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Nevada Literature:

Old Virginia's Fisher Story

This classic Nevada outdoors yarn is taken from Dan DeQuille (William Wright)'s The Big Bonanza: An Authentic Account of the Discovery, History and Working of the World-Renown Comstock Lode of Nevada, American Publishing Company, Hartford (CT): 1876.  The yarn-spinner was James Fennimore, or Finney, nicknamed "Old Virginia," who claimed to have discovered the Ophir mine on the Comstock Lode on February 22, 1858.  Virginia City, Nevada, was named for him.

Dan DeQuille (William Wright)

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CHAPTER XI.

OLD VIRGINIA AND HIS STORIES

Prospecting for a dinner — A skunk story — O'Riley's mistake — A duel: curious consequences — Flight of the victor — O'Riley and his gun

Old Virginia used to tell of a terrible fight that took place one evening in Gold Hill. The stakes, he said, were two short bits (twenty cents) . The fight lasted half an hour and was most stubbornly contested on both sides. The contest was, as he would here explain, between his appetite and his "drinketite." He held stakes and for good while was unable to decide which had won. At last, however, drinketite got his opponent down and kept him down so long that he decided in his favor, and all three struck out for the nearest saloon — appetite grumbling at him all the way about his decision.

As has been already mentioned, Old Virginia was a great hunter. When not engaged in mining or prospecting, he was off in the hills with his gun, most generally alone wandering and philosophizing through the wilderness as he viewed the stupendous works of nature. He used to tell a story of a feast he once had in the desert regions the Humboldt, which was quite amusing. It ran as follows:

OLD VIRGINIA'S FISHER STORY

In '53, six or eight of us were out on a huntin' trip and camped on the Humboldt River, down to'ards the sink of the same.

We'd been havin' miserable luck. Couldn't strike any game and had 'bout devoured what grub we'd carried out with us when we left Johntown [Dayton]. This being the case, we nat'rally had to keep stirrin' about to try to skeer up somethin' that would do to eat. So, one afternoon, when the pot was 'bout empty, all hands struck out to try for something in the way of game; some goin' one way and some another.

Old Captain Crooks and one or two more, went off down the river, while the rest of our fellers struck back from the stream and kind o' promiscuously diversified themselves out across the sand-hills and sagebrush flats in search of sage-hen and rabbits; you see we couldn't expect to find big game in that section — deer, and antelope, and them sort of fellers.

I finally went off up the river alone. I jogged along up the stream, 'bout half a mile, and then laid down in a big bunch of weedy-lookin' bushes. As I was reposin' thar in the silence, gazin' up at the deep blue sky, I fell to ruminatin' on the unsartainty of all things here below — on what is above, and why we are here.

I had jist arrived at the conclusion that man can no more help bein' born than a blade of grass can stay in the ground when spring comes; and, as the blade of grass can't help fadin' and dyin' when winter comes on, so man goes out of the world with about as little say in the matter as when he comes into it.

All of this I was a-thinkin' about as I lay thar lookin' up' at the sky, half-way noticin' a solitary raven as was a-sailin' about high above. I'd fixed it up that thar was a great head mind up in them blue heavens somewhar, as was a-seein' to all matters for me and the grass, and that things was liable to work jist about as that mind willed, whether me and the grass made a fuss about it or not, when all at once I heerd a small racket, near me in some dry grass.

Erectin' myself cautiously, and peepin' over the top of my clump of bushes, I seed a all-fired big skunk, rootin' under the dry, matted grass near the brink of the river. He war lookin' after mice, worms, bugs, grass-nuts, and sichlike provender.

I brought my gun to my shoulder and knocked the unsuspectin' critter over so dead that he never kicked. He was jist as good game as I wanted — I wouldn't have traded him for any number of blue-meated rabbits.

Bein' shot in jist the right spot, thar wasn't a particle of smell about him. You see I'd knocked over many sich fellers back in Ole Virginney and knowed percisely whar to hold on him to do the work. Many's the fine fat one I'd cooked and devoured! But it's not every place whar they'll eat skunk — it's a thing that runs in streaks and through sartain settlements, as you may say.

This was a prime feller! I think I never, in all my experience, killed a finer or fatter one. I shouldered my game and trudged back to the camp, which I found vacant. None of the boys had yet returned.

I sat down and skinned my skunk, then tuck and hid the skin in some low bushes, a few rods from camp, in order that none of the fellows might know the exact natur of the game I'd brought in.

If they knowed it war a skunk, not one of 'em would eat a bite of it — some people's so prejudiced, you know, 'bout outside appearances and the little nat'ral peculiarities of birds and beast.

Well, to'ards night, Captain Crook's and all the fellers got into camp, and not one of them had killed a thing. They soon spied the fine plump animal I had hangin' up on a stake, near camp, and wanted to know what for critter it war. I told 'em I didn't know for sartin — the blame thing ruther headed my time, and I war convarsant with most of the four-footed quadrupeds perambulatin' the present hemisphere; yet I reckon the thing might do to eat on a pinch.

All hands now wanted to see the skin. I pretended to look for it, then told 'em I'd seed the dogs a-worryin' with somethin' a bit ago and ruther guessed they'd drug the skin into the river.

Captain Crooks seemed to be took with a idea. Says he: "Was it a kinder brownish-black-lookin' thing, with a kinder middlin'-like bushy tail?"

"What would it be apt to be if it was that way?" says I.

"A fisher," says he.

"Is a fisher good to eat?" says I.

"Yes, fisher's bully eatin," says he.

"That's the way its tail looked," says I.

"How about the color?" says he.

"Air fishers as good as rabbit?" says I.

"Much bulleyer!" says he.

"Then," says I, "you've guessed the color."

The old Captain then turned to the boys and said he knowed it was fisher the moment he sot eyes on it, and he hadn't seen one for goin' eleven year now.

The Happy Breakfast

Then he went to braggin' so much about what good eatin' fisher was that the boys all got awful anxious to be tryin' some of the critter.

But the Captain said fisher warn't good till it had first been well par-boiled; that we must put him in the camp kettle and bile him that night, then stew him down in a pan for breakfast.

When we went to bed we left the fisher gently simmerin' over the fire, and by mornin' he was not only biled, but too much so — was biled to rags.

The Captain looked a little puzzled at this phernominon, but the boys said it was all the better.

We fried as much of the animal as we could stack into two pans and had a reg'lar feast of fisher, as the fellers all believed the thing to be.

Old Captain Crooks was delighted. He had his plate filled about five times and told the boys, as all were squatted in a circle round about on the ground, how he used to have big times up in Wisconsin a-catchin' and a-cookin' of fishers.

I'd finished my breakfast and started to go and ketch up my horse when I came to the skunk skin, layin' in the bushes whar I'd hid it away. An idea popped into my head. I looked at the great black-and-white, wooly hide, then at the ole Captain, who. with his knife and fork balanced acrost his fingers, was showin' the boys how to set a trap for a fisher. He still had in his lap 'bout half a plate of greasy, steamin' fisher stew, and the fellers was all still a'shovelin' in fisher, watchin', between mouthfuls, the trap the Captain was fixen up for 'em.

"I'll do it!" says I to myself. Pickin' up the skin by 'bout six of the long white hairs in the end of the tail, I marched up to where all war squatted.

"Hyar, fellers," says I, "blame me if hyar ain't that damn fisher skin now!"

Gentlemen, if I war to talk from now till next week I couldn't do full justice to what follered! Old Captain Crooks was just raisin' a forkful of stew to his mouth when he ketched sight of that air skin. The fork dropped from his hand; his eyes bugged out like the horns of a snail, and a sort of convulsive shudder shook his whole animal system as he yelled: "Skunk, by all that's stinkin' and nasty!"

"Skunk, by thunder!" howled all the rest in chorus.

Sick! Well, I needn't mention what follered. But, fellers, that like ter cost me my life, that trick did. When them boys finally got convalescent and riz up and come for me, it was close papers for a time.

Ole Captain Crooks picked one lock o' hair out o' my head before I had time to make the least explanation. It tuck awful hard swearin' to make them fellers believe I hadn't never seed a skunk afore.