dawned before me
like drawn cimeter to drive me back.
Down in the valley under me busy little
foxes moved and shuttlecocked across
the level sea of snow. But I heard no
sound nor saw any other sign of life.
The solitude, the desolation, the silence
was SO vast, so actual, that could feel
it-hear it. A strange terror came upon
me there. And, oh, wished-how de-
voutly 4 wished I never shall forget
that I had never ventured on this mad
enterprise. But I had turned my ship.
It had been as impossible for me to re-
turn, tired, hungry, heartsick as I then
was, as it bad been fox me to Icy hold Of