The record-union., 1896-04-05
JONES OF NEVADA
Some Yarns the Old Miners Spin
About Him.
He Depended on His Luck and Thought
His Old Title of "Bill' Was
Mascot.

Jones believed in Tuck as Napoleon
believed in destiny. He always con-
sidered himself lucky, even II thlngs
went contrary. But it is noteworthy
fact that things seldom went that way
with Jones. When he was still In cana
veras he delighted in boasting OF his
luck, and Dragging about the amount
of work he could do though the Oldest
inhabitant cannot recall the time when
he ever saw Jones do a days work,
hard labor.
But he was a shrewd man, was this
Jones, and had way peculiarly MS
own of seeing further than most men,
even when there was no cathode rays
to assist his natural range or VISION.
When the diggings Of Calaveras played
out, Jones and his partner resolved 10
quit, but couldn't agree upon loca-
tion. The stock exchange in San Fran
cisco was doing a booming business,
and Jones' partner insisted on trying
his luck on change.
Don't you do it, Bill" said Jones;
you stick to me. I'm lucky. I'll be
rich one of these days, and II you go TO
Frisco you'll never make more than a
decent living" and what Jones said
came true. He went to Nevada. The
Comstock excitement was at its hight,
and in three months Jones was foreman
of working shift, and still considered
himself lucky.
He began to stack up shares OF diff
ferent mines, nobody understood just
how, and Jones only laid it to his luck;
and one fine day strangers who struck
the camp began to call him Mr.. Jones,
and to talk about shares and dividends,
and to ask advice on how to buy and
when to sell. His luck was holding
good. To old-timers he was still Bill
Jones, and for that matter, is to-day.
But Jones rather liked it-this being
called Bill. He was lucky and could
afford to allow it. Besides this, it is
said Jones was superstitious and be-
lieved that "Bill'' was his mascot, and
had a horror of the days when the ''old
ones" would forget to call him so. He
put more faith in the name than he did
in rubbing a deformed darkey along the
spine
So it went on, until. one day a whisper
went around the Comstock that Jones
was going into politics. Jones himself
said nothing. He had not even thought
of politics, but the whispers that ran
along the Comstock lode gave him an
idea. Why not do it? To remain plain
Bill Jones meant to live and die un-
known outside of the mines, and he was
afraid that the mines would not re-
member; but he was mistaken. The
mines never forget.
SO Jones allowed the whispering to
increase in volume, and it was at last
openly declared that he was in politics
but if his luck held good he would be
all right, and Jones still had faith in
his luck.
And after awhile men stood on corners
and talked Jones'" They got upon the
stump and declaimed Jones" They
marched in professions headed by murk
torches and hurrahed Jones' and the
miners. when their shift came up, even,
it is asserted, went SO far as to drink
Jones'" and Jones lived through it all
and as a result of it all, was elected.
Then, once he had started, Jones flew
the kite high, and believed he would get
into the Senate, for his luck still backed
his play. But some Of his ardent sup
porters looked at him askance. Jones
had made more promises than the capa-
bilities of his State allowed him to full
seats to those who had his promises
They never said that Jones was un-
truthful, whatever they may have
thought about it, and Jones would have
been shocked if they had.
But Jones worked the wires to a
nicely. He found in politics a space
wherein he might spread himself. He
liked politics once he had learned the
trade. All competitors were distanced
in the race, and for the first time plain
Bill Jones became Zones of Nevada"
Here his ambition ceased, for he knew
that sagebrush and silver would not
count in a Presidential contest those
days, and besides, Jones knew when he
had enough.
Governor Bradley and Jones were
chums. What one of them said or did
went" with the other. They were
riding through the desert one day, after
Jones had become comfortable in the
Senate and had learned to look wise,
and stopped at water hole to
devour lunch. After the lunch had been
dispatched. Jones fished up his pipe,
but he had no "match''-his friends
had contended as much all along-so
turning to the Governor. he said:
Got match, Bradley?"
Nope" returned Bradley, after a
futile rummage through all his pockets.
Jones sat glum for moment, and
was inclined to sulk, but thought better
of 1t, and picking up bit of weed, began
to scratch among the loose straw. For
half minute he scratched diligently
while the Governor drowsily looked on
and then STOPPING down he lifted frail
match from among the rubbish and
solmenly held it up before his excel
lency. The match was a success and
as the smoke rolled up in a cloud, Jones
lay indolently back and between puffs
said.
Luck, Bradley, pure luck!"
These are few of the yarns the old
times will spin for you any nice
warm day about Bill Jones luck; but
the time is not yet here when it shall
pass into history, for that wonderful
streak Of luck goes marching on.
WOULDN'T USE A WINDMILL