A GOLD HUNTER'S EXPERIENCE

BY CHALKLEY J. HAMBLETON

CHICAGOPRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION1898

I have often been asked to write an account of myPike's Peak Expedition in search of gold. The followingattempt has been made up partly from memory and partlyfrom old letters written at the time to my sister inthe east. 

 C. J. H. 

A Gold Hunter's Experience

Early in the summer of 1860 I had a bad attack of gold fever. In Chicagothe conditions for such a malady were all favorable. Since the panic of1857 there had been three years of general depression, money was scarce, there was little activity in business, the outlook was discouraging, andI, like hundreds of others, felt blue. 

Gold had been discovered in the fall of 1858 in the vicinity of Pike'sPeak, by a party of Georgian prospectors, and for several yearsafterward the whole gold region for seventy miles to the north wascalled "Pike's Peak. " Others in the East heard of the gold discoveriesand went West the next spring; so that during the summer of 1859 agreat deal of prospecting was done in the mountains as far north asDenver and Boulder Creek. 

Those who returned in the autumn of that year, having perhaps claims andmines to sell, told large stories of their rich finds, which grew largeras they were repeated, amplified and circulated by those who dealt inmining outfits and mills. Then these accounts were fed out to the publicdaily in an appetizing way by the newspapers. The result was that by thenext spring the epidemic became as prevalent in Chicago as cholera was afew years later. 

Four of the fever stricken ones, Enos Ayres, T. R. Stubbs, John Sollittand myself, formed a partnership, raised about $9, 000 and went to workto purchase the necessary outfit for gold mining. Mr. Ayres furnished alarger share of the capital than any of the others and was not to gowith the expedition, but might join us the following year. Mr. Stubbsand I were both to go, while Mr. Sollitt was to be represented by asubstitute, a relative whose name was also John Sollitt, and who hadbeen a farmer and butcher and was supposed to know all about oxen. Mr. Stubbs was a good mechanic, an intelligent, well-read man, and ten yearsbefore had been to California in search of gold. 

Our outfit consisted of a 12-stamp quartz mill with engine and boiler, and all the equipments understood to be necessary for extracting goldfrom the rock, including mining tools, powder, quicksilver, copper plateand chemicals; also a supply of provisions for a year. The staplearticles of the latter were flour, beans, salt pork, coffee and sugar. Then we had rice, cornmeal, dried fruit, tea, bacon and a barrel ofsyrup; besides a good supply of hardtack, crackers and cheese for usewhile crossing the plains, when a fire for cooking might not be foundpracticable. These things were all purchased in Chicago, together withthe fourteen wagons necessary to carry them across the plains. Then allwere shipped by rail to St. Joseph, Mo. , where the oxen were to bepurchased. The entire outfit when loaded on the cars, weighedtwenty-four tons. 

I stayed in Chicago till the last to help purchase and forward theoutfit and supplies, while Stubbs and Sollitt (the substitute) went toSt. Joe to receive and load them on the wagons and to purchase the oxen. 

On the 1st day of August, all was ready, and we ferried our loadedwagons and teams across the Missouri River into Kansas to make a finalstart next morning into regions to us unknown. Stubbs started the sameday by stage for the mountains, to prospect and look out for afavorable location and then to meet the train when it arrived at Denver. Sollitt was to be trainmaster, which involved the oversight anddirection of the teams and drivers, and the duty of frequently goingahead to pick out the best road and select a favorable place to camp atnight, where water and grass could be had. I was the general businessman of the expedition, had full power of attorney from Mr. Ayres torepresent and manage his interest, and hence I had the control andresponsibility in my hands and practically decided all importantquestions relating to the business. 

The fourteen ox-drivers were all volunteers, who drove withoutpay--except their board--for the sake of getting to the gold regions tomake their fortunes there. Most of them were from Chicago--three marriedmen who left families behind, and one a young dentist. Another was theson of a prominent public woman who was a rigid Presbyterian, and when Ileft Chicago his father gave me a satchel full of religious books togive to him in St. Joe to read on the plains. He deliberately pitchedthem into a loft, where they were left. Another was a young Illinoisfarmer, named Tobias, a splendid fellow. Among those we secured in St. Joe were one German and two Missourians. 

The principal article in the outfit of each individual, aside from hisornaments in the shape of knives and pistols, was a pair of heavyblankets. One of the Missourians first appeared without any, but nextmorning he had a quilted calico bed cover, stuffed with cotton, borrowedprobably from a friendly clothesline, and which, at the end of thejourney, presented a very dilapidated appearance. 

Early in the morning of August 2d all were busy yoking oxen andhitching them to the wagons, but as most of the drivers were green atthe business and did not know "haw" from "gee, " and a number of the oxenwere young and not well broken, it was several hours before our trainwas in motion and finally headed for "Pike's Peak. " The train consistedof fourteen wagons, a driver for each, forty yoke of oxen, one yoke ofcows and one pony with a Mexican saddle and a rawhide lariat thirty feetlong, with an iron pin at the end to stick in the ground to secure theanimal. 

For the first two or three miles, while crossing the level valley, allwent well, but when we reached the bluffs and ravines that bounded theriver valley on the west, the green oxen began to balk and back andrefused to pull their loads up the hills, and the new drivers werenonplused and helpless. The better teams went ahead and were soon outof sight, while the poorer ones had to double up, taking one wagon up ahill and then going back for another, and consequently made slowprogress. Instead of riding or walking along like a "boss" at ease, Isoon found myself fully occupied in whipping up the poorly broken oxenon the off side, while the green drivers whipped and yelled at those ontheir side of the team. It was surprising how soon the nice city boyspicked up the strong language in use by teamsters on the Western plains. The teams got separated, and the train stretched out two or three mileslong. Then Sollitt rode ahead, picked out a camping place, and directedthe drivers to halt and unyoke as they reached it; but when it becamedark three or four teams were still from a quarter of a mile to a milebehind, and in trouble, so they unhitched the oxen and let them run intheir yokes for the night. Our lunch and our supper that day consistedof crackers and cheese, as we had no time to cook. 

About dark a shower came up, and it drizzled a good part of thenight--the last rain we met with for many weeks. We rolled ourselves upin our blankets on the ground, under the wagons or in a small tent wehad, for sleep. At daylight next morning we all started in differentdirections through the wet bushes that filled the ravines to find thescattered oxen, and before noon they were all collected at camp. We hadhot coffee and some cooked things for breakfast. But several accidentshad occurred. The cows had fallen into a gully with their yoke on andbroken their necks, one load of heavy machinery had run down hill andupset, one axle, two wagon tongues, one yoke and some chains werebroken. Sollitt, with two or three of the drivers who were mechanics, went to work to repair damages. As we seemed short of oxen, I rode backto St. Joe and bought two yoke more, spending the last of our moneyexcept about fifty dollars. 

By next morning we were ready for a new start. Experience had alreadytaught us something, and we adopted more system and some rules. All theteams were to keep near together, so as not to leave the weaker onesbehind in the lurch. Our cattle were to be strictly watched all night bytwo men on guard at a time--not together, but on opposite sides of theherd. Two would watch half the night and then be relieved by two otherswho stood guard till morning. We all took our turns except the cook, whowas relieved from that duty and from yoking and hitching up his ownteam, as cooking for sixteen men while in camp was no sinecure. The manchosen for cook was one of the drivers from Chicago named Taylor, whohad cooked for campers and for parties at work in the woods. He wasreally a good plain cook. His utensils consisted of some large boilingpots and kettles, a tin bake oven, two or three frying pans, atwo-gallon coffeepot and a few other usual articles. 

Each person had a tin plate, a pint tin cup with a handle, and an ironknife, fork and spoon. The food was placed in the dishes and cups on theground, and while eating we stood up, sat on the ground or reclined inthe fashion of the ancient Romans, according to our individual tastes. The article of first importance at a meal was strong coffee and plentyof it. Next came boiled beans with pork, whenever there was time to cookthem; and that could generally be done during the night. Then we hadsome kind of bread, cake or crackers, and sometimes stewed dried fruit. 

About the third day out our open air prairie appetites came, and itseemed as if we could eat and digest anything. I had been a little outof health for some time, was somewhat dyspeptic, and had not tasted porkfor years. Soon I could devour it in a manner that would have shocked myvegetarian friends; and for the next two years I was conscious of astomach only when hungry. 

The third day the teams went a little better, but we had to double upsometimes to pull the wagons up the hills and out of the deep gullies wehad frequently to cross, so we only made seven or eight miles. In a fewdays we got out on the level prairie and went along faster. But everymorning for a week, one or more of our cattle would be lost from theherd. They would sneak away during the night and hide in the bushes andravines, or start back toward home. As I had no special duties in camp, or in yoking up in the morning, hunting them fell to my lot. If notfound in the first search before starting time, I would ride back on thepony for miles, scour the country and hunt through the gullies andbushes for hours till the lost animal was found; then drive him alonguntil the train was overtaken. That could easily be followed by thetracks of the wheels on the prairie. Hiawatha, Kansas, and a fewscattered cabins some miles to the west of it were about the last signsof settlement and civilization that we saw. 

That season was a very dry one in Kansas and on the Western plains. Theprairies were parched and looked like a desert, except a fringe of greenalong the water courses. The heat was intense and the distant hills andeverything visible seemed quivering from its effects. The dry ground andsand reflected the sun's rays into our faces, till a few with weak eyeswere seriously affected. The iron about the wagons, and the chains wereblistering to the touch. The southwest wind was like a blast from aheated furnace. It was worse than stillness, and I frequently tookshelter behind a wagon to escape its effects. 

This heat was very trying and debilitating to the oxen. They would pant, loll their tongues out of their mouths, refuse to pull, and lie down intheir yokes. Sometimes we were compelled to keep quiet all day, anddrive in the early evening and morning, and during the night when wecould find the way. The most important thing was to find water nearwhich to camp. Wolves began to surround our camp and the herd of oxen atnight, and break the silence by their piercing howls. After we had goneto sleep, they would sneak into camp to pick up scraps left from supper, then come within a few feet of some one rolled up in his blanket andstartle him with a howl. But with all their noise these prairie wolveswere great cowards, and would run from any movement of a man. 

Soon after starting out one evening for a night drive, after a very hotday, one of the weak oxen lay down and refused to go. That the trainmight not be delayed, they tied his mate to a wagon, and I concluded tostay behind with him till morning to see if he would recover. Soon afterdark the wolves seeming to divine his condition and the good meal instore for them, collected around us a short distance off, and seated ontheir haunches, with howls of impatience waited for the feast. They wereplainly visible by their glaring, fire-like eyes. I varied the monotonyof the long night by walking around, sitting down, lying upon theground, and occasionally falling asleep beside the sick ox. Then thewolves emboldened by the stillness, would sneak up close to us and breakout in piercing howls, but they would instantly vanish when I got upand threw something at them. 

Daylight came at last; the ox had grown worse instead of better, and Ileft him to his fate and the wolves, and followed the wagon tracks tillI overtook the train in camp, early in the day, with an appetite for aquart of strong coffee and something to eat. 

In this hot weather the oxen with their heavy loads did not make morethan a mile an hour when on the march, so with the numerous delays itwas nearly two weeks before we reached Marysville on the Big Blue River. This was a small settlement on the verge of civilization, with a fewranches, saloons and stores, situated on that branch of the old Oregontrail which started northward from Westport, Mo. , and passed near FortLeavenworth, Kan. The inhabitants had the reputation of being mostlyoutlaws, blacklegs and stock thieves. Their reputation inspired us withsuch respect for them that we kept extra watch over our cattle andpossessions while in the vicinity. 

About a week after starting, one of the drivers got homesick, discouraged and disgusted with the trip, left us and started back homeon foot. This compelled Sollitt and me to drive his team. One of ourwagons not being made of properly seasoned wood, became shaky from theeffects of the heat and dry air of the plains. At Marysville I traded itoff to a ranchman for a yoke of oxen and had the load distributed on theother wagons so that again we had as many drivers as teams. I alsotraded some of our younger, weaker oxen for old ones that served ourpurpose better, though they were of less market value. 

We learned that between this place and the Little Blue, there was nowater to be found to enable us to camp for a night, so we werecompelled to make the trip--some twenty miles--at a single drive. As theweather was hot we started late in the afternoon, drove all night, andarrived early next day, at that small river, where we found water andgrass. Sollitt rode ahead much of the time to pick out the road. 

Our course for several days was now along the Little Blue in a northwestdirection, toward Fort Kearney on the Platte. To avoid the side gulliesand ravines, which were water courses in the spring, though now driedup, we frequently circled off two or three miles on to the levelprairie, but had to return near the stream when we camped, in order toget water. 

One day, off to the west, a mile or two away, we saw a single buffalowhich had probably been outlawed and driven from the herd to wander insolitude over the plains. Our pony had crossed the plains before andwas well used to buffalo. Sollitt mounted him, and, rifle in hand, rodefor the lone beast. When approached he began to run, but the horse soonovertook him, and he received a bullet. Then he turned savagely on thehorse and rider, and, with head down, chased them at high speed beforetrying to escape. The horse overtook him a second time and he receivedanother bullet. Then he charged after the horse and rider again. Whenthe horse's turn to chase came next, the buffalo received a third shotand soon fell dead. This was quite exciting sport for us "tenderfeet"who had never seen a buffalo hunt. 

Sollitt, who was a butcher by trade, was now in his glory. He rode backto camp, sharpened his knives and with the help of one or two of the mencarved up the animal and brought back a supply of fresh meat. Thisproved rather tough as the animal was an old bull, nevertheless thetongue and the tenderloin were relished, after having eaten only saltpork for three weeks. 

The small stream of water in the Little Blue grew less and less as weapproached its source, and the last night that we camped near it, therewas no running water at all. The little that was to be seen stood instagnant pools in the bottom of the river bed. When we would approachthese pools, turtles, frogs and snakes in great variety, that had beensunning themselves on the banks, would tumble, jump and crawl into thewater, and countless tadpoles wiggled in the mud, at the bottom, so thatthe water was soon black and thick. Its taste and smell were anythingbut appetizing. The oxen, though without water since morning, refused todrink it, even after we had dipped it up in pails and allowed it tosettle. We boiled it for the coffee, but the odor and flavor of mudstill remained. The situation had become serious and our only hope wasto reach the Platte river before the oxen were famished from thirst. Earlier in the season, before the streams dried up, this was a favoriteroute of travel, but it was not so at this time of year and we saw veryfew passing teams. 

By daylight next morning the oxen were yoked and hitched up and wecommenced a forced march for water and salvation. The old trail seemedstill to follow the course of the dried-up stream, bearing much to thewest. We concluded to leave it and steer more to the north with the hopeof striking the Platte at the nearest point. The prairie was hard andlevel, the day not excessively hot, and everything was favorable for along drive. The rule for keeping together was ignored and each team wasto be urged to its best speed, in the hope that the strong and the swiftwould reach the goal though the weak and the weary might fall by theway. 

Before noon the teams were much separated. They halted for a nooning;the oxen browsed a little on sage brush and dried grass; the men lunchedon crackers, cold coffee and the remnants of breakfast, but our waterkeg was empty. By the time the last team was at the nooning place, thehead ones were ready to start on. 

Sollitt rode ahead to explore and pick out the road, carrying his rifleon the saddle, as we were liable at any time to meet bands oftreacherous, pillaging Pawnees, whose haunts were on the lower Platte. Iformed the rear guard with the hindmost wagon, so that it would not bedeserted and alone in case of accident. Each team was always in sight ofthe next one ahead of it, though the train was stretched out some threemiles long. Late in the afternoon Sollitt rode back with the cheeringnews that he had seen the Stars and Stripes waving over Fort Kearney tothe west and that he had picked out a camping ground near the river afew miles below. Soon after dark the last team was in camp and the menand beasts were luxuriating in the clear running water of the Platte. 

The next forenoon we drove on to the fort and camped a mile or two westof it for a day's rest. This was on the 20th of August, so we had beenout twenty days on the road from St. Joe. At the fort was a postofficeand here we received letters from our friends in the East, and spent agood part of the day in writing, in response to them. Letters werebrought here by the coaches of the overland express which carried theUnited States mail to California. 

The fort consisted of a few buildings surrounded by a high adobe wallfor protection; and adjoining was a strong stockade for horses andoxen. There were a few United States troops here. Just outside the fortgrounds were some ranches, stores, saloons and trading posts. The twoMissourians proceeded forthwith to get dead drunk and it took them tillnext day to sober up. By way of apology they said the whisky tasted "sogood" after being so long without it. We had no whisky on our train. Itwas one of the very few that crossed the plains in those days withoutthat, so considered, essential article in frontier life. 

Personally, through the entire period of my "Pike's Peak" experience, Iadhered strictly to my custom of not tasting spirituous or malt liquors, nor using tobacco in any form. 

We were now on the main central route of travel from the States to themountains, Salt Lake, California and Oregon. We saw teams and trainsdaily going in both directions, and Kearney was a favorite place forthem to stop over a day and rest. Our course now lay along the southside of the Platte, clear to Denver; and with the prospect of levelroads and plenty of grass and water, we looked forward hopefully to apleasant trip the rest of the way. The valley of the Platte is a sandyplain, nearly level, extending westward for hundreds of miles fromKearney, bounded on the north and the south by low bluffs, some four orfive miles apart. Back of these lie the more elevated, dry plainsextending to great distances. 

Winding through this valley is the Platte river, a half a mile or morewide, with water from an inch to two feet deep, running over a sandybottom and filled with numberless islands of shifting sand. The bankswere lined with willows and cottonwood bushes and bordered in manyplaces by green, grassy meadows, but trees were a rarity and for sometwo hundred miles we did not see one larger than a good sized bush. 

The day we camped near Kearney we began to see buffalo in small groupsoff a few miles to the south and west. When I awoke next morning, soonafter daylight, I saw a lone one quietly eating grass about half a milefrom camp. I got out a rifle and went toward him, stooping or going onmy hands and knees through the wet grass, till within good rifle shot. Ithen stood up, took deliberate aim just behind the shoulder, and fired. He gave a quick jump, looked around and started toward me on the runwith head down, in usual fashion, for a charge. My thought was that Ihad hit, but not hurt him. I dropped into the grass and made my way onhands and knees as fast as possible toward camp, a little agitated. Losing sight of me the animal soon stopped, stood still a few minutesand then suddenly dropped to the ground. He had been shot through theheart. 

This was my first and last buffalo, as sneaking up to them and shootingthem down did not seem much more like sport than shooting down oxen. Iwas neither a sufficiently expert rider nor hunter to chase and shootthem on horseback. The one I shot was carved by Sollitt and one of themen, and furnished us fresh meat for breakfast and several mealsthereafter. 

During the day we passed a ranch, occupied by a man and his son, twelveor fourteen years old. The boy had eight or ten buffalo calves in a pen, which he said he had caught himself and intended to sell to partiesreturning to their homes in the East. He had a well-trained little pony, which he would mount, with a rope in hand that had a noose at the end, and ride directly into the midst of a small drove of buffalo, and whilethey scattered and ran would slip his rope about the neck of a calf andlead it back to the ranch. The calf would side up to the pony and followit along as if under the delusion that it was following its mother. Theman traded in cattle by picking up estrays and buying, for a song, thosethat were footsore and sick, keeping them till in condition and thenselling them to passing trains that were in need. 

We now began to see buffalo quite plentifully off to the southwest, insmall groups, and in droves of twenty or more. Sometimes hunters onhorseback, who had camped near Kearney, were indulging in the excitementof the hunt, chasing and shooting, and in turn being chased by theenraged animals. That evening we camped on the verge of the great herdthat extended some sixty or seventy miles to the westward, and blackenedthe bluffs to the south, and the great plains beyond as far as the eyecould reach. This great herd was not a solid, continuous mass, but wasdivided up into innumerable smaller herds or droves consisting of fromfifty to two hundred animals each. These kept together when grazing, marching or running, the bulls on the outside and the cows and calves inthe center. Sometimes these small herds were separated from each otherby a considerable space. 

This great herd had probably started northward from the Arkansas in thespring and had now reached the Platte, where they lingered for water andthe better grass that was found along the river. Following in the wakeand prowling on the outskirts of this slowly moving host, were thousandsof wolves, collected from the distant plains, to feast upon the youngand the weakly, and the carcasses of those that were killed by accidentor the hunter's gun. 

The turn for watching the cattle the first half of that night fell tothe lot of two of the boys from Chicago. The cattle were grazing in agood meadow off toward the river, half a mile from camp. At dusk theboys went off to take charge of them. After dark the wolves began tohowl in all directions and sometimes it sounded as if a hundred hungryones were fighting over a single carcass. Then the buffalo bulls chimedin with the music and bellowed, apparently by thousands, at the sametime. Pandemonium seemed to reign. The two boys got nervous, thenfrightened and finally panic-stricken, and long before midnight camerushing into camp declaring that they were surrounded by droves ofhungry wolves and furious buffalo. The cattle were also disturbed andinclined to scatter and wander off. 

Next morning early, all of us, except the cook, started off to hunt themup. Some went up stream, some down, and some back along the road we hadcome. Tobias and myself waded the river to the north side to hunt themthere, but we found neither cattle nor cattle tracks. We did find a hugerattlesnake, which we killed. The river was about three-quarters of amile wide, and in no place over two feet deep. Wading it was easy enoughif one kept moving, but if he stood still he would gradually sink intothe quicksand till it was difficult to extricate his feet. 

By noon, after this thorough search, we had collected all of our oxenbut two, which could not be found. Sollitt was very suspicious of cattlethieves, and, whenever an ox was lost, his first opinion was that it hadbeen stolen. Mine was that it had strayed off and hidden in some ravineor clump of bushes. He decided that these two lost ones had been takenby some ranchman or passing train. I believed they had gone off withthe buffalo and that when they wanted drink badly they would come backto the river. I therefore concluded to let the train go on, while I, with the pony and some food, would stay behind and patrol the river fora day or two. I rode back eastward along the river's edge, searching inthe bushes, and at night came to a ranch, near which I picketed the ponyand slept on the ground. Next morning, after first examining theranchman's cattle, I started westward again, making another thoroughsearch as I went along. In the afternoon I found the stragglers quietlyeating grass near the river, and then drove them along as fast aspossible till the train was overtaken. 

We were now right in the midst of the great herd, through which wejourneyed for nearly five days. The anxiety they gave us was greaterthan that of any of our previous troubles. To avoid having the oxenstampeded, or run off with the buffalo at night, we wheeled our wagonsinto a circle when camping at the end of a day's drive, and thus formeda corral, into which we put as many oxen as it would hold, for thenight, and chained the rest in their yokes to the wagon wheels on theoutside. This was hard on the oxen, as they could not rest as well aswhen free, nor could they graze a part of the night, as was their habit. Whenever we looked off to the south or southwest, we would see dozensand dozens of the small droves of one or two hundred buffalo movingabout in all directions. Some of the droves would be quietly eatinggrass, some marching in a slow, stately walk, and others on the run, going back and forth between their grazing grounds and the river. Buteach separate drove kept in quite a compact body. 

Sometimes they would keep off from the trail along which we traveled, for several hours at a time and not trouble us. At other times theywould be going in such great numbers across our route, passing to andfrom the river, that we had to wait hours for them to get out of ourway. Often a drove would get frightened at a passing wagon, the reportof a gun, the barking of a dog, or some imaginary enemy, and would starton a run which soon became a furious stampede, the hindermost followingthose before them, and in their blind fury crowding them forward withsuch irresistible force that the leaders could not stop if they would. If they came suddenly to a deep gully the foremost would tumble in tillit was full, and thus form a bridge of bone and flesh over which therest would pass. Several times these frightened droves passed so nearour wagons as to be alarming. 

One drove came within a few yards of one of our wagons, and some of thedrivers peppered them with bullets from their pistols. Though thesefrightened droves could not be stopped, they would shy to the right orleft if an unusual commotion was made in time in front of them. When adrove, at some distance, seemed to be headed toward our train, we oftenran toward it, yelling, firing guns, and waving articles of clothing. The leaders would shy off, and that would give direction to the wholebody, and thus relieve us from danger for the time being. 

Every teamster, traveler and hunter that crossed the plains felt that hemust kill from one to a dozen or more buffalo. The result was that theplain was dotted and whitened with tens of thousands of their carcassesand skeletons. With this general slaughter and the increase of travelinduced by the discovery of the Pike's Peak gold fields, no wonder thatthis was the very last year that these animals appeared in largenumbers in the Platte valley. We always estimated their numbers by themillion. [1] For some years after they appeared in large numbers in someparts of the great plains of the West, but they rapidly declined innumber till they became extinct in their wild state. 

[Footnote 1: The estimate was probably not anexaggeration. 

In a late work it is stated on the authority of railroadstatistics that in the thirteen years from 1868 to 1881"in Kansas alone there was paid out _two millions fivehundred thousand dollars_ for their bones gathered onthe prairies to be utilized by the various carbon worksof the country, principally in St. Louis. It requiredabout one hundred carcases to make one ton of bones, theprice paid averaging eight dollars a ton; so the abovequoted enormous sum represented the skeletons of overthirty-one millions of buffalo. "--_The Old Santa FeTrail, by Col. Henry Inman p. 203. _

The author further says, "In the autumn of 1868 I rodewith Generals Sheridan, Custer, Sully and others forthree consecutive days through one continuous herd, which must have contained millions. In the spring of1869 the train on the Kansas Pacific railroad wasdetained at a point between Forts Harker and Hays fromnine o'clock in the morning until five in the afternoonin consequence of the passage of an immense herd ofbuffalo across the track. "

Horace Greeley crossed the plains in 1859 in a stagecoach, and as stated in his published letters, he saw aherd of buffalo that he estimated to contain over fivemillions. ]

While in their midst we not only had fresh meat at every meal, but wecut the flesh in strips and tied it to the wagons to dry and thusprovided a small supply of "jerked" meat. In the dry, pure air of thisregion, though in the heat of August, fresh meat did not spoil butsimply dried up, if cut in moderate sized pieces. This was also found tobe the case with fresh beef in the mountains. We felt relieved andheartily glad when the last drove of buffalo was left behind. Familiarity with them, as with the Indians, destroyed all the poetry andromance about them. They were not a thing of beauty. An old buffalo bullwith broken horns and numerous scars from a hundred fights, with woollyhead and shaggy mane, his last year's coat half shed and half hangingfrom his sides in ragged patches and strips flying in the breeze, thewhole covered over with dirt and patches of dried mud, presented apicture that was supremely ugly. 

On the journey from St. Joe to Kearney we found, along the water coursesand ravines, enough of dry wood and dead trees to supply us plentifullywith fuel for cooking and occasionally to light up the camp in theevening. To make sure of never being entirely out of wood, a smallsupply was carried along on the wagons. Along the Platte there waspractically no wood to be had. For one hundred and fifty miles we didnot see a single tree, but the buffalo supplied us with a good fuelcalled "buffalo chips, " which was scattered over the plains inabundance, and which in this dry country, burned freely and made a veryhot fire. When approaching camp in the evening, the drivers would pickup armsfull of fuel for the use of the cook and for the evening campfire, and place it in a pile as they came to a halt. 

As soon as we reached camp and while others were taking care of theoxen, the cook built a fire, drove two forked sticks into the ground, one on each side of the fire, placed a cross stick on them, and thenhung his pots and kettle over the blaze. A big pot of beans with porkwas boiled or warmed over. Coffee was prepared, and dough made of flourand baking powder was baked either in the tin oven or a Dutch oven. Frequently some of the men were seated on the ground around the fire, stick in hand with a piece of pork on the end of it, held near the coalsto toast. While eating and during the early evening, talking, storytelling and ironical remarks about the prolonged picnic--as the trip wascalled--were indulged in. 

We were now on the main route of travel between the East and the Pike'sPeak gold fields. Horse and mule teams going West, and traveling fasterthan our ox train could go, passed us frequently, and gave us the latestgeneral news from the States. We also began to meet the vanguard of thereturning army of disappointed gold seekers. They came on foot, onhorse back and in wagons drawn by horses, mules and oxen, and many ofthem were a sorry, ragged looking lot. Judging from their requests fromus, their most pressing wants were tobacco and whisky. In those daysWestern towns were full of enthusiastic, sanguine, roving men who wereever ready for any new enterprise, and they were the first to rush tothe gold regions in the spring. But lacking pluck, perseverance and thestaying qualities, they were the first to rush back when thedifficulties and discouragements of the undertaking appeared in theirway. 

These returners told sad stories about life in the mountains, theprospects and the danger from Indians on the road. They said that therewas but little gold to be found, that very few of the miners were makingexpenses, that food was scarce, and that before we reached ourdestination, nearly everybody there would be leaving for home. Besides, they said, there were hundreds of Indians along the route, robbing andmurdering the whites. Such stories had a discouraging effect on some ofour drivers and I was very fearful that a few of them would leave us andjoin the homeward procession. 

Some of these chaps showed a humorous vein in the mottoes painted on thesides of their wagons. On one was "Pike's Peak or bust, " evidentlywritten on going out; under it was written, "Busted. " On another was, "Ho for Pike's Peak;" under it was, "Ho for Sweet Home. "

Each exaggerated account of the Indians made by these people, brought usnearer and nearer to them and made them seem more and more dangerous. Finally one morning as we reached the top of a gentle swell in theplain, a large band of them suddenly appeared in full view, camped atthe side of our road about half a mile ahead of us. From allappearances there were five or six hundred or more of them. Theybelonged to the western branch of the Sioux tribe. We stopped a fewminutes to consider the situation. We had heard and read enough aboutWestern Indians to know that the safest thing to do was to appear boldand strong, while a show of weakness and timidity was often dangerous. So we placed in our belts all our ornaments in the shape of pistols andugly looking knives, and those who had rifles carried them. Then wedrove boldly forward toward the camp. I rode the pony beside the driverof the foremost wagon with my old shot gun in hand. Soon two or three oftheir mounted warriors or hunters rode at full speed toward us and thenwithout stopping circled off on the plain and back to their camp. Theywere evidently making observations. 

Off to the north several hundred shaggy ponies were grazing in a greenmeadow near the river, and the greater part of their men seemed to bethere with them. The camp was made up of some forty lodges, which lookedlike so many cones grouped on the plain. 

These lodges were formed of poles, some fifteen feet long, the largerends of which rested on the ground in a circle, while the smaller endswere fastened in a bunch at the top, with a covering of dressed buffaloskins stitched together. On one side was a low opening, which served fora door. 

As we approached we were first greeted by a lot of dirty, hungry lookingdogs, which barked at us, snarled and showed their teeth. Then there wasa flock of shy, naked, staring children who at first kept at a safedistance, but came nearer as their timidity left them. The boys withtheir little bows and arrows were shooting at targets--taking theirfirst lessons as future warriors of the tribe. 

When we got near the edge of the camp several of the old men cameforward to greet us with extended hands, saying "how! how! how!" and wehad to have a handshake all around. Some of them knew a few words ofEnglish. They asked for whisky, powder and tobacco. Instead, we gavesome of them a little cold "grub. " They looked over all the wagons andtheir contents, so far as they could, and were particularly interestedin the locomotive boiler which was placed on the running gear of a wagonwithout the box, and with the help of a little rude imagination, somewhat resembled a huge cannon. I told them it was a "big shoot, " andthat seemed to inspire them with great respect for it. They looked underit and over it and into it with much interest. 

The greater part of the squaws were seated on the ground at theopenings of their lodges, busily at work. Some were dressing skins byscraping and rubbing them, some making moccasins and leggings for theirlazy lords, some stringing beads and others preparing food. The oldestones, thin, haggard and bronzed, looked like witches. The young squaws, in their teens, round and plump, their faces bedaubed with red painttoned down with dirt, squatted on the ground and grinned with delightwhen gazed at by our crew of young men. We all traded something formoccasins and for the rest of the trip wore them instead of shoes. 

Curious to see inside of the lodges, I took a cup of sugar and went intotwo or three under pretence of trading it for moccasins. Theirbelongings were lying around in piles, and the stench from the partlyprepared skins and food was intolerable. 

One old Indian seemed to think that I was hunting a wife, for heoffered to trade me one of his young squaws for the pony. A pony was theusual price of a wife with these Western Indians. They exhibited nohostility whatever toward us. It might have been otherwise, had we beena weak party of two or three possessing something that they coveted. 

They asked us if we saw any buffalo. When we told them that at adistance of two or three days' travel the plains were covered with them, they seemed greatly interested and before we got away began to take downsome of their lodges and start off. They were out for their yearlybuffalo hunt to supply themselves with meat for the winter. In movingthey tied one end of their lodge poles in bunches to their ponies andlet the other ends spread out and drag upon the ground, and on thesedragging poles they piled their skins and other possessions. The youngchildren and old squaws would often climb up on these and ride. 

Cactus plants in hundreds of varieties grew in great abundance on thesedry plains. They were beautiful to the eye, but a thorn in the flesh. Aswe walked through them their sharp needles would run through trousersand moccasins and penetrate legs and feet. We often ate the sickishlysweet little pears that were seen in profusion. 

Prairie dogs by the million lived and burrowed in the ground over a vastregion. The plains were dotted all over with the little mounds about twofeet high that surrounded their holes. On these mounds the littleanimals would stand up and bark till one approached quite near, thendart into the holes. In places the ground was honeycombed with theirsmall tunnels, endangering the legs of horses and oxen, which wouldbreak through the crust of ground into them. I shot at many of them, but never got a single animal, as they always dropped, either dead oralive, into the hole and disappeared from sight. 

Many small owls sat with a wise look on top of these little mounds, andrattlesnakes, too, were often found there. When disturbed the owls andsnakes would quickly fly and crawl into the holes. It was a saying thata prairie dog, an owl and a rattlesnake lived together in peace in thesame hole. Whether the latter two were welcome guests of the littleanimal, or forced themselves upon his hospitality, in his cool retreat, I never knew. 

One day we came to a wide stretch of loose dry sand, devoid ofvegetation, over which we had to go. It looked like some ancient lake orriver bottom. The white sand reflected the sun's rays and made itunpleasantly hot. The wheels sank into the sand and made it so hard apull for the oxen that we had to double up teams, taking one wagonthrough and going back for another, so we only made about three milesthat day. 

The unexpected was always happening to delay us. The trip was draggingout longer than was first reckoned on, and the early enthusiasm wasdying out. Walking slowly along nine or ten hours a day grew monotonousand tiresome. Then, after the day's work, to watch cattle one-half ofevery third night was a lonely, dreary task, and became intolerablywearisome. Standing or strolling alone, half a mile from camp, in thedarkness, often not a sound to be heard except the howling of thewolves, and nothing visible but the sky above and the ground below, onefelt as if his only friends and companions were his knife and hispistol. 

In the early part of September violent thunderstorms came up everyevening or night, with the appearance of an approaching deluge. Verylittle rain fell, however, but the lightning and thunder were the mostterrific I ever saw or heard. There being no trees or other high objectsaround, we were as likely to be struck as any thing. For a few wetnights I crawled into one of the covered wagons to sleep, where someprovisions had been taken out, and right on top of twelve kegs ofpowder. I sometimes mused over the probable results, in case lightningwere to strike that wagon. We passed one grave of three men who had beenkilled by a single stroke of lightning. Graves of those who had given upthe struggle of life on the way, were seen quite frequently along theroute. They were often marked by inscriptions, made by the companions ofthe dead ones on pieces of board planted in the graves. 

Now we came to extensive alkali plains, covered with soda, white as newfallen snow, glittering in the sunshine. No vegetation grew and all wasdesolation. An occasional shower left little pools of water here andthere, strongly impregnated with alkali, and from them the oxen wouldoccasionally take a drink. From that cause, or some other unknown one, they began to die off rapidly, and within three days one-third of themwere gone. The remainder were too few to pull the heavy train. Thesituation was such that it gave us great anxiety. 

What was to be done? Either leave part behind and go on to Denver withwhat we could take, or else keep things together by taking some of thewagons on for a few miles and then go back for the rest. The conclusionwas to leave four loads of heavy machinery on the plains and go on withthe other wagons as fast as possible. I asked the drivers if any of themwould stay and guard those to be left. Tobias and the German volunteeredto stay. 

We selected a camping spot a mile away from the usually traveled road soas to avoid the scrutiny of other pilgrims and look like a small partycamping to rest. Then we left them provisions for two or three weeks andwent ahead. We guessed that we were then about 150 miles from Denver. The two left behind had no mishaps, but found their stay there all alonefor two weeks very dreary and lonesome. 

Tobias was for over a year one of my most valuable and agreeableassistants. The German, when in the mountains a short time, lost hiseyes by a premature blast of powder in a mining shaft. I helped providefunds to send him East to his friends. 

A few days before this misfortune of the death of our oxen and when thedrivers were in their most discontented mood, Sollitt, ever suspicious, came to me quite agitated with a tale of gloomy forebodings. He said hehad overheard fragments of a talk between the Missourians and someothers who were quite friendly with them, which convinced him that aconspiracy was hatching to terminate the tiresome trip, by theirdeserting us in a body, injuring or driving off the oxen, or committingsome more tragic act. He thereupon armed himself heavily with his smallweapons, and advised me to do the same. 

Instead of following the advice, I became more chatty and friendly withthe men and talked of our trials and our better prospects. I discoveredin a few a bitter feeling toward Sollitt, occasioned by some rough wordsor treatment they had received. Sollitt was honest and faithful and inmany things very efficient, but was devoid of tact and agreeable waystoward those under his control, especially if he took a dislike to them. One man urged me to assert my reserved authority and take direct chargeof the whole business of the train to the exclusion of Sollitt. I had nolongings for the disagreeable task of a train master, and simply pouredoil on the troubled waters, and went ahead. 

When the oxen began to die off, Sollitt told me that he thought one ofthe Missourians had poisoned them and he disemboweled a number of thedead animals to see if the cause of death could be discovered. He foundno signs of poison and nothing that looked suspicious in the stomachs;but he said, the spleens of all of them were in a high state ofinflammation. I did not, however, understand that the oxen got theirailment from the Missourians. 

One evening we saw the clear cut outline of the Rocky Mountains, including Long's Peak. We differed in opinion, at first, as to whetherit was mountain or cloud and could not decide the question till nextmorning, when, as it was still in view, we knew it was mountain. Forseveral days, though traveling directly toward the mountains, we seemedto get no nearer, which was rather discouraging. 

Small flocks of antelope, fleet and graceful, were frequently seengliding over the plain. They were very shy, and kept several gunshotsaway. But their curiosity was great, and if a man would lie down on theground and wave a flag or handkerchief tied to a stick till they noticedit, they would first gaze at it intently and then gradually approach. Inthis way they were often enticed by hunters to come near enough for ashot. 

Forty or fifty miles below Denver we came in view of one picturesqueruin--old Fort St. Vrain--with its high, thick walls of adobe situatedon the north side of the Platte. It was built about twenty-five yearsbefore, by Ceran St. Vrain, an old trapper and Indian trader. Theseadobe walls, standing well preserved in this climate, it seemed to me, would be leveled to the ground by one or two good eastern equinoxialstorms. 

We reached Denver on the 18th of September about noon, being forty-ninedays out from St. Joe. Stubbs met us five or six miles out on the road. This gave him and me a chance, as we walked along, to talk over thecondition of things and our plans for the immediate future. He had beenin Denver over a week waiting for us and had had no tidings of the trainsince I wrote him from Fort Kearney. He had considerable liking fordisplay and had evidently told people in Denver that he was waiting forthe arrival of a large train of machinery and goods in which he wasinterested. He thought it would be a scene to be proud of to seefourteen new wagons, heavily loaded and drawn by forty yoke of oxen, come marching into town in one close file. When he saw only nine wagonsstraggling along over the space of a mile, covered with dust that hadbeen settling on them for weeks, with oxen lean, footsore, limping andbegrimed with sweat and dirt, and teamsters in clothes faded, soiled andragged, his pride sank to a low level, and he did not want to go intotown with the wagons. The train did not tarry, but crossed CherryCreek--then entirely dry, though often a torrent--drove up the Platte amile or so and camped for the day on the south or east side of thestream. Stubbs and I spent a couple of hours looking over the town andcalling on some acquaintances and then went to the camp. 

Denver was at that time a lively place, with a few dozen frame and logbuildings, and probably a thousand or more people. Most of them livedand did business in tents and wagons. A Mr. Forrest, whom I had knownin Chicago, was doing a banking business here in a tent. The townseemed to be full of wagons and merchandise, consisting of food, clothing and all kinds of tools and articles used in mining. Many peoplewere preparing to leave for the States, some to spend the winter and toreturn, others, more discouraged or tired of gold hunting, to stay forgood. 

When I went to the camp in the afternoon Sollitt and all the driverswanted to go back to the town to look it over and make a few purchases. I told them I would look after the oxen till evening, when the herdersfor that night would come and relieve me. The afternoon was clear andwarm, though the mountains to the west were carpeted with new-fallensnow. I went out in my shirt sleeves, without a thought of needing acoat. The oxen wandered off quite a distance from camp in search of thebest grass, and I leisurely followed them. Late in the afternoon, andquite suddenly, the wind sprang up and came directly from the mountains, damp and cold. Soon I was enveloped in a dense fog, and could see but afew yards away. I lost all sense of the direction of the camp or town, and the men at camp did not know where or how to find me. When nightcame it grew so dark that I could not see my hand a foot from my eyes, and could only keep with the cattle by the noise they made in walkingand grazing. Later the fog turned into a cold rain, with considerablewind, and was chilling to the bone, so I was booked for the night in acold storm without supper or coat. To keep the blood in circulation Iwould jump and run around in a circle for half an hour at a time. Sometimes I would lean up against one of the quiet old oxen on hisleeward side, and thus get some warmth from his body and shelter fromthe wind. When the oxen had finished grazing and had lain down for thenight, I tried to lie down beside one of them to get out of the wind, but the experiment was so novel to the ox that he would get up at onceand walk off. During the night the oxen strolled off more than a milefrom camp. When morning came I was relieved by the men and was ready forbreakfast, and especially for the strong coffee. In times of exposureand extra effort, coffee was the greatest solace we found. 

When on a visit to Denver, twenty-three years afterwards, I tried tofind out just where I spent that night. An old settler of the placedecided with me that it was on the elevated ground now known as CapitolHill. During the day we crossed the Platte and went forward with thetrain to the foot of the mountains, and camped some two or three milessouth of where Clear creek leaves the foot-hills. Next morning Sollitttook twelve yoke of oxen with two drivers, and started back for the fourwagons and two men that had been left behind on the plains. Ourteamsters, who had volunteered to drive oxen to the mountains withoutpay, had now fulfilled their agreement, but most of them were glad tostay with us for awhile at current wages--about a dollar and a half aday. The prospect was not as golden, and the men were not as anxious toget to mining as they had been when a thousand miles further east. 

Stubbs had spent a month among the mines and mills, and his observationsmade him rather blue. The accounts he gave me were most discouraging. Hewas inclined to think that the best thing for us to do was to go intocamp for the winter, look around, watch the developments, and in thespring decide where to locate, if at all, or whether to sell out, giveup the enterprise and go home. The proposition was not a bad one, byany means; but I was too full of determination to do _something_, tothink of sitting down and quietly waiting six months, after all we hadgone through, to get there. I thought we would all be better satisfiedif we were to pitch in and make a vigorous effort, even if we failed inthe end, rather than to quit at this early stage of the hunt. 

The usual route from Denver to the gold fields, was to the north ofClear creek, by Golden City to Blackhawk, and then to Mountain City. Stubbs selected a route further south, because there was a fine campingplace, with good grass, about fifteen miles, or half way up to the goldfields, from the foot of the mountains. The roads were quite passable upto this camp, though the hills were steep. With the drivers and oxenthat were left after Sollitt started back, the wagons were graduallytaken up to this mountain camp, while he was back on the plains andStubbs and I were looking over the gold region to decide on a finallocation. The weather was pleasant and rather warm during the day, butfrosty at night. We still slept in the open air, and our blankets wereoften frozen to the ground in the morning. 

There was more or less gulch mining and prospecting[2] going on over alarge section of the mountains, but the principal part of the lodemining, and most of the mills that had been located, were confined to afield not over five or six miles in extent, the center of which wasMountain City, now Central City. There were fifty or more mills alreadyup and in running order. They varied in capacity from three to twentystamps. Some were running day and night crushing quartz that wasapparently rich in gold; some were running a part of the time, experimenting on a variety of quartz taken out of different lodes andprospect holes, and generally not paying, and some were idle, the ownersdiscouraged, "bust, " and trying to sell, or else gone home for thewinter to get more money to work with. 

[Footnote 2: "Prospecting" included the searching forgold in almost any way that was experimental. Going offinto the unexplored mountains to hunt new fields ofgold, whether in gulches or lodes was prospecting. Digging a hole down through the dirt and loose stones inthe bottom of a gulch to see if gold could be found inthe sand was prospecting. Sinking a shaft into the topdirt of a hillside in search of a new lode, or into thelode when discovered to see if gold could be found therewas prospecting. And manipulating a specimen of quartzby pulverizing and the use of quicksilver to see if itcontained gold was also prospecting. ]

The most of these mills were located about Mountain City and Blackhawkand in Nevada and Russell's gulches. The rest of them were scattered inother small gulches or mountain valleys in the vicinity. The richestmines being worked were the Bobtail, Gregory, and others, in Gregorygulch between Mountain City and Blackhawk. The other principal golddiggings were some seventy miles further south, near the present site ofLeadville. These I did not then visit. Nearly all of these mills hadbeen brought out and located during the year 1860. Ours was about thelast one to arrive that season. It was evident that the business was notgenerally paying. The reasons given were, that the mills did not savethe gold that was in the quartz, and that those at work in the mineswere nearly all in the "cap rock" which was supposed to overlie thericher deposits below. The theory was that the deeper they went thericher the quartz. There were just enough rich "pockets" and streaksbeing discovered and good runs made by the few paying mines and mills tokeep everybody hopeful and in expectation that fortune would soon favorthem. So they worked away as long as they had anything to eat, or toolsand powder to work with. 

After looking over the fields a number of days, carrying our blanketsand sleeping in empty miners' cabins, Stubbs and I concluded to locateat the head of Leavenworth gulch, which was about a mile and a halfsouthwest of Mountain City, between Nevada and Russell's gulches. Theside hills were studded all over with prospect holes and mining shafts. Several lodes, said to be rich in gold, had recently been discovered, and a nice stream of water ran down the gulch. Only three mills were inoperation there, and a number of miners who were developing their ownclaims strongly encouraged us to come, promising us plenty of quartz tocrush. Several parties were gulch mining there with apparent success, and during the short time that I watched one man washing out the dirtand gravel from the bottom of the gulch he picked up several nicenuggets of shining gold, which was quite stimulating to one's hopes. Iafterwards learned that these same nuggets had been washed out severaltimes before, whenever a "tenderfoot" would come along, who it wasthought might want to buy a rich claim. 

As soon as we located and selected a mill site, we went vigorously towork, and all was preparation, bustle and activity. Stubbs was a goodmechanic and took charge of the construction. Others were cutting downtrees, hauling and squaring logs, and framing and placing timbers tosupport the heavy mill machinery. As soon as Sollitt returned from theplains, he, with a few of the drivers, went to work to get the wagons, machinery and provisions from the mountain camp up to our location. Inmany places, at first glance, the roads looked impassable. They went uphills and rocky ledges so steep that six yoke of oxen could pull only apart of a load; then down a mountain side so precipitous that the fourwheels of each wagon would have to be dead-locked with chains to keepthem from overrunning the oxen; then they would go along mountainstreams full of rocks and bowlders, and upsetting a wagon was quite acommon occurrence. I saw one of our provision wagons turn over into arunning stream, and, among other things, a barrel of sugar start rollingdown with the current. 

As soon as everything was brought up to our final location, I sold someof the wagons, some oxen and the pony, thus securing cash to pay helpand other expenses. I traded others off for sawed lumber, shingles, etc. , for use in building the mill-house and a cabin. Grass was veryscarce in the mining regions. One of the faithful, well-whipped oxen waskilled for beef (a little like eating one of the family). In this dry, pure air the meat kept in perfect condition for many weeks till alleaten up, and it was an agreeable change in our diet. 

When we had finished the hauling of timber and other things, we sentthe oxen, still on hand, down to the foot of the mountains where therewas grass during the winter; for cattle would pick up a living among thefoot-hills, and come out in good condition in the spring. The distancewas some twenty-five or thirty miles. Early one bright November morningI started down there on foot to make arrangements with a ranchman tolook after them. The air was so bracing and stimulating to the energiesthat I felt as if a fifty-mile walk would be mere recreation. Beingmostly down hill, I arrived at the ranch before noon, did my business, got a dinner of beef, bread and coffee, and felt so fine that soon aftertwo o'clock I concluded to start for home, thinking that in any event Iwould reach one of the two or three cabins that would be found on thelatter part of the road. Walking up the mountains was slower businessthan going down, and long before I reached the expected cabins itbecame dark and I was completely tired out. I found a small pile ofdried grass by the roadside which had been collected by some teamsterfor his horses. I covered myself up with this as well as I could, andbeing very tired, was soon asleep, without supper or blanket. Onawakening in the morning, I found myself covered with several inches ofsnow, and felt tired, hungry and depressed. I plodded along toward homefor a few hours, and came to a cabin occupied by a lone prospector, whogot me up a meal of coffee, tough beef and wheat flour bread, baked in afrying pan with a tin cover over it. Soon after finishing the meal Ifelt sick and very weak, and was unable to proceed on my journey tilllate in the afternoon, when I went ahead and reached home long afterdark. 

Leavenworth gulch was crossed by dozens of lodes of gold-bearing quartz, generally running in a north-easterly and south-westerly direction. Inthis district the discoverer of a lode was entitled to claim and stakeoff 200 feet in length, then others could in succession take 100 feeteach, in either direction from the discovery hole, and these claims, inorder to be valid, were all recorded in the record office of thedistrict. Owners of these various claims, to prospect and develop them, had dug the side hills of the gulch all over with hundreds of holes fromten to thirty feet deep, partly through top dirt and partly throughrock. A few would find ore rich enough to excite and encourage all therest. More would find rich indications that would stimulate them to workon as long as they had provisions or credit to enable them to go ahead, hoping each day for the golden "strike. " A large majority of theseprospect holes came to nothing. Many of the miners had claims on severaldifferent lodes, and although they might have faith in their richness, they wanted to sell part of them to get means to work the rest. We hadplenty of chances to buy for a few hundred dollars in money or trademines partly opened, showing narrow streaks of good ore, which, according to the prevailing belief, would widen out and pay richly assoon as they were down through the "cap rock. "

While work was progressing on the mill I spent considerable time inlooking over these mines, and I went down numerous shafts by means of arope and windlass, turned by a lone stranger, who I sometimes fearedmight let me drop. I listened to glowing descriptions by the owners, examined the crevises and pay streaks, and took specimens home toprospect. This was done by pounding a piece of ore to powder in a littlehand mortar, then putting in a drop of quicksilver to pick up the gold, and then evaporating that fluid by holding it in an iron ladle over afire. The richness of the color left in the cup would indicate theamount of gold in the quartz. [3] I could soon talk glibly of "blossomrock, " "pay streaks, " "cap rock, " "wall rock, " "rich color, " and use thecommon terms of miners. I bought two or three mines, traded oxen andwagons for two or three more, and furnished "grub stakes" to one or twominers--that is, gave them provisions to live on while they worked theirclaims on terms of sharing the results. 

[Footnote 3: In testing quartz by specimens, "greenhorns" were sometimes deceived by "loaded"quicksilver, that is by that which had some gold in itand would leave a "color" whenever evaporated. I knewone miner who worked away in his mine, taking out quartzall winter, and was in good spirits as he tested aspecimen of his ore every day or two and always found arich color. When crushed in the spring his quartz didnot "pay. " The bottle of quicksilver he had used allwinter was found to be "loaded. "]

Quartz mills were nearly all run by steam and the fuel was pine wood cutfrom the mountain sides, every one taking from these public domainswhatever he wanted. The principal features of our mill were twelve largepestles or stamps, weighing 500 pounds each, which were raised up abouteighteen inches by machinery and dropped into huge iron mortars ontothe small pieces of rock which were constantly fed into them by a manwith a shovel. A small stream of water was let into the mortars, and asthe rock was crushed into fine sand and powder it went out with thewater, through fine screens in front, and passed over long tables, alittle inclined, and then over woolen blankets. The tables were coveredwith large sheets of brightly polished copper. On these polished plates, quicksilver was sprinkled and it was held to the copper by the affinityof the two metals for each other. As the water and powdered rock passedover the tables, the quicksilver, by reason of its chemical attractionfor gold, would gather up the fine particles of that metal and, as thetwo combined, would gradually harden and form an amalgam, somewhatresembling lead. Coarser grains of gold would lodge in the blankets, owing to their weight, while the small particles of rock would passover with the water. The amalgam was put into a retort and heated over afire, when the quicksilver would pass off in vapor through a tube into avessel of water, and then condense, to be again used, while the goldwould be left in the retort, to be broken up into small pieces and usedas current money. In order to save as much of the gold as possible, these copper plates required close watching, constant care and muchrubbing to remove the verdigris that would form. 

About the first of November our mill was completed, and we expected tooperate it a good part of the winter with the quartz of other miners, together with that which we would take out ourselves from our own mines. A large well, or underground cistern, was dug under the mill house, which was fed by copious springs, and promised to furnish an abundantsupply of water. To furnish water for the numerous mills about MountainCity and in Nevada gulch a large ditch had been dug, which started up inthe mountains near the Snowy range, and wound like a huge serpent aroundpromontories and the sides and heads of numerous gulches, with a slightincline, for some fifteen miles. It passed around the hills whichbordered Leavenworth gulch, a few hundred yards above our mill site. About the time the mill was completed the water was turned off from thisditch on account of freezing weather and the near approach of winter. Very soon after, the beautiful springs which supplied our tank and thegulch with water, all dried up. They had been fed by seepage from thebig ditch. With the disappearance of the water vanished all prospect ofrunning the mill before spring, when the melting snow would furnish asupply. It seemed like a bad case of "hope deferred. " But the bracingair and climate, outdoor life, constant exercise, coarse food and purewater were too invigorating and stimulating to the feelings and hopes toallow one to feel much depressed or discouraged. We looked forward tothe next summer for the golden harvest. 

Stubbs built us a one-and-a-half-story-cottage out of sawed lumber, boards and shingles, with one room below for living, eating, cooking andstoring provisions in, and one above for a dormitory. A corner of thelatter was partitioned off into a small room for him and me, with a bunkfor each, under which we stored our twelve kegs of powder, as being thesafest place we had for it. We slept on beds of hay with our blanketsover us, and in very cold weather piled on our entire stock of coats andsome empty provision sacks. In the room below was a good cook stove, andthere was wood in abundance, so we kept comfortable, though the housewas neither plastered nor sheeted, and considerable daylight came inthrough cracks in the siding. We had a table and benches made of boards, and Stubbs made me an armchair and a desk for my account books, papersand stationery. What a luxury, after four months camping out, to be ableto sit down in a chair, eat from a table, sleep on a bed, write at adesk, read by a candle at night and have regular, well-cooked meals. 

To a lover of the picturesque in scenery our location was ideal. Immediately around us was a semicircle of high, steep, pine-coveredhills spotted with prospect holes. To the east, through an opening inthe intervening mountain ranges, the plains were in full view over ahundred miles away. Sometimes for days, they were covered with shiftingclouds which seemed far below us. Then an east wind would drive theclouds and mist slowly up into the mountains, swallowing up first onerange and then another, till only a few peaks would stand out, above anocean of fog, and finally we would be enveloped ourselves. Ascending ahill a few hundred yards above our house and looking westward over agreat depression or mountain valley, one had in full view the Snowyrange over twenty miles away, with its crests and peaks covered withperpetual snow, and Mount Gray still further in the distance. In thefall and winter almost every day local snowstorms and blizzards wereseen playing over this great basin and on the sides of the distantrange. Our location was some nine or ten thousand feet above the sea. The lightness of the air gave some inconvenience and many surprises tonew comers. They would get out of breath in a few minutes in walking upa hill. I would wake up several times in a night with a feeling ofsuffocation, draw deep breaths for a few minutes and thus get reliefbefore going to sleep again. It took ten minutes to boil eggs, two tothree hours for potatoes, and beans for dinner were usually put on thefire at supper time the day before. 

Coin and bank bills were seldom seen. The universal currency wasretorted gold, broken up into small pieces, which went at $16 an ounce. Every man had his buckskin purse tied with a string, to carry his "dust"in, and every store and house had its small scales, with weights from afew grains to an ounce, to weigh out the price when any article from anewspaper to a wagon was purchased. No laws were in force or observedexcept miners' laws made by the people of the different districts. Whena few dozen miners, more or less, settled or went to work in a new placethey soon organized, adopted a set of laws and elected officers, usually a president, secretary, recorder of claims, justice of thepeace and a sheriff or constable. Appeals from the justice, disputes ofimportance over mining claims, and criminal cases were tried at ameeting of the miners of the district. We were in the district ofRussell's gulch. Sometimes we had a meeting of the residents of our owngulch. One chap there stole a suit of clothes. The residents werenotified to meet at once, and the same day the culprit was tried andfound guilty, and a committee, of which I was one, was appointed tonotify him to leave our locality within two hours and not to return, onpenalty of death. He went on time. Had he been stubborn and refused togo, I don't know what course the committee would have taken. This memberof it would have been embarrassed. An adjoining district was made upmostly of Georgians. They had their own tastes and prejudices. Soonafter we came to the mountains, at their miners' meeting a man wasconvicted for some offence and sentenced to receive thirty lashes from aheavy horsewhip. The day for the execution of the sentence was regardedas a kind of holiday and the miners collected from all the countryaround. All our men, including Sollitt, went to the whipping. Stubbs andI stayed at home. We had no relish for that sort of amusement. A thiefwas more sure of punishment than a murderer. There was so much propertylying around in cabins unguarded, while the owners were off mining orprospecting, that stealing could not be tolerated, while the loss of aman now and then by killing or otherwise did not count for much. 

When it was found that the mill could not be run during the winter, wedischarged all the men except the cook, and two others, who were kept tohelp do a little mining on two of the claims that we had secured bytrade and purchase. A shaft about three feet by six was sunk in each, which followed the vein of mineral quartz down to a depth of thirty tofifty feet. In one, the vein was quite rich in places, but only two orthree inches wide, and it would not pay to work it; but the hope thatkept us, like hundreds of others at work, was, that the vein would widenout when we got a little deeper and grow richer as it went down. Thishope was never realized. The other shaft was on a lode called theKeystone, and developed a wide vein of black pyrites of iron that muchresembled that which was being taken out of the best paying mines, andmost of the miners that examined it declared that we had a bonanza. Ofcourse we were in good spirits, but we did not care to run in debt inorder to take out more mineral than we got in sinking the shaft, ofwhich there were several cords. I worked a part of each day in theshafts, with the others, to learn the details, drilling, blasting andpicking out the "pay streak. " Then I spent a good deal of time lookingaround among other mines, and the mills that were at work, to learn whatI could. Quite a number of other miners were at work in the gulchsinking shafts on their best claims and taking out ore to be crushed inthe spring. To some of these we furnished provisions to enable them tokeep at work. Most of the roving, restless, fickle people had gone homein the fall and those who stayed were men of grit and determination. Some of them were well educated and intelligent. Every little whilesomebody would strike a small pocket, or a streak of very rich ore, which would help to make everybody else feel hopeful. And so the winterwore away. 

There were four families in the gulch this winter, including that numberof women, several children and three young ladies. The young men buzzedaround the homes of the latter like bees about a honey dish. Thesefamilies united and had a party on Christmas Eve. Three cottages wereused for the occasion, one to receive the guests in, ours for the supperroom, and another with a floor for dancing. We regarded this as the"coming out" of the youngest of the young ladies. Several ladies fromRussell's and other gulches came to the party. Among those living herewere quite a number who brought a few books with them. No one person hadmany, but all together they made quite a library and were freely lent. Iremember borrowing and reading by the light of a candle, in these longwinter evenings, some works on mines, Carlyle's works, a few historiesand several novels. The almost universal amusement with the miners andothers was card playing, confined to euchre and poker. Every miner hada pack of cards in his cabin if not in his pocket, and generally sosoiled and greasy that one could not tell the jack from the king. Gambling was common and open in Denver and Mountain City, and notunusual elsewhere. Playing for gain was never practiced in our cottage. When poker was played, beans were put in the jackpot instead of money. 

Near the junction of Russell's and Leavenworth gulches, and about athird of a mile from our location, was a mill owned and run by George M. Pullman, then a comparatively obscure man, but later known to the worldas the great sleeping car magnate. He also had an interest in a generalsupply store near Mountain City. He lived much of this winter in a cabinnear the mill, and rode back and forth to town almost daily on an oldmule. He wore common clothes like the rest of us, and the only sign ofgreater importance that he exhibited was, that while I walked to town, he rode the mule. He left the mountains the next summer for Chicago, andentered upon his sleeping-car enterprise, which led to fame and fortune. 

Another young miner that was much in evidence about Mountain City thiswinter was Jerome B. Chaffee, who afterwards made a fortune in mines, took an active interest in local politics and became a United StatesSenator. 

In Mountain City there was an enterprising chap who started a pie bakeryand did an extensive business. Miners from all the country around, whenthey came to town, crowded his shop for a delightful change from theusual cabin fare. I went to town every few days for letters and papers, or to visit the mills, and always indulged in this one dissipation. Iwent to his bakery and feasted on pie. He had peach, apple, mince, berry, pumpkin and custard pie, and never since I was a boy in the landof pie did the article taste so good. 

Within a hundred yards of our mill lived and worked the gulchblacksmith, named Switzer. He sharpened our drills and did our smithwork generally. He had a bitter feud with a gambler in Mountain City, which resulted in each vowing to shoot the other on sight. They carriedloaded revolvers for the occasion for nearly a month, and then happenedto meet in broad daylight in the principal street of the town. The otherfellow was the quicker--Switzer fell dead and we had to find anotherblacksmith. No notice was taken of the affair by the authorities. 

Sollitt became ill with what the doctors pronounced scurvy, and wentEast before April. Stubbs and he disliked each other from the first, andwhatever one suggested the other opposed. This made it easier for me todecide some questions, as I never had both of them against me. Thepeople here were generally very healthy. I increased much in strengthand vigor, and weighed 175 pounds for the first and only time in mylife. November was windy, stormy and cold, but in December the weatherwas settled and pleasant. During the winter the mercury a few times wentbelow zero; otherwise the climate was delightful. The warm sunshine ofthe last half of April melted the snow, thawed the ground and brought asupply of water for the mill, even before the big ditch began to run. Wesoon began crushing the piles of quartz that had been taken out duringthe winter by various miners, and tried our own rich-looking black stufffrom the Keystone. The mill was run day and night. I took charge frommidnight till noon and Stubbs from noon till midnight. None of the rockwas found rich enough to pay for mining and milling. That tried in oneor two other mills was no better. General discouragement followed, andeverybody stopped mining in our gulch. Some went to work for wages inother mines, to get a fresh supply of provisions, etc. Some went offprospecting and gulch mining in the newer gold regions. Our neighbor, Farren, moved his mill seventy miles away, to California gulch, nearwhere Leadville now is. A mill partly erected near our mill site, andowned by a Mr. Bradley and a Mr. H. H. Honore, the father of Mrs. PotterPalmer, was moved away to other parts, and our mill was left alone. Thegulch was soon almost deserted. Mines and mills seemed to be of no useor value. Our whole enterprise had apparently collapsed, and the goldenhalo, that for ten months had surrounded it, had vanished. Hopedeparted, and for a few days was replaced by feelings of disappointmentand depression of spirits not often experienced by me. Stubbs abandonedthe business and decided to go home and leave me to hold the fort andlook after the wreck, as he called it, to see what could be saved. 

He built a boat, had it hauled down to the Platte at Denver, piled inhis provisions and effects, launched it in the river and started downstream, hoping to reach Omaha in that way. All went well for about ahundred miles, when the water grew so shallow that he was stranded amidthe small islands and shifting sands. He got ashore, abandoned his boatand took passage in an eastward-bound mule wagon. He and the principal, Mr. Sollitt, afterwards sold out their interest in the enterprise to Mr. Ayres for a small consideration. 

In a few days I got over the "dumps, " and spent a week or two visitingthe newer gold fields up the south branch of Clear creek, about Idaho, Georgetown, Empire and Fall river, where new lodes were being discoveredalmost daily. Not much gold was being taken out, but everybody was fullof hope and expectation and busy prospecting and staking off claims onnewly discovered lodes. I had some staked off for myself by some men whohad worked for us. 

Geo. M. Pullman wanted to experiment on a load of the ore from our notedKeystone lode, as it looked so rich. When it was going through the mill, the amalgam piled up so fast on the copper plates and appeared so richthat he at once came up to see me and proposed that we buy, on jointaccount, the adjoining claim on the same lode, as I knew the owner andhad formerly had an option on its purchase. A few hours later, when theyhad cleaned up and retorted the amalgam he came galloping up again onthe old mule to stop proceedings, as they got very little of value fromthe amalgam, and that mostly silver. Thus that gleam of hope quicklyvanished also. 

Late in June, with Tobias as a companion, I took a trip of observationover the range into the wild regions of Middle park. We carried ourblankets, flour, bacon, coffee and sugar to last a week, also tin cups, plates and spoons, a frying pan, gun, pistol, hatchet and belt knives. Walking the first day slowly up the slopes through the pine forests, around the head of Nevada gulch, and along the high ridge south ofBoulder valley, we camped for the night just below the timber line so asto have fuel for a fire. A few tracks of Mountain lion were seen in theafternoon. The trees grew smaller and smaller till the last seen wereold ones covered with moss and only a few feet high. After leaving theline of timber growth, the ground for some miles was thickly carpetedwith mountain moss, then in full bloom in rich colors of red, white, blue and yellow. In the afternoon we reached the top of a high peak onthe crest of the range where all was desolation, and nothing grew. Thepeak was a vast pile of broken rocks and stones partly covered withsnow. To the North Long's Peak stood out above everything else. To theEast one had a grand view over a wilderness of mountain ranges and peaksto the great plains in the dim distance. To the South, beyond a range ofother snow-capped peaks, towered Mount Gray. Within a mile of us in fullview, were seven mountain lakes from ten to a hundred acres in size, andone of them, which was screened from the sun's rays by a steep rockyledge, was still solid ice from the freeze of the last winter. To thewest was visible a circle of mountain tops, thirty or forty miles away, and surrounding the great basin, a mile below us in elevation, whichconstituted Middle park. The afternoon was bright and pleasant, and wedecided to spend the night on the peak, to see the sunrise and enjoy theview in the clear morning air. We made a bed with flat stones and rolledup in our blankets for sleep. Then the wind blew over us and up throughthe crevices in the rocks under us and soon our teeth were chatteringand we were chilled through and through. To keep from freezing weclimbed in the darkness, over the rocks and down the mountain side to asheltered nook, then rolled up and went to sleep. During the night I wasawakened by some animal sniffing about my head and pulling at myblanket. A yell, a start and two or three stones thrown after him, senthim off among the rocks, and I never knew what it was. At daylight weagain climbed up the peak, saw the sun rise, made a breakfast of breadand sugar as we had no fuel to make a fire, and then started down themountain. The little streams and pools coming from the melting snows theday before were now all frozen up. 

By ten o'clock we were down where the vegetation was luxuriant, theflowers in bloom and the butterflies flitting about them. Along thestream that we descended to the westward, was a series of beaver damscontinuing for several miles, covering two or three acres each, withbreasts four or five feet high formed of logs and brush. Out in themiddle of the dams were the beavers' houses, partly under water andrising a few feet above. Many of the logs, cut off by the beavers toform the dams, and the stumps on the shore where they had gnawed downthe trees, were twelve to fifteen inches through. Further on we saw beartracks in the mud along the stream. When we camped at night we made abed of pine boughs, and over it a small shelter with branches of treescut with the hatchet. We built a fire on the side hill above oursleeping place beside a fallen tree. In the night it burned through anda log rolled down the hill over us, and we awoke with a sudden start. Ithought of bears and instantly seized my hatchet and knife for defense, before realizing the true situation. Old skulls and bones of buffalowere plentiful, showing that the animals had once occupied these fertilevalleys. On starting back we followed an old animal trail, the generalcourse of which was headed toward the range, though it wound around themountain sides and gulches in all directions. We felt sure it would leadover the Snowy range at the easiest passage. After following it twodays, often climbing over and creeping under fallen trees, it brought usthrough a low pass to the head waters of South Clear creek, whence wehad an easy trail down hill most of the way home. 

Though far away from the seat of the civil war we did not escape itsexcitements. The Southerners were numerous in the mountains, and ofcourse all sided with the South. They and the Northerners were verysuspicious of each other, and each party bought up all the guns theycould get in the mountains. During the summer of 1861 much fear was feltthat a rebel force might march up the Arkansas and, with the help oftheir friends here, capture the whole settlement. But when the Southerntroops were defeated and driven out of New Mexico by the Union forces inthe following spring, all danger was over and "Pike's Peak" was loyal. The Southerners gradually left to join the rebel army. We got news fromthe East in six days, by telegraph to Omaha, the overland mail coach toJulesburg, near the forks of the Platte, and by pony express from thereto Denver. St. Louis papers were eight days old and Chicago papers tendays old when received. 

One of the best known miners in our region was Joe Watson, who came fromnear Philadelphia, in 1859, and he came to stay. Though quiet andunassuming he was nervy, determined, persevering and persistent. Hediscovered, staked off, owned and worked many claims in Leavenworth andother gulches. Sometimes he had streaks of luck and often the reverse. When lucky he would hire men to help him, when "broke" he would put morepatches on his clothes, sharpen his own tools, borrow a sack of flourand work away. Some years later he discovered a really rich gold mine, then worked a silver mine in Utah and became a millionaire. During thespring of 1861 and the winter previous, he prospected in several of hisclaims, but fortune was against him. In July, when most of the otherminers had left our gulch, he came back and quietly went to work in aclaim that he owned on the hillside a few hundred feet above ourcottage. In two or three weeks he took out from a narrow crevice twocart loads of top quartz which looked like rusty iron (not having gotdown to the pyrites), and he persuaded me to start up the mill and crushit. Very soon the amalgam began to pile up on the copper plates as I hadnever before seen it. The result of the "clean up" and retorting was$1, 000 worth of shining gold. The next run, out of the same mine, produced but little gold, a good example of how that metal was found instreaks and pockets. Watson paid his debts, got a new suit of clothes, laid in a stock of provisions, and went to work again developing hismines. It was related of him that he went to Philadelphia one winter totry and sell shares in his mines, and that he wore a suit of Quakerclothes, used the plain language, attended Friends' meetings, and hadgood success in selling shares. Of these early workers I might name afew more who attained wealth or prominence; but the greatmajority--those who hoped and struggled and toiled without success, areforgotten. 

The rich strike in Joe's mine made quite an excitement. Some others wereinspired with renewed hopes and many visited the gulch to see the richmine they had heard of. There was a small army of miners marchingthrough the mountains constantly, going in all directions, leaving oneplace for some other where rich strikes were reported. 

I concluded to make one more trial in the Keystone, dig a little deeperand see if the ore was any richer there. The result was a pleasantsurprise, and gold enough to more than pay expenses. I hired a gang ofmen to work the mine night and day, and thus kept the mill going tillthe water gave out in the fall. As I had no skilled assistant I had towork at least sixteen hours a day in running the mill, procurringsupplies and superintending everything. Some runs proved the quartz tobe quite rich, though it varied greatly. We still believed in the theorythat it would grow richer as we went deeper. I arranged to mine allwinter and pile up the quartz for spring crushing. 

In April, 1862, when provisions were nearly used up in the mountains andthe early spring supply trains from the East were about due, there camean unusual fall of snow, eighteen inches deep, extending far eastwardover the plains, completely blockading teams and transportation. Afamine was threatened and people became panic-stricken. Flour rose ashigh as $50 a sack, and one day a small quantity sold for eighty cents apound. Coffee and other things also advanced in price. We were on ourlast sack of flour, and I decided that when that was gone the men mustall quit work and start eastward to meet the supplies on the plains. Butthe incoming trains soon began to arrive in Denver, and provisions wereplentiful at usual prices. 

When the mill was started up in the spring our hopes were dashed byfinding that the quartz taken out during the winter did not pay as wellas that of the previous season. The mine was down about a hundred feet, and the last taken out did not pay expenses, so I discharged the minersagain. I was getting tired and disgusted with the whole business, andrealized that it was about time to return East if I were going backthere to settle down. 

About the first of June, Mr. Ayres came out to spend the summer. He wasso delighted with the beauty of the scenery and novelty of the businessthat he talked of sending for his family. The mountain sides were gaywith wild flowers in full bloom in gorgeous colors. The shining goldthat he could see taken out by several successful plants, delighted hiseyes and stimulated his imagination nearly up to the point of genuinegold fever. His coming was of course a great relief to me by dividingthe responsibility and work about the mill. We ran the mill night andday, crushed all the quartz that could be got and worked over a largepile of tailings that had accumulated below the mill, which paid a smallprofit. The summer's success was very moderate. About midsummer Mr. Ayres bought out my interest in the enterprise, with the understandingthat I would remain till fall and assist him. He wanted to give thebusiness a further trial. I determined to return to Chicago and try totake advantage of the tide of prosperity then beginning to rise in theEast. 

Mr. Ayres remained till late in the fall, then went to Chicago for thewinter and returned to the mountains early in the spring of 1863, togive the business a further trial. But he did not do much mining ormilling. During that spring and the following summer a fever ofspeculation prevailed all over the East, brought about by the war andthe deluge of greenbacks. It extended to mining stocks, and especiallyto gold mines, as gold was then selling at a high premium--one hundreddollars in gold bringing $260 in legal tender currency. Mr. Ayresoffered his plant for sale, went to New York in the summer and disposedof it in Wall street for $30, 000. The mill was never afterwards run andI believe, none of the mines ever worked. Twenty years later I visitedLeavenworth gulch. The mill and all the houses and cabins of my formerdays there had disappeared, and most of the old prospect holes andmining shafts had caved in. One familiar sight, however, remained. Aload or so of black, rich looking ore was lying upon the ground unusedand uncared for at the shaft of the Keystone. 

On the 22nd of October, 1862, I left the mountains and gave up themining business for ever. The next day at Denver I took passage forOmaha, in a two-horse covered wagon, with a man and his wife who werereturning to their home in Baraboo, Wis. , after spending two years inthe gold fields with only moderate success. Another man also tookpassage making a party of four. Leaving the wagon to the man and hiswife, my fellow passenger and I slept on the ground in our blankets, except occasionally, when near some ranch or settlement, we could enjoythe luxury of a haystack. When two or three days out of Denver we had a"cold snap" which froze the vegetables in the wagon and made sleepingout very uncomfortable. The woman did the cooking and the men collectedthe fuel. The other two men had guns and supplied us with small game. Wesaw a few dozen buffalo, but they were too far off to shoot. One day thetwo men went off on an all-day hunt among the distant hills, thearrangement being to meet us in camp at evening. I drove the team, andin the afternoon we came in sight of a camp of Indians with their lodgesset up near our trail. The only thing to do was to drive boldly ahead. The woman sat on a seat well back in the wagon, and I sat forward withmy feet out on a front step. I hung up a blanket close behind me acrossthe wagon, so that the Indians could not see how many persons were init. As we approached the camp about a dozen of them came out on thetrail in front of us, motioning to me to stop and calling out, "Swap, swap, swap, " meaning for us to stop and trade with them, but intendingdoubtless to find out how many were in the wagon, and rob us if theydared. Suddenly, when within a few yards of them, I whipped the horseswith all my might, and drove furiously past and away from the camp. Whenour party met at night, all agreed that the day's experience savored toomuch of danger to allow the hunters to go out of sight of the wagonagain. 

We passed two or three camps of Sioux Indians along the Platte, but theygave us no trouble. When driving through the trees and bushes in alonely spot about a day's journey below Fort Kearney, we suddenly met aband of mounted Pawnee warriors, who stopped us and in broken Englishasked where we were going, where we came from, if we saw any SiouxIndians, how big the bands were, if they had many ponies and how manydays' journey they were away. We answered their inquiries, and they toldus to go ahead. They rode westward, doubtless to make a raid on theirenemies, the Sioux. 

The weather was now getting cold; we approached the settlements andenjoyed the haystacks. One night, while camping near an Indiansettlement on the Platte, I crawled well into the middle of a small rickof hay. The Indians were tramping around it and over it and howling andyelling all night, but I kept my berth till morning. We reached Omaha intwenty days from Denver. There I said good-by to my traveling companionsand took stage for Iowa City, whence I could go by rail to Chicago. Thestage trip was two days and nights of continuous travel, except shortstops to change horses and get something to eat. We were packed three ona seat, with no chance to stretch out our limbs, and no opportunity forsleep, except such as could be obtained sitting upright and jolting overthe rough roads. 

After an absence of about two and a third years, I reached Chicago inthe middle of November, 1862, a wiser if not a richer man. 

After selling out my interest in the joint enterprise, I still had leftsome fifty claims on various lodes in the newer gold fields of the Clearcreek region. Some I had pre-empted, and some I had bought in job lotsfrom miners who were "broke" or were about to leave the mountains. Somehad prospect holes dug in them and some were entirely undeveloped. Theymay have been worthless, and they may have contained untold millions. But I had given up the mining business. Some time after returning toChicago I was making a real estate trade, and we were a little slow inadjusting the difference in values and closing the deal, and finally as"boot" to make things even I threw in these fifty gold mines. Perhapsthis was a mistake and a squandering of wealth and opportunities. Had Ionly kept them, and gotten up some artistic deeds of conveyance, ingilded letters, what magnificent wedding presents they would have made. And the supply would have been as exhaustless as that of QueenVictoria's India shawls. In the long list of high-sounding, uselesspresents, the present of a gold mine would have led all the rest. 

In summing up the losses and gains of the expedition, I have to chargeon one side two years and four months of time devoted to hard work, withmany privations, and about $500 in cash which I was out of pocket. Onthe other side, I had built up a fine constitution, increased instrength and endurance, gained valuable business experience, learned ina measure to persevere under difficulties, and to bear with patience andfortitude the back-sets, reverses and disappointments that so oftenbeset us, and, finally, had learned enough not to be taken in by theschemers who are constantly enticing eastern people to invest in goldand silver mines. Did the enterprise pay?

PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEYAND SONS COMPANY AT THELAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.