[From J. Ross Browne's Adventures in the Apache Country (1871); Illustrations by the author.]

CHAPTER XLIII.

MY preparations for the Walker River expedition were on a scale of more than usual grandeur. On this occasion I was resolved to travel in a dignified style, according with the gravity and importance of the undertaking. Certain coal and iron mines, recently discovered in that region, had aroused in me that spirit of speculation which had received so disastrous a check in Washoe. I was resolved, since gold and silver ignored my friendly advances, to try what sympathetic virtue there might be in coal and iron. Scouts were sent out all over the town of Aurora to secure the best wheeled vehicle the community could afford; preference to be given to a thorough-braced ambulance of Concord manufacture. If that was beyond the resources of enterprise, an ordinary furniture wagon might be made available, or at the worst a butcher's job-cart.

It so happened that a heavy drain had been made upon the livery-stables by the recent exodus of citizens to the Montgomery district. Wagons of all sorts were in great demand for the transportation of goods, wares, and honest miners to the argentiferous paradise; and the long-continued drought, high price of forage, and constant demand for animals had nearly exhausted the whole horse-creation. Skeleton emigrant horses, scrag-tailed mustangs, galled mules and burros, were in requi-

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sition at prices that inspired in the owners sentiments of profound affection for their property.

My scout-in-chief, one Timothy Mason, was a man of unlimited genius in his way. Though small in stature he carried a large nose, which enabled him to scent out horses with unerring instinct. He penetrated the wigwams of the Aurorians; dodged into the back-yards and by-ways; smelled every spot where there was a suspicion of hay, grain, or horse-flesh; and in due course of time announced the glad tidings that he had succeeded in securing a conveyance worthy of the President "or any other man."

It was a wagon which had crossed the plains during the summer, and could therefore be recommended as thoroughly dried and not likely to fall to pieces by the action of the sun's rays. The bed was somewhat shattered; the springs broken here and there; a few spokes out of the wheels; the hubs cracked, and the tires gone in at occasional intervals; but it was a remarkably tough wagon nevertheless, capable of being stretched or contracted at pleasure without materially injuring its appearance or powers of locomotion. I rather liked Timothy's description of the wagon. There was something pleasant in the idea of travelling in such a wagon as that.

"You are sure it won't break down, Timothy?" said I, somewhat dubiously.

"Well, 'tain't likely a wagon that's. just come all the way from Iowa with a family of women and children in it'll be taken with a breakin' down between this and Walker."

Thus was every doubt removed. Horses were the chief trouble. Timothy had secured a couple of very fine bloods, rather mortifying in appearance, but of wonderful endurance, since they had lived throughout the entire drought of summer on nothing but sage-brush and alkali and were not yet dead. If I had any pride about the matter of appearance he would borrow. a pair of shears and clip their wool a little before we started.

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"On the contrary, Timothy," said I, "it would be a downright sin to disfigure such noble animals as you have described. I am addicted to the picturesque in nature. I like starved, galled, and woolly-skinned horses. What they lack in flesh and symmetry they will doubtless make up in spirit and variety of outline. So fetch along your nags, Timothy—and don't forget the wagon!"

When, in due time, my remarkable equipage appeared in the main street of Aurora, ready for a start, I was not surprised that the entire population, without distinction of age or sex, crowded out from every door to enjoy the spectacle. Timothy sat perched upon the remains of the front seat with undisguised triumph beaming from every feature. Sooth to say, I enjoyed the sight myself as much as any body. It was a source of infinite satisfaction to me to be able to travel in such distinguished style, after having roughed it on horseback over in the Mono country. Above you have both wagon and horses —nothing extenuate nor aught set down in malice.

In addition to Timothy I had secured the services of one Dr. Fanning as guide, caterer, and purveyor-general

448 THE WALKER RIVER COUNTRY.

to the expedition. An overflowing, generous, genial soul was the Doctor; an experienced mountaineer, who had roughed it all over the gold regions of Idaho; a man of intelligence, and withal as unsophisticated as a child. I liked him from the beginning. Whatever he did he did with all his heart and soul. He purveyed and catered without, regard to reason, expense, or the everlasting fitness of things. When the wagon was ready to receive its cargo I found my friend Fanning up to his neck in business at one of the principal grocery stores. He was diving into pickles, wallowing in clams and sardines, luxuriating in jellies, revelling in spiced sauces, and rejoicing in various bottles, jugs, and demijohns of brandy and whisky of the most famous brands.

When I surveyed his list of purchases I was glad my English friends, whose outfit in Iceland I had attempted to describe a few years ago, were not present. Here was a pretty catalogue of comforts and conveniences for a week's journey! Boxes of cigars, pipes, bags of tobacco, preserved meats, jellies, desiccated vegetables, brandy, wine, vinegar, and crockery without limit. I was about to ask the Doctor how many years he expected me to be absent, and what he meant by this reflection on my powers of endurance in a rough country, when I perceived, from certain undulations in his motion and an extravagantly benevolent expression in his features, that it would be no use. The fact is, his arduous labors as caterer had proved a little too much for his equilibrium. He had tasted too many strong mixtures, and his mind was becoming a little bewildered by the multitude of his responsibilities. So that when the wagon was freighted to its utmost capacity, the driver on his seat cracking his whip, and the horses fast asleep, the Doctor had taken a new kink, and was off about town in search of an additional brick to put in his hat. "Never mind," quoth Timothy, the whipster, "he will overtake us on the road. He is only taking a parting smile at the snakes. Wake up, Abe! Git along, Ulyssus!"

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Up the hill of Aurora we toiled and tugged, till, by the united efforts of Timothy, myself, and the two horses, we reached the summit; from which we enjoyed a parting view of the town while we stopped to regain our breath. A little below to the right, in a pleasant green flat, stands the quartz-mill of the famous pioneer, speculator, miner, and prospector, once chief owner in the Comstock ledge, John D. Winters. The mill was busily at work crushing quartz, and presented a very lively and picturesque scene.

A splendid turnpike has been made within the last two years from Aurora to the valley stretching along the base of the Sierras. Stunted pine grows on the sides of the mountains, which are otherwise exceedingly barren. A mile or two from the summit the road passes some curious lime formations, and several lime-kilns have been established close by. The rugged cliffs on each side of the canon are diversified by a remarkable variety of colors, indicating mineral deposits of various kinds.

About a mile beyond the end of the cañon we reached the Five-mile House, a pleasant rural station, conveniently situated as a watering-place for man and beast. Here, in a desert flat, the effects of irrigation have been made apparent. It is difficult to conceive that a blade of grass could be made to grow in so barren a spot; yet, by the introduction of a small stream from the neighboring hills, the enterprising proprietor has succeeded in making quite a thrifty little farm. His vegetable garden is really a curiosity. Cabbages, beets, potatoes, and greens of various sorts flourish with a luxuriance that would do credit to California. I had seen before, in the neighborhood of Aurora, and mention it now as one of the anomalies of this strange country, some very remarkable examples of the natural fertility of this sage-desert soil. All it requires is irrigation to make it as productive as the best soil in any country. The climate seems highly favorable to

450 THE WALKER RIVER COUNTRY.

vegetable products; and the time is approaching when Nevada will prove not only a rich mineral country, but be noted for its agricultural resources.

At a point called the Elbow, four miles beyond this station, we reached another oasis in the desert, where we concluded to camp for the night. A good and substantial frame house; with stables, corrals, and various out-buildings, has been erected here for the accommodation of travellers; and the scene, upon our arrival, was lively and characteristic. Freight trains were drawn up in front of the tavern, the teams tied to the wagon-poles, with piles of hay before them which they were devouring with great relish; groups of dust-covered teamsters sitting around the glowing camp-fires; an emigrant family a little to one, side, weary and way-worn, but cheered by the prospect of soon reaching the end of their journey; a stage just arrived from Wellington's, with a noisy delegation of politicians from Carson; some half a dozen stray miners on broken-down horses, from unknown parts, and bound to unknown districts; while here and there dust-covered pedestrians, whose stock in trade consisted of a pick, shovel, pan, and blanket, were scattered about on the ground, taking their ease after their dreary walk across the deserts.

While my trusty man Friday was engaged in unhitching the horses I selected a pleasant little grassy slope near some running water, fringed by willows, as a suitable place for our tent. The next thing was to gather up some dried willow-wood and make a big fire, which presently blazed and crackled with a cheerful glow, illuminating our camp in the most picturesque and satisfactory manner. At this altitude the evenings are always cool, notwithstanding the heat of the day; and a good fire after sunset is one of the chief comforts of life. We pitched our tent without delay, and then went to work and cooked such a supper of oysters, potatoes, coffee, and other luxuries as would have made old Nestor smile. I was sorry for the Doctor. At

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every pause in the feast we sighed for his genial presence. It was evident he had lost his way—or his equilibrium, which amounted to the same thing. He did not make his appearance during the night, nor had we the satisfaction of seeing his familiar countenance in the morning. What could have happened?

Bright and early we struck our tent, hitched up our team, packed our wagon, and set forth on our journey across a broad desert valley stretching to the eastward. It was eight miles of a dreary drag through sand and gravel to the first pass in a range of mountains which separates this district from the Walker River Country. Our poor animals, jaded and starved, had a very hard time of it. I walked most of the way rather than impose my weight upon them. Timothy laughed at my scruples of conscience, and assured me the horses were not near dead yet; that they could travel across the plains on sage-brush. Going asleep and giving out was only a way they had.

After a long and heavy pull we ascended the dividing range, and had a fine view of the surrounding country. To the right stands, in towering grandeur, a peak of the Sierras appropriately named Mount Grant, after our distinguished General. Passing over the divide we entered a canon through which the road winds for a distance of five miles. The sides are rocky, barren, and evidently of volcanic formation. Very little timber is to be seen, save here and there a gnarled and stunted pine. If ever there was a mineral country rendered attractive by a pervading spirit of desolation this was one. Every rock and tree, every ledge and fissure, looked the impersonation of strife between heaven and earth. The rich and varied colors of the mineral strata that cropped out in seams and ledges gave the whole country a strangely variegated aspect, and filled the mind with vague notions of undiscovered treasure beneath the earth's surface. Yet wild and rugged as it is, Nature seems to have formed this country with some

452 THE WALKER RIVER COUNTRY.

regard for the convenience of man. In the midst of withering barrenness that sternly forbids his approach, natural roads open out through the mountains, in many places so well defined and so perfectly graded as to resemble the best turnpikes,

Slowly descending the cañon -- for our load was heavy and our wagon not the strongest—we entered upon the dried bed of a stream, which formed our road during the principal part of the way through. The towering walls of rock on each side converge till they form a winding pass; almost like an irregular street of some old city in the interior of Germany. There were breaks here and there, where we had to plunge over precipices that sorely tried the shattered frame-work of our wagon. At one place we had to take out the horses and lower our precious vehicle down a rocky pitch about ten feet deep by means of ropes. It broke away from us when half-way down, and never stopped running till it came in contact with a point of rocks about fifty feet below, where it wound up in a crash of matter that caused us the most profound concern for our absent

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friend, the Doctor. Demijohns were smashed; brandy, whisky, match-boxes, and powder poured together in fearful conglomerate; salt and sugar, paper and ink, boiled shirts and molasses, pickles and preserves—all mixed up in the general amalgamation. I had secured a sketch of Mount Grant under the cushion of the seat. Cushion, seat, and all were pitched overboard. When I dragged forth my sketch from the wreck I was struck with its changed appearance. A bottle of whisky, a can of oysters, some lucifer matches, and the contents of a loose powder-flask had been mixed over it. Timothy was knocked speechless at the immensity of the disaster. He had the most profound respect for my genius as an artist, and evidently regarded the whole expedition as ruined.

"Never mind, Timothy, my boy," said I, assuming a cheerfulness which I did not feel—"never mind. This accident is doubtless Providential. So far from ruining my sketch, I think it increases the spirit. Don't you see the indomitable Grant is now blazing away at Richmond? Look at the clouds of smoke! Here's Richmond—this crushed box of lucifers; and here's Jeff Davis —a smashed oyster"

I don't know whether he felt the force of the remark, but my trusty whipster brightened up after this, and went to work cheerily to get the horses hitched to the wagon. No material damage was done, after all—only a few small stores sacrificed to the great cause of human progress. By the same skillful system of navigation we at length reached the turning-off point, where we left the cañon, and ascended a hill to the right, from the summit of which we had a grand view of Walker's Valley and the Bullion Range of mountains to the south.

CHAPTER XLIV.

FOUR miles below we reached the first crossing of Walker River. Contrasted with the barren slopes of the surrounding mountains the verdure of the bottom lands was peculiarly refreshing. Even at this dry season—the dryest known for many years—the river contained an abundance of water, pure, fresh, and sparkling, from the snowy heights of the Sierra Nevadas. It was a rarity, in these hot and desert regions, to stand by the water's edge and see the generous flood dash over the rocks and flow in eddying currents over the clear gravelly bottom — so rare to me, indeed, that I quickly divested myself of my dust-covered habiliments and took a plunge in the deepest pool I could find. Talk of your Russian baths—your baths of Constantinople and Damascus! 'What could equal the luxury of a plunge in this mountain stream after a day's journey through scorching sands and crackling sage-brush and cañons that held the air like a bake-oven! This was luxury beyond description, bought by sweat and toil, such luxury as the indolent lounger in the Orient never dreamed of. And there were houris too; and they came and sat upon the bank, and enjoyed my sportive motions in the water; copper -colored, flat-nosed, thick-lipped houris, of the Pi-Ute race, with red blankets over their bodies and fat babies in their arms. My man Timothy, without regard for the illusions of romance, or the tender influences of beauty, remarked that they were Pi-Ute squaws, on a "hogadie expedition"—"hogadie" signifying muck-a-muck, or food. There was but one way of

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making my escape from the water to that part of the bank upon which I had left my clothes.

"Give them hogadie, Timothy, and tell them to leave."

He gave them crackers and meat, and motioned to them to be off; but they only laughed and sat down on the bank again. It was sociable, to say the least.

"They don't care, Sir," said Timothy, with an encouraging smile; "you needn't be afraid to come out!"

"I know they don't care, Timothy; but what would Mrs. Grundy say? Deuce take it, why don't they go?"

While Timothy was casting about him for a suitable answer to this question, it occurred to me that I heard strange voices in the distance.

"What's that—who's coming?" I asked, with some anxiety.

Timothy looked up the road on the opposite side of the river. "Oh, that's only an emigrant family," said he, quietly, "two or three men and some women and children. Guess they're bound for California."

It mattered very little to me where they were bound. They had to cross the river where I was blockaded; and a painful consciousness took possession of me that there could not be a more unbecoming spectacle for an emigrant family than that of a middle-aged gentleman, with a bald spot on his head, disporting himself in the water before a bevy of Pi-Ute squaws.

"Timothy, my boy," said I, in extreme consternation, "can't you run up the road and engage the enemy while I make an effort to get my clothes on or hide in the bushes?"

"Oh, Sir," answered my trusty whipster, with a surprised look, as if he had not previously suspected me of any unusual depravity, "if you wish to be left alone here of course I'll go."

Before I could guess his meaning he, had driven the horses across the river, and the last I saw of him, as he disappeared on the other side, he was shaking his head in a sorrowful manner—having evidently lost all confi-

456 THE WALKER RIVER COUNTRY.

deuce in human virtue. To rush out, grasp up my scattered clothing, and retreat into a thicket of thorny bushes, was the frantic achievement of a moment. Of course the bevy of Pi-Utes laughed. It was natural enough they should enjoy so novel a scene—a white man hopping, in a nude state, over rocks and thorns, as if for his life, with a bundle of rage; under his arm. I never knew a female in my life who didn't laugh at the discomfiture of man in this its most aggravated form.

As soon as possible I emerged from the bushes, somewhat excoriated but not altogether disheartened, and proceeded on foot after my wagon and driver. I found Timothy engaged in a pleasant conversation with some ladies who had just crossed the plains. They were on their way to California. It was refreshing to meet with such enterprising females; and I was nothing loth to join in the conversation. The male members of the party occupied themselves in hunting up some of their laggard stock.

It was getting late, however, and we were forced to push on in order to reach Lawson's Ranch by night. A few farms had been started on the bottom lands, and we passed some very cozy little farm-houses and thrifty gardens. The river is fringed with willow, sycamore, and a species of cotton-wood, resembling balm of Gilead. We followed its course about seven miles through a series of narrow valleys, on the left side, till we reached a gorge in the mountains through which it passes. At this point there is a good ford, over which we crossed. Lawson's Ranch commences here. A drive of half a mile took us to the house; a frame shanty pleasantly situated near the road. Mr. Lawson was at home, and kindly offered us the accommodations of his place. He has an excellent farm, well cultivated, and a garden abounding in luxuries. Corn, beets, melons, potatoes, and many other kinds of vegetables seem admirably adapted to the soil and climate.

Lawson's Ranch may be considered the beginning of

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the main East Walker River Valley. The bottom gradually widens. On the right lies a sloping plain, barren in appearance but abounding in some of the finest lands east of the Sierras. A survey of this country has recently been made by Major E. A. Sherman, under the auspices of a company of Aurorians, with a view of opening it up for settlement. It is in contemplation to make a canal or acequia from Lawson's Ford for the purpose of irrigating the extensive tract of land now lying waste between the foot-hills and the river bottom. There can be no doubt that the project is feasible and would repay the expense. The descent of the river is sufficient to give a fall of water at every point. At least a hundred thousand acres of the finest valley land could thus be redeemed. A similar system of irrigation has been successfully practiced by the early Spaniards in Sonora and Arizona: and there are now in the vicinity of Salt Lake and other parts of Utah many hundred thousand acres of sage-desert brought under successful cultivation by the introduction of water. People living on the eastern

458 THE WALKER RIVER COUNTRY.

slope of the Sierras are beginning to understand that water is all they require to make the most unpromising parts of the country highly productive.

The general appearance of the Walker River Valley is barren. Very little timber is to be seen, except on the distant spurs of the Sierras. The, everlasting sage-bush is the staple product of the country. A farmer from the Western States, accustomed to luxuriant pastures and endless forests, would turn away in horror from such a desolate scene; and his first impulse would be to set down any man who suggested the idea of cultivating it as a fit subject for a lunatic asylum. Still more absurd would he regard the assertion, often made by the old settlers in Nevada and firmly believed, that this very land, apparently so barren, is more productive than the best land in the Western States. It is a well-established fact that no such yield can be obtained in any of the Atlantic States. This is partly attributable to the difference of climate, and partly to the natural fertility of the soil in Nevada. Owing to the mineral discoveries in this Territory, and the absorption of capital and labor in the development of the mines, agriculture has been almost entirely neglected. Yet nothing has paid so certainly and so well--not even the best mines and mills.

The opening out of so large a tract of arable land to settlement and cultivation, in a country where agricultural products are in such demand, would be a most profitable and beneficial enterprise. A ready market for all the cereals and for vegetables of every kind may be found in the adjacent mining districts. At present all the fruits and most of the grain used in Nevada are imported from California at a heavy expense for transportation. The few farmers in Carson Valley have made handsome fortunes. Barley raised anywhere on the eastern slope has an advantage of three to five cents a pound over the imported article; in other words, the cost of freight may be added to whatever can be produced in this region. Hay seldom rates at less than $40

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a ton—often at $60 and $100; and this of a very poor and coarse quality. Few, if any, flour-mills have yet been established in the country, owing to the scarcity or high price of wheat. In short, it may be emphatically stated that no part of the world offers greater inducements to farmers; and the quantity of land subject to irrigation is so small, compared with the population and area of territory, that there will always be a remunerative market for agricultural products.

Other considerations claim attention in looking to the future of Nevada. The high price of labor in the mines, arising chiefly from the great expense of living, is a serious drawback to the prosperity of the country. The best mines are exhausted in paying expenses. Capitalists can not understand why it is that, with such enormous gross yields, the net results are so small. Fraud and mismanagement are of course prolific causes; but under the most favorable circumstances the mines can never be profitable where labor is so high. To remedy this the expense of living must be reduced. Agriculture must be encouraged. The heavy percentage now paid to teamsters for hauling provisions across the Sierras must be saved, or so applied as to develop the resources of the country.

Indirectly other advantages must follow the encouragement of agriculture. Schools and colleges will be established; an improved condition of society will take the place of that lawless state of things which always exists in a new country where the male population largely predominates; and employment will be furnished to that surplus of adventurers who now live upon the industry of others.

CHAPTER XLV.

CONTINUING our journey down the valley from Lawson's, after a good night's rest, we encountered during the day several large bands of American horses, which had been recruiting for some time past on the luxuriant pastures of the river-bottom after their dreary journey across the plains. This was the first good grazing country on the route after passing Salt Lake and Ruby Valley. Here the way-worn emigrants and their jaded teams found rest and plenty, and here we found them, from time to time, in the full enjoyment of the abundance that surrounded them. Wagons were drawn up by the river-banks in pleasant groves of willow; the lowing cattle gathered on the green pastures near by; the camp-fires sending up cheerful clouds of smoke, and the merry voices of children making a sweet accord with the lively strains of flute and violin. At one point, where the grass was luxuriant and the willow abundant, we came upon an encampment consisting of some ten or a dozen families. About twenty wagons were drawn up in lines, and several tents were scattered along the banks of the river in cozy little nooks, some of them decorated with flags. It was evidently a Union camp, which I regret to say was not the case in every instance that came under our observation. I was attracted by the merry strains of music and shouts of laughter that greeted our arrival; and soon perceived that the young men and women were enjoying a dance on the green flat in front of the wagons. A group of older members of the party were sitting on the bank, looking on with a pleased yet a thoughtful interest. Their dancing days had passed,

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and they were drawing toward their journey's end. There were among them some elderly ladies, who seemed to derive a sober sort of comfort from their pipes, which they smoked in the good old-fashioned style of the back-woods. To these, as the responsible members of the party, I addressed myself—hazarding the conjecture that they were just across the plains.

"Yes—been here nigh onto four weeks," said one of the ladies, puffing off a suppressed cloud of smoke from her pipe. "Our men has mostly gone across to Californy to see what's the chances for fodder. Folks tells us it's powerful dry over there."

"I'm sorry to say its rather dry just now, ma'am; but California is a fine country when it rains."

"Wa'al, I don't know what to think," replied the talkative lady. "Some folks told us we'd better stop at Reese, and folks tell us here we'd better stop at Walker, and then again folks say Californy's the best country. I don't know. It ought to be a good country, for it takes a dreadful long time to get to it, and costs a pile of money."

I respectfully inquired if the families had enjoyed good health on the journey across the plains.

"Wa'al, only tolerable. Me and my man has been ailin' considerable. Betsy Jane, she had a spell of ager, Lowysee, she was took with a spindle-fever till her legs warn't no thicker than your thumb; Zeke, he fell out of the wagon and like to a busted his head; and the baby, he's troubled with a diary. Some of the families is wuss an' we are; and some again get along pretty peert considerin'. I tell you, stranger, 'tain't no easy trip across these sage-deserts. What with Injuns an' alkali an' dust an' one thing or 'nother, it's a powerful hard road to travel."

I consoled the old lady by telling her what a glorious country California was, and how much better the climate was than that of Missouri. Besides, it was a strong Union State, and gave every body a fair chance to live in peace and plenty.

462 THE WALKER RIVER COUNTRY.

"Stranger," said the old lady, brightening up, "what's the news about the war?"

"Good news, ma'am -- good news. The Union army triumphant everywhere. The rebellion caving in. There won't be a fly-speck for the rebels to hang a hope on in six months."

"Hooray! durn 'em! This camp is all Union. We started pretty well mixed, but split on the way. Secesh took one road—we took t'other. Pop, he's Union to the hub. Folks told us before we came to a little town t'other side of Austin we'd better look out. Every body was secesh there. Our wagon was two days ahead of the rest. We was all alone. Pop he stuck out his flag, an' sez he, 'I'll stake my chances on that!' Just outside of town a fancy-looking fellow rides up an' sez he, 'Cap, take a fool's advice an' haul down your dish-rag. We don't tolerate your breed here. This is a secesh camp.' Pop, he fires up and says, ' Stranger, if your spilin' for a diffikilty you kin hev it. The first man that lays a hand on that flag I'll drop him sure!' Chiv he looked black, but Pop had his turkey-buster well in hand; and Chiv changed his base and fell back on the town. Pop cracked his black-snake, and we all rid in with flying colors. The gals jined in a chorus, and all of us, big an' little, peeked out of the wagon and giv 'em, as we rid along the main street, `Rally round the flag, boys, rally round the flag!' which stirred 'em up considerable."

"Did they molest you?" I asked, with much interest.

"You bet they didn't. They looked mighty hard at Pop as he sot with his rifle in one hand an' his black-snake in t'other; but something in his eye didn't please 'em.' 'Let him rip!' said they, and we ripped. We gave them a partin' stare as we left the town, 'Hurrah for Abe Linkeln?' Oh, you bet the country's all safe so far as we're concerned."

I thought it was, and having expressed my satisfaction, gave Timothy the wink to drive on.

CHAPTER XLVI.

WE stopped for the night at a comfortable farm-house belonging to a Mr. Shimmens, an emigrant, who on crossing the plains last year was so much pleased with the Walker River Valley that he determined to locate a claim and try what he could do at farming and stock-raising in this isolated part of the world. Nothing can be more characteristic of American enterprise and the progressive spirit of the age than the daring hardihood with which families from the Western States settle themselves down amid the wilds of Nevada, surrounded by sage-deserts and Indians. Often they go to work ploughing the land and putting in crops before they have so much as a shanty to cover their heads, or even the slightest assurance that the climate is suitable for farming purposes. The risk of the undertaking seems to give it a charm, and they go ahead with an easy confidence that would astonish the people living in older and more settled countries. It is no uncommon thing to see men in this part of the world turning up the virgin soil and whistling cheerily at their work, while their wives and children are dwelling in all the luxury of unlimited freedom under a bunch of willows or a brush-wood wigwam. A few cows, a sack or two of beans, a small supply of flour and groceries, and such other remnants of their original outfit as may be left, constitute the bulk of their worldly possessions; yet they are hopeful and happy. It is seldom they fail to make a good living. I have met families just from the Western States with no better outfit, who in the course of a year or two were as

464 THE WALKER RIVER COUNTRY.

comfortably situated as any reasonable people could desire; having good houses, thrifty farms, plenty of stock, and all the accessories of civilized homes. It was thus we found Mr. Shimmens. His dwelling is pleasantly situated at the base of Lookout Mountain, with a broad alluvial valley in front, beautifully watered by the river and its numerous "sloos" and branches; and although this was only his second year, he has now a fine farm, well fenced, and a garden abounding in vegetables of the best quality. His pastures yield excellent hay, and afford an unlimited range for his cattle. It was altogether a pleasant scene—this homestead in the wilderness; and I shall not readily forget the kindness and cordiality with which I was greeted by this worthy family. For here again, to my surprise and gratification, I found that Harper's Magazine had preceded me, and paved the way to a very pleasant acquaintance. At the hospitable board of Mr. Shimmens I enjoyed many a luxurious meal; and the evenings were rendered delightful by the reminiscences of our host, whose adventurous career across the plains would furnish material for a romance. Nor were we

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without the refinements of music and song. A melodeon, slightly cracked and somewhat wheezy after its long journey, was one of the institutions of the house. The daughter of our host, a young lady of sweet sixteen, favored us with several popular airs, such as "Lucy Long," "Old Dan Tucker," the "Arkansas Traveller," etc., and a number of patriotic songs of more recent origin.

One of the notable features of the country is the Gold Hill Range, situated about two miles from Shimmens's Ranch. Some very promising auriferous veins were discovered here in 1862, and there was, as usual, a great rush to the Walker River country. Claims were staked off for a circuit of ten miles, and companies were organized without regard to reason, facts, or possibilities. Several hundred veins were opened; most of them yielding a fair show of gold and silver. Assays were made rating at $50 to $100 to the ton. A worthy Professor of my acquaintance living in Oakland was attracted thither by the noise of the discovery. It was his ambition to make a fortune, and devote the remainder of his days to the study of Plato and Aristotle. He knew nothing about quartz-mines or quartz-mills; but he was a classical scholar and a gentleman of varied scientific attainments. Of what avail was all this knowledge if he could not build a quartz-mill? He was poor, but he had friends and credit. Like a brave man he went to work, and by dint of algebraic equations, trigonometry, geometry, and an occasional reference to Plato and Aristotle, he built a quartz-mill. On the banks of Walker River the wreck of that mill stands to this day. I saw it myself, and made a sketch of it from the Granite Bluff.

I refer to that mill as a solemn warning to Professors. There was no trouble about getting the ores. Wagon-loads came pouring down from the Gold Hill Range. The Professor was in ecstasies. His mill-wheels flew around with a tremendous clatter; his battery battered up the quartz at an amazing rate; his amalgamating pans made the finest of suds; all went ahead smashingly—only the

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machinery was new and required grease. The Professor greased it—greased the water-wheel, the battery, the amalgamating pans, every thing that was worried by friction. Then the machinery worked to a charm; then the Professor gazed admiringly through his spectacles at the result of his skill, and was pleased to thinks that he would soon be able to retire into the quiet shades of his Academical groves. Well, the Professor is a kind friend and a good neighbor. I must deal gently with him. When the great day came. to determine the result of all this working—to test the wonderful advantages of education and intellect over vulgar prejudice in matters of this kind—the wheels were stopped, the pans were cleaned up, and the result was—I would be sorry to hazard a conjecture where it was. People said it was in the tailings. Back of the mill was a sluice which was found to be rich in gold. At all events the gold was nowhere else. Some hinted that grease and quartz have no amalgamating affinities, that the grease carried the precious metals with it; but this I consider a thoughtless fling at the Professor. The trouble was in the machinery. A few thousand dollars would remedy it. But thousands of dollars were getting scarce.

Then came the disastrous flood of '62. It swept down the valley from the gulches and cañons of the Sierra Nevadas, carrying with it hay-stacks, cabins, and even farms. I knew a man whose entire farm was swept clean off--soil, house, barns, hay-stacks, fences and all. There was nothing left of it but a desert sand-bottom. The honest miners were nearly starved out. The roads to Aurora and Carson were cut off by impassable torrents and lagoons. There was no such thing as travel, except on the rugged ridges of the mountains. The Professor was forced to abandon his mill and seek refuge in a hole which he and his friends burrowed in a neighboring hill. Here a happy coterie of hardy adventurers lay blockaded nearly all the winter. Sometimes the Professor read his beloved Plato, or philosophized to his fellows like Diog-

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enes in his tub; sometimes he looked out upon the dreary expanse of water, and saw with sorrow his mill and his hopes of the Academical groves vanish day by day. Spring came at last; the country dried up; the Professor cast along lingering look at the wreck of his mill, girded up his loins, and with a heavy sigh wended his way homeward, serious but not subdued. He is still an enthusiastic believer in that mill and the Walker River country. All he wants now to make it a grand success is capital. And, indeed, to do strict justice to his discernment, nobody questions the richness of the lodes in the Gold Hill Range, though many doubt whether they can be successfully worked by mills built on the Professor's plan.

In the mean time attention was attracted elsewhere by new discoveries, and before any thing could be done in this district it was abandoned. It fell by default rather than from any want of confidence in its resources.

Upon a somewhat cursory view of the lodes in the Gold Hill Range, which I visited with Mr. Shimmens and some of his neighbors, I am inclined to believe there is good ore in them. Some of the specimens I saw taken out present very fair indications. The lodes are not wide, but they are numerous, and easy of access either from the surface or by means of tunnels. Curious chimney-like formations of quartz crop out all over the Gold Hill Range. Flag-staffs had been erected in the most prominent of these by Major Sherman, who had recently made a survey of the district.

I had erected my tent on a pleasant little flat by the river-side, within a few hundred yards of Shimmens's house. Here, with my man Timothy, I kept a sort of bachelor's hall, entertaining all visitors in the most hospitable style. On the second morning after our arrival I was rejoiced to see the familiar face of my friend Fanning peering through the willow-bushes. He had walked all the way from Aurora. It was a source of genuine happiness to me to find him well and sprightly after his

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heavy siege in Aurora. Not a word was said on the subject. The Doctor shook hands as kindly and cordially as if we had never deserted him. He had lost all the bricks out of his hat, and was now clear of head and steady of hand.

Among the wonders still to be seen was the Iron Mountain—a discovery recently made by the Doctor, upon which, in common with myself and others, he founded his most sanguine hopes of future wealth. I was to have a share in it. I was to be the owner of feet—none of your flimsy gold and silver feet, but rough, hard, honest feet of iron. Henceforth I would spurn the grovelling world with the iron heel of despotism; I would rule my fellow-beings with an iron rod; I would enjoy the best books of travel and romance till seduced to repose by the iron tongue of midnight.

On a bright, glowing morning—a morning such as the unhappy dwellers in the Atlantic States rarely see; when the sun rises from his couch of gold, and fills the universe around him with a flood of glowing light; on such a morning I arose from my blankets by the willow-shaded banks of the Walker, and listened to the music of cooing doves and rippling waters, till my soul was touched with inspiration. I called aloud to my trusty followers—"Ho, merry men of Walker! Up, my brave fellows, and shake off the feathers of sleep! Arouse thee, Timothy, my boy, and strike the culinary fires! Get thee up, Fanning, my beauty, and let us prepare for triumph! Rejoice, and ho! for this very day we visit the Iron Mountain—that wonderful work of Nature, wherein lies your wealth and mine, and that of our children's grandchildren!"

"You bet!" said the Doctor, slowly unwinding himself from his blankets, and gazing at me with an affectionate smile. "Bet your life on that lay-out!" And I "betted " internally—not my life, but an old horse down in Oakland, which I was anxious to dispose of at some approximation to cost.

Happy is he who can breakfast with relish by the rays

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of the rising sun; whose only bitters are sound sleep and fresh air; whose sense of the beautiful in nature has not been blunted by the vexations of business or the frivolities of life in crowded communities! By the banks of the Walker, to the sweet harmony of running waters and singing birds, we enjoyed our morning repast. When all was ready the Doctor and I set forth in fine spirits on our expedition to the Iron Mountain.

I was sorry to be obliged to leave Timothy in camp. Some Pi-Ute Indians had been prowling about since our arrival, and, although harmless and inoffensive otherwise, it was evident they were not scrupulous about the means of satisfying their appetites. We gave them food and tobacco, which of course attached them to us by the strongest ties of friendship. It would not do to leave them alone in camp, and thus Timothy had to stand as a rear-guard over our precious "hogadie."

Fanning knew the country well. He had spent two years in exploring it, and was familiar with every rock and gulch. To his guidance I committed myself, confident that he would never lose his way so long as we had nothing but water as a beverage.

Crossing the river a little below our encampment, we made a bee line for the Iron Mountain, which is clearly visible from Shimmens's Ranch; standing out like a huge cone, isolated from the adjacent mountains, and easily recognized by its, reddish color.

The first part of our journey lay across Walker's Valley. At this point the arable lands embrace a width of about two miles, gently sloping from the river to the foot-hills. To all appearance the earth is utterly barren. No sign of vegetation, save the everlasting sage-bush, greets the eye; yet upon a close inspection the soil is found to be composed of a rich alluvial deposit, which only requires irrigation to make it highly productive. Dry as the season now is, the sage-bushes are green, indicating the proximity of water. This is the valley claimed and surveyed by the Walker River Company.

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We soon reached the first of a series of foot-hills, or rather a rolling plain, which extends all the way to the Bullion range of mountains, distant about ten miles from the river. Following a deep winding arroya for several miles, we ascended upon a ridge where we struck an Indian trail. The whole surrounding country was fear-fully wild and barren—nothing but gravelly deserts and rugged mountains ahead, and deep gorges in the desolate plain around us. I noticed along the trail projecting carboniferous strata indicating coal, and unmistakable evidences of the proximity of iron. The earth in many places was covered with rust. Boulders of ferrugiferous stone cropped out at intervals; and at one point of our journey we travelled nearly a mile over broken beds of iron, resembling pot-metal. It was light and porous, but strongly metallic, and jingled under our horses' hoofs like the waste fragments of cast-iron lying about a foundry yard.

Seven miles from the river we reached the foot of the Iron Mountain—a rough, barren, conical peak, rising about five hundred feet above the level of the surrounding hills. Deep gorges and ravines render the approach somewhat difficult; but Fanning knew the way, and we encountered no serious obstacle. Rusty boulders and broken masses of iron grew more and more abundant, till we merged into a complete labyrinth of iron ledges. Evidences of floods and drifts and volcanic fires lay around us in chaotic desolation. A few hundred yards back of the main cone we came upon a black ledge, cropping out of the earth to the height of several feet, in sharp points, presenting a smooth, polished surface that glistened in the sun like glass.

Now I beg the reader to understand that I am prejudiced in favor of this magnificent enterprise. I am a thousand feet, more or less, in this mine, but will endeavor to tell as much truth as can be expected under the circumstances. When I saw the pure iron thus crop out of the earth and stare me in the face, I returned

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thanks to Providence that the Apaches had spared my life in Arizona; that I had survived all the disasters. of travel in that region to see this blessed day. For here surely was a substantial reward for all my sufferings; here was iron enough to make any reasonable man jingle along merrily through the remainder of life's journey.

I dismounted; fastened my horse to a solid boulder; took a pick, and went to work vigorously to dislodge a mass of the ore. Aided by the energy and muscle of my friend Fanning, it was not long before I had a specimen that would astonish the iron-men of Pennsylvania. There was no room for doubt. It was the purest kind of magnetic iron. I crushed a portion of it with my hammer, and found that it adhered to the face of the hammer in flakes like feathers. A shingle nail which I had in my pocket furnished the next test. The mass of ore bore the weight of the nail without difficulty. I believe this is considered a very valuable quality of iron, but requires to be mixed with inferior ores before it can be made available for use.

The vein is about four feet thick where it crops out. From its dip on each side I should judge it must rapidly increase as it descends. I traced it over the surface of the earth for a mile or more, and do not know how much further it may run. At the top of the mountain it assumes a broken form, appearing over an area of several hundred feet. The probability is the chief deposit lies in the depths of the main cone. As yet no excavations have been made.

We gathered up as many specimens as we could pack on our horses, and, having concluded our inspection, ascended the peak of the Iron Mountain for the purpose of enjoying the view, than which nothing can be finer. Mount Butler lies to the east; Mount Grant to the west. To the south stretches a rugged range of sierras, dotted with pine-trees; and to the north the rich alluvial bottom of Walker River. A fine spring of water is seen about two miles distant, in the Gold Cañon range; rich

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outcroppings of gold and silver quartz ledges mark the face of the hills; but this part of the country has been but little explored. The day must come when it will be thickly settled by an industrious community of miners.

Should the iron and coal veins of Walker River prove valuable, no estimate can be formed of their importance to the industrial interests of Nevada. The cost of freight across the mountains is now a serious drawback. Machinery must be transported at enormous expense. The price of labor is high, owing to the cost of provisions, and it is clear to my mind that mining will never be profitable in Nevada until it can be carried on with greater economy. At present "it costs a mine to work a mine." The products of the best mines are consumed in expenses.

Having seen the principal objects of interest in this part of the country, I returned to Oakland, a wiser if not a richer man.