Bradford of New Orleans
and myself took our mules and went down where the hills were low and the
game plenty. We camped in a low ravine, staked out our mules and staid
all night without a fire, believing that when we woke in the early
morning some of the many herd of elk then in sight would be near us at
daylight, and we could easily kill all we wanted without leaving camp;
but we were disappointed. Hundreds of the big-horned fellows were in
sight, but none in rifle shot, and there was no chance for us to get any
nearer to them. We got near a couple of antelope and Mr. Bradford, who
was a brag shot and had the best gun, proposed to kill them as we stood.
The larger of the two was on his side and much nearer than the smaller
one, but we fired together just as we stood. Bradford's antelope ran off
unhurt: mine fell dead in its tracks. Bradford bragged no more about his
fine gun and superior marksmanship.
We went back to camp with the little we had killed and soon got ready to
start north. Bennett was to go with his team to Sacramento and wait
there until he heard from us.
Four of us, mounted on mules, now started on our journey along the
foothills without a road. We struck the Tuolumne river at a ferry. The
stream was high and rapid and could not be forded, so we had to
patronize the ferryman, and give him half an ounce apiece. We thought
such charges on poor and almost penniless emigrants were unjust.
The point we were seeking to reach was a new discovery called Gold Lake
on Feather River, where many rich gulches that emptied into it had been
worked, and the lake was believed to have at least a ship load of gold
in it.
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