The Government party we were with had among them a German mule driver
who had a deal of trouble with his team, but who had a very little
knowledge of the English language. When the officers tried to instruct
him a little he seemed to get out of patience and would say something
very like _Sacramento_. We did not know exactly what this meant. We had
heard there was a river of that name or something very near like that;
and then again some said that was the Dutch for swearing. If this latter
was the truth then he was a very profane mule driver when he got mad.
The Captain of the company had a very nice looking lady with him, and
they carried a fine wall tent which they occupied when they went into
camp. The company cook served their meals to them in the privacy of
their tent, and they seemed to enjoy themselves very nicely. Everybody
thought the Captain was very lucky in having such an accomplished
companion, and journey along quietly to the gold fields at government
expense.
There seemed to be just a little jealousy between the Captain and the
Lieutenant, and one day I saw them both standing in angry attitude
before the Captain's quarters, both mounted, with their carbines lying
across their saddles before them. They had some pretty sharp, hot words,
and it looked as if they both were pretty nearly warmed up to the
shooting point. Once the Lieutenant moved his right hand a little, and
the Captain was quick to see it, shouting;--"Let your gun alone or I
will make a hole through you," at the same time grasping his own and
pointing it straight at the other officer.
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