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 (New and Second-hand,) 
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 ^ Lavender Hill. S.W. J 
 
 University of California • Berkeley 
 
 The Peter and Rosell Harvey 
 
 Memorial Fund 
 

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TAMED AND TRAINED TO PfiBY FOB THE VILLAGEBS. 
 
UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 a WkU of tlit Sierra Nebaia. 
 
 w. J. GO ED ON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'the KINO'S THANE,' ETC. ETC. 
 
 LOlTDON AND NEW YORK : 
 
 FEEDEEICK WAENE AND CO. 
 
 1887. 
 
STorrisoii arid Gibh. Edinburgh, 
 rrinters to Her Majesty's Stationery Office. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 r DEDICATE this book to my son Frank, who, though he 
 is dead, yet lives with me. 
 
 I am told it requires a preface. * It is so very extra- 
 ordinary 1 ' Perhaps it is. But then the unusual is not 
 necessarily the untrue. 
 
 I am certain of one thing; and that is, that the 
 majority of the disbelievers in the lost Kareya will be 
 chiefly those who are unfamiliar with the work of the 
 Geological Survey of California. 
 
 W. J. G 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. DEATH VALLEY, 
 
 II. THE BATTLE IN THE WOODS, 
 
 III. THE GOLDEN GRAVEL, 
 
 IV. THE HOME OF THE AWAHNEES, 
 
 V. THE GRIZZLY INTERVENES, . 
 
 VI. THE LOST KAREYA, 
 
 VII. UNDER THE SNOW, 
 
 7III. A SURPRISE, . 
 
 IX. THE ROAD HOME, 
 
 X. BY THE LAKE, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 13 
 
 23 
 
 34 
 
 46 
 
 62 
 
 74 
 
 89 
 100 
 113 
 120 
 
UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DEATH VALLEY. 
 
 It was Wednesday, 16th 
 February 1851. The sun 
 was lifting his farewell 
 rays from the eastern 
 slopes of the Sierra del 
 Monte Diablo, as he 
 leisurely dipped behind 
 the woods that crown its 
 ridges. I am not as a 
 rule so particular to date 
 and time; but I have 
 good reasons for remem- 
 bering that afternoon, 
 and I may as well be 
 
14 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 exact when it costs me less effort than to be other- 
 wise. 
 
 As I came up to the front of M^Quarrie's, I found about 
 a dozen of our fellows crowding round 'Ned Keid. I had 
 not seen Ned since we parted at Monterey, seven months 
 before. 
 
 ' You must have been told that. You never saw it/ 
 were the first words I heard. 
 
 * It's a fact,' said Ned ; ' true as I'm sitting here. They 
 at first intended to come over by the old Spanish trail ; 
 but, after they passed St. Joseph, they found it running, 
 as they thought, too much to the south, and so they turned 
 off and made straight away to the west in a line that took 
 them through this valley. Well, nothing more was known 
 of them until a couple of months afterwards, when old 
 Green came in. He had overheard one redskin telling 
 another how he had followed the waggon, wondering what 
 a white caravan was doing in those parts ; for, you see, this 
 valley is a sacred sort of a place among the tribes, and 
 they all give it a bad name. They say once you are in 
 you can never get out. That's a fact; and it seemed 
 Bearspaw made it his business to keep the emigrants in 
 range, doubtless expecting that if a breakdown happened 
 there might be some pickings. He followed them to the 
 Amargosa. To his horror, he saw the waggon begin the 
 descent. Down the slopes it went to the bottom ; but 
 Bearspaw kept his men on the brink. For the valley is 
 very steep, like a long crack in the plains, only eight 
 miles wide. It was a blazing hot day, dry hot, and the 
 waggon crept more and more slowly across the marsh, 
 which was all white and shining like silver, with the 
 white salty stuff that covers it. Soon the waggon stopped ; 
 
I 
 
 DEATH VALLEY. 15 
 
 and the Indians saw the emigrants drop, one after the 
 other — stone dead! Fact! And there was the waggon 
 left standing, and not a sign of life around it. And the 
 Indians did not go down, for they knew they would all 
 meet with the same fate. Not a living thing ever crossed 
 that horrible hole in the plains. You don't believe it? 
 Well, neither did I. And when I heard of it I thought 
 there had been some redskin trickery — as you do, maybe ^ 
 So, as Druce and I wanted to get back over the Sierra, 
 we made up our minds to follow in the waggon track, and 
 see what we could make of the affair. The track was 
 clear enough, and we followed it until about ten miles 
 from the valley we fell in with Bearspaw and his people. 
 I found Bearspaw rather decent for an Indian. Without 
 being asked, he told us the story of the waggon party and 
 the valley, just as Green had overheard; and when he 
 found we were bound along the same line, he did all he 
 knew to make us cry off — which of course we didn't. 
 Somehow, though, I believed in Bearspaw, by way of a 
 change, and I asked him to go with us. He flatly refused ; 
 and it turned out he had never been near the sacred 
 valley since he had seen the emigrants dying around their 
 waggon. The next morning Druce and I left the camp. 
 Bearspaw's son, a little fellow of ten, asked us to take him 
 with us J but his mother would not part with him — and 
 we were not particularly sorry. Old Bearspaw looked 
 very grave when we bade him good-bye ; and his last words 
 were, that he had spoken the truth, and that he should 
 never see us again. We soon sighted Death Valley. 
 Beyond were the hills ; and we could see the trees thin 
 out, and then all the growth dry up, as the opposite 
 slope lengthened in front of us. Soon the herbage failed 
 
16 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 altogether ; and a barren, lifeless desert lay below. There 
 was nothing but the hnmmocky rocks, hard and black and 
 glassy, as we afterwards found, the same stuff as they 
 make the stone tools out of — obsidian, I think you call it. 
 The slopes closed in to the northward, where the river 
 entered and was lost, split up into threads which ended 
 in the marsh ; for the valley is the sink of the Amargosa. 
 As we neared the descent, Druce exclaimed, " Look ! 
 there's the waggon !" And there, the only prominence in 
 the centre of the glittering marsh, was the tilted waggon. 
 And round it, dotted here and there, were a few dull 
 white specks — the bodies of the old man, his wife, and his 
 youngsters. As we reached the edge and looked down, we 
 stood there silent for a time, and then, says Druce, "Blest 
 if it ain't like that old Java yarn of the upas tree." "Yes," 
 says I, " but where's the tree V For tree there was none. 
 All was dead, and grim, and desolate, and unearthly-like !' 
 
 ' Drive on, Ned ! Never mind the scenery,' said the 
 Scotchman. *Did the bodies have their heads on V 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' And the scalps on.' 
 
 * Yes.' 
 
 * Do you mean to say there were no tomahawk marks ? 
 or didn't you go near enough to see T 
 
 ' Well, I'll tell you what I did see. I saw a flock of 
 birds coming Kke a cloud from the snowy slopes of the 
 Sierra. I saw that cloud grow larger as it neared us. I 
 saw it seek to cross the valley, and when it reached the 
 centre I saw the birds drop in dozens, dead and dying, 
 on the glittering salt.' 
 
 * Oh, all right, Ned! that'll do!' came in chorus from 
 the circle. 
 
DEATH VALLEY. 17 
 
 * It is the truth ! Ned Reid speaks truth ! ' said the 
 Barber. 
 
 Who was the Barber 1 There now, I ought to have 
 begun with him, for he is the most important personage 
 in this story. Had it not been for him, I should never 
 have written this truthful chronicle of the strangest 
 experience of my life. He was an Indian — one of the 
 Digger Indians, as the redskins to the west of the Rockies 
 are called by the Califomians. But he was the finest 
 representative of his race I ever met. He was six feet 
 two if he was an inch, well built, lithe, and sinewy, with 
 every muscle duly and proportionately developed. Broad- 
 browed, straight -nosed, large-eyed, and firm- lipped, it 
 seemed almost an insult to class him with the miserable, 
 shambling, undersized creatures whose doom is unmistake- 
 able. The Barber was a mystery. I had met him about 
 two months before, and M^Quarrie had taken him on as 
 an extra hand; and since, without a single relapse, he 
 had kept steadily at work, doing as much in a day as any 
 half-dozen of the ordinary redskins. M*Quarrie was 
 nearly always growling at his men ; but he had no com- 
 plaint to make of the Barber. *If my nose,' said the old 
 man, * didn't tell me different, I could swear he was an 
 Aberdeenshire man that had got copperwashed ! ' * Too 
 good to last !' was the general verdict. So said the whites, 
 and so, curiously enough, said the Indians, who all fought 
 shy of him. 
 
 ' It is true ! Ned Reid speaks truth,' said the Barber. 
 
 ' Eh? hallo ! what do you know about it?' said Reid. 
 
 * I speak the truth,' said the Indian. 
 ' They all do,' sneered Lacroix. 
 
 * I'll go bail he does,' said I. 
 
18 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 ' My goodness ! ' said Reid. ' Why, how are yon, 
 Langham ? Fancy yon being here ! Why, when I left 
 you at Monterey, I thought you had said good-bye to your 
 ship, to make your fortune in a fortnight. What have 
 you been doing ? What are you doing here on the San 
 Joaquin*? Didn't the Grass Valley spec come offi' 
 
 ' I'll tell you all about that, Ned, another time. But 
 I want to hear the rest of this Death Valley business. 
 What are you driving at?' 
 
 * Oh, a most curious place it is, but these fellows won't 
 believe it. You don't seem to have learnt much if you go 
 bail for a Digger.' 
 
 ' You believed in Bearspaw, and I believe in the Barber. 
 We both of us think there are exceptions to every rule, 
 and these are the exceptions.' 
 
 * Well, then,' said Ned, * perhaps the exception will 
 tell us what he knows of the Death Valley, for I 
 think my part of the story will come in best at the 
 finish. I say, mister, how do you know I'm telling 
 the truth?' 
 
 The Barber seemed inclined to sulk. 
 
 * Have you been in the valley V asked M^Quarrie. 
 
 * I have,' said the Indian. 
 
 ' Then there's one that got out of it,' broke in Lacroix. 
 
 * Perhaps the Digger is the Scot that M^Quarrie says he 
 is, and the silvery salt discoloured him.' 
 
 * Tell us what you know,' said I. 
 
 * I crossed the Snowy Mountains,' said the Barbar. 
 ' and I camped on the Amargosa. I followed it till it 
 entered the valley, and I kept on the western side, and 
 camped among the giant rocks, a day's journey along the 
 brink. And, as I journeyed to the south, I looked over 
 
DEATH VALLEY. 19 
 
 the Valley of Death, and I saw across it on the distant 
 plains a slowly moving speck. I waited and watched, and 
 the speck, as it grew nearer, became a waggon. I saw the 
 waggon crawl down the opposite slope to the barren marsh 
 below. As it reached the level, deep down, deeper down 
 than the western sea, two birds flew eastwards from 
 behind me. As they reached the middle of the marsh, 
 they fluttered and fell and died. And as the waggon 
 reached the springs of salt, its wheels ran ever more 
 slowly, until they stopped, and I saw the old chief and 
 his wife and little ones die there under the poisonous 
 breath of the silvery flower. It is a sacred place, a place 
 where a man can die of thirst while water is within his 
 reach. I tried to go down to help, but my breath grew 
 thick and my throat was parched, and I knew I could do 
 no good by crawling into the Valley of Death.' 
 
 * What did you do then 1 ' asked JSTed. 
 
 *I went away for a time, but I returned, and the 
 waggon was there, and the dead were there drying in 
 the sun, for no wind ever blows and no rain ever falls 
 to hide what is laid on the bed of salt.' 
 
 t* What were you doing there. Barber 1 ' 
 The Indian made no reply. Reid looked at him keenly 
 d then continued. 
 * Anyhow what he says is quite right, though he hasn't 
 eked up my bird story. We did see the birds, as Druce 
 U tell you ; and, thinking of the upas tree, we resolved 
 get down into the valley by easy stages, one of us going 
 first, so that we could help each other if necessary. Now 
 it was much colder then than it had been when the 
 waggon went, and as Druce said the Upas Valley was not 
 so bad in the winter time, so this proved to be. We got 
 
20 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 on very vrell, but the air was very dry, and the water we 
 drank seemed to do us no good. "We struggled on half- 
 suffocated. Wo reached the waggon and gave one look 
 in, and then the atmosphere nearly did for us. Druce 
 snatched up a water-flask, and started to run back, but 
 before he had gone a dozen yards he fainted. I picked 
 him up and ran with him in my arms. As the ground 
 rose I felt the air get fresher ; and, running round on to 
 the top of a projecting rock, I rested. The rock was 
 different to all the others I had seen. They were black ; 
 this was a brilliant green. I started again, and got Druce 
 safely up, and he revived. The bodies and the waggon 
 were untouched; there was not the slightest sign of 
 plunder or violence. All seemed to have been choked in 
 the poison-cloud. In the water-flask there was a pint of 
 water, so that it was not for want of water that its owner 
 died. We camped on the plain that night, and in the 
 early morning took another good look into the valley. 
 The rock on which I had rested with Druce caught my 
 attention, and I made a rapid run down to it and knocked 
 off a piece as a keepsake, Seems to me it^s a jewellery 
 kind of a thing. What do you think ? ' 
 
 And from his pouch Keid brought forth a small piece of 
 jade, which he handed round. 
 
 ' I don't think much of that,' said Lacroix. 
 
 Neither did any one else except the Indian, who turned 
 it over and over, and weighed it in his hand, and finally 
 gave it a lick to bring out its colour. 
 
 ' Did you get this on the east or the west of the valley ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 ' On the east,' said Keid. ' But why ? ' 
 
 ' Eock Hke this on the west,' said the Indian. 
 
DEATH VALLEY. 21 
 
 ' Perhaps so/ said Lacroix ; ' green on both, sides.' The 
 Barber handed back the stone and left us ; and Keid rose 
 saying,— 
 
 * I have said my say now. Let me hear the best news 
 from you.' 
 
 The story of the valley seemed soon forgotten in the 
 general conversation that ensued. When the time arrived 
 to turn in, Keid became my guest, and I took him off 
 with me to my hut, which was a little apart from the 
 other buildings. 
 
 ' What made you leave Grass Valley ? ' asked "Ned, 
 
 * Because I was a fool,' said I. * When I left the 
 Monmouth with the others, I found my way there, fell into 
 luck, and was doing well. But one day Crowther, who 
 had been our boatswain's mate, turned up and showed me 
 an old piece of paper he had swapped from some Indian, 
 and which stated that one of the tributaries of the San 
 Joaquin had a bed of golden pebbles, and that the 
 farther you followed the torrent up into the mountains, 
 the thicker lay the gold. There was a smack of pro- 
 bability about the idea, and Crowther persuaded me to 
 join him in the search. And off we went for the stream 
 with the golden gravel. We crossed a good many streams, 
 as you may imagine, but we did not happen to hit on the 
 right one, and we even got as far as Lake Tulare, where 
 Jim got a "whisper." He was always getting whispers. 
 This particular whisper was about a quicksilver hill — a 
 cinnabar deposit, I suppose. We parted company the best 
 of friends, he going south to his cinnabar, leaving me in 
 sole possession of the paper that had sent us off on our 
 wild-goose chase.' 
 
 ' There's nothing impossible in that gold gravel notion,' 
 
22 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 said Ned. * There are stranger things than that in 
 California. But how came you here ? ' 
 
 * On my way back I met M'Quarrie, who turned out to 
 be a cousin of mine, and he asked me to join him for a 
 month or so. The gold- washing doesn't seem up to much, 
 but the farming promises well, and I am not sure it isn't 
 the best game of the two.' 
 
 * It won't suit you for long yet awhile, though,' said 
 Ned. * And now, who's our friend the big Barber, and 
 where did he get his name from 1 ' 
 
 * His name was given him by M*Quarrie when he took 
 him on. It was for some facetious reason, but I forget 
 what now. I know nothing about him, except that he has 
 always been truthful and trustworthy, which very few 
 Indians are. He seems to me to be quite a superior 
 fellow to the rest, and I like his look. I feel sure he has 
 got a history. I met him the day before I came across 
 M'Quarrie. He had asked me to give him a job. I 
 recommended him, and he has really worked well.' 
 
 *I don't believe in Diggers,' said Ned, *and I should 
 keep an eye on the Barber.' 
 
 * I suppose it's all true about that Death Valley 1 ' 
 
 * What I told you was true, every word of it But was 
 it all true what your Digger told us "il ' 
 
CHAPTEK IL 
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 But 
 dozed ; 
 
 Was it all true that the Diggei 
 had told us ? How strange that 
 he of all men in the world 
 should have been wandering on 
 the other side of the Sierra, 
 and camping by the Valley of 
 Death ! 
 
 Keid I knew as a truthful 
 man, much given to the mar- 
 vellous; a man of a restless 
 spirit, impatient of the authority 
 of those he failed to respect, 
 who had taken to the woods in 
 search of the freedom he never 
 found; a shrewd, determined 
 man, clean and ready in thought 
 and speech, with a cynical crust 
 of inconsiderable thickness. In 
 fact, the more I knew him, — 
 and I was now to know him 
 well, — the more I liked him. 
 the Earber ? I lay and thought ; and thought and 
 and dozed and slept. I was just journeying back 
 
24 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 to consciousness, and fancying I must be awake, when I 
 was startled out of dreamland with, — 
 
 ' "Wake up there ! The horses are stolen ! ' 
 
 ' Early morning intelligence with a vengeance ! ' said I. 
 In a minute Keid was out of the hut, and ready for action. 
 I followed. 
 
 Two men had just ridden in to bring us the news of 
 our disaster. It seemed absurd to thus learn from others 
 what we should have been the first to find out for ourselves, 
 but, as Fielden said, * circumstances were agin us.' We 
 could see the tracks of the horses leading down the knoll 
 and through the paddock, between the Wakalla and the 
 Dandy, as we called the streamlet which joined the San 
 Joaquin about a mile to the south. But, half-way across, 
 the tracks faded off" with the field into the morning haze ; 
 and by the side of the fence in the foreground lay poor 
 Sam, who had evidently caught sight of the thieves, and 
 been cut down from behind as he was about to give the 
 alarm. Where was our other guard 1 He could not be 
 found. The Barber had vanished. 
 
 Fortunately Sam was not dead. 
 
 * They were in too much of a hurry,' said Ned, as he 
 bent over him. ' Knocked him senseless, perhaps knocked 
 him silly ; that's aU. He'll be better soon. You leave 
 him to me.' 
 
 And, while Ned was busy doing his best to revive him, 
 we others, at M'Quarrie's request, set about getting 
 breakfast. 
 
 * Can't gain anything by being in a hurry,' said the old 
 man. * Let us take it cooUy, and talk it over. Perhaps 
 Sam wiU throw some light on the subject.' 
 
 * Don't think he'll throw much,' said Caffrey, one of 
 
THE BATTLE IN THE WOODS. 25 
 
 the new-comers. 'You'll find they were too quick for 
 him.' 
 
 And so it proved. When Sam returned to conscious- 
 ness, all he could report was that he had received a terrific 
 hlow on the back of his head at the same moment as a 
 mouLted Indian rode out from the shadow of the house. 
 
 ' Tkought so/ said Cafirey. ' All you'll know is what I 
 told you — until you catch them/ 
 
 'Well, let's have your story in full, then.' And, thus 
 invited, Caffrey, a sandy, thickset, keen-eyed, active little 
 man, proceeded to relate how he and his lanky friend, 
 'Crane" Smith, had been camping out the previous night 
 four miies away up the Wakalla. 
 
 ' We kept a look-out,' said he, * as we always do, talk a? 
 they may about these honest Indians. Well, sir, it was 
 six o'clock, there or thereabouts, and I was sitting over the 
 fire, looking at old Smith snoozing away at his ease. And 
 I was thinking of nothing in particular, and feeling some- 
 how thafc something was going to happen, when, sir, I 
 felt a rope slip over my neck. "Lassoed, by jingo ! " thought 
 I quick as a flash. And, snatching out my revolver, I 
 swung rDund to fire, and the rope tightened as I did so. 
 And, sir, I didn't fire,' — and Caffrey drawled out his jerky 
 sentences most provokingly, — ' I didn't fire. I was too 
 much astonished. The Indian was too big. I could just 
 see him in the firelight looking calmly down on me. 
 Luckily I didn't let fly ; for the Indian, sir, w^as my old 
 horse Pedro ; and the rope I thought was a lasso was 
 merely his lariat, which in the course of his wandering 
 round the fire he had dragged over my neck. It ain't so 
 pleasant to feel a rope where your collar ought to be, and 
 I can tell you I came over queer at first — I did that ; 
 
26 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 but when I saw old Ped looking so serious at me, I burst 
 out laughing ; and up jumped Smith, wideawake as usual 
 when a joke was going. Well, we were chuckling over 
 my scare, and I was just giving the fire a stir, when we 
 were dead silent for a moment, and we heard a faint 
 thirrup, thirrup, thirrup. " Horses ! " hissed Siaith. 
 " Robbery ! " said I, and we were in cover in a jiffey. Goser 
 and closer came the row, and in the first streak or two of 
 the daylight we saw as they dashed past some forty red- 
 skinned rascals ; fine, tall fellows, a size or two larger than 
 the plains Diggers. They had about a dozen led horses, 
 on one of which was strapped a chap who seemed fco be a 
 prisoner and kept in the thick of them. We thought it 
 best to be quiet ; we could do no good, and horses can't 
 ^0 very far up these hills at that rate. And so we agreed 
 our best plan was to hurry in here and see what pu were 
 doing, and if you think it worth while to follow .he trail 
 we'll join — if agreeable.' j 
 
 * I'll make one,' said Reid. 
 
 * I'll go, of course,' said Lacroix, * and I'll put a bullet 
 through the Barber. It's easy to see what his game was. 
 It's the same as Carson told us about the Indian that cut 
 from Robidoux. He came here as a spy, and broight his 
 friends down when he was sure of the game. He gave 
 Sam his knock, and cleared off in proper Indian style.' 
 
 * Then, sir, who was the prisoner ? ' asked CaffrBy. 
 
 ' The Barber,* said I ; * they nailed him, gagged him, and 
 carried him off.- 
 
 'Ask Sam if he saw anything of the Barbei,' said 
 M'Quarrie. 
 
 Sam had seen and heard nothing. 
 
 * If your Indian is a scoundrel,' said Reid, * he ought to 
 
THE BATTLE IN THE WOODS. Zt 
 
 be followed and shot. If he is innocent, and has been 
 carried off a prisoner, he ought to be followed and freed. 
 Anyhow, the horses were stolen, and the thieves ought to 
 suffer. What do you think, Langham ? Innocent or guilty, 
 follow we must.^ 
 
 I need scarcely say we agreed to follow immediately, if 
 we could only borrow sufficient horses or mules. Little 
 did we suspect where the chase would lead us. Altogether 
 those willing to go numbered eleven. Six of us — 
 Eeid, Lacroix, Fielden, M*Quarrie, Caffrey, and the Crane 
 — were hardy, experienced backwoodsmen, equal to any 
 fortune in any position on any of the hills or plains. The 
 rest were jacks-of -all-trades and rovers in general, all very 
 eager for the chase, and all untried in Indian warfare. I 
 was quite a raw hand at such work, — a young fellow of 
 two-and-twenty, escaped from the sea, as it turned out 
 merely for a few months, in the hope of making a sudden 
 fortune by finding a nugget or stumbling on a mine. As 
 I look back, it seems to me that the only qualification I 
 possessed was inordinate self-confidence. 
 
 By ten o'clock we had mustered enough horses, and 
 were off. Each of us was armed with rifle and revolver ; 
 most of us boasted a long hunting-knife. I had no knife, 
 but took what the others did not — an extra revolver. 
 We of course did not leave the station deserted. When we 
 sent round Smith and Caffrey with the news, and borrowed 
 our mounts, we had arranged for our neighbours to see 
 that all went well in our absence and to forward assistance 
 if necessary. We were confident that the horses could 
 not have gone very far up the hills, and expected to 
 recover them after a short, sharp, and futile resistance. 
 
 Off we went, across the paddock and along the fringe 
 
28 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 of the woods where Caffrey and the Crane had camped, 
 and seen the thieves go by. M^Quarrie's looked pleasant 
 enough in the morning sun, but we had few thoughts to 
 spare on it. As we glanced down from the eastern slope, 
 the broad stream of the San Joaquin, with its many 
 feeders joining it at right angles, lay spread out like a 
 silver tree on an emerald field. To our left, the tiny 
 Dandy went flowing in from its source in the adjoining 
 woods ; to our right the noisy Wakalla went glittering past 
 after its long troubled journey from the distant mountains. 
 From those deeply snow-capped heights its restless waters 
 had leapt rather than run, for the cascades in its course 
 we were to count by the dozen as it cut down into the 
 rock;^ ribs of the Sierra Nevada, and cleft its stairway 
 throv-gh the foot hills. All the way up the river seemed 
 to be branchless. There were no side streams parallel to 
 the San Joaquin. The Wakalla derived all its waters 
 from the snowfield, and, retaining its width for miles and 
 miles, swept on recklessly to join the chief Calif ornian 
 river. There was no difiiculty as to the trail ; the prints 
 of the horses' hoofs were too clear to be mistaken. Till 
 now they led us by the river, and then, making a wide 
 sweep to take advantage of the better ground, they again 
 neared the bank, and then, seemingly for good, trended 
 off to the south-east. On we went without a check until 
 we pulled up to rest. Then we went on again, and all 
 that afternoon, until the sun went down, we continued the 
 chase — in vain. Caffrey and the Crane rode ahead to 
 reconnoitre, but found no trace of the enemy or of the 
 trail coming to an end. And we camped for the night. 
 
 By daybreak we were up and stirring, and as soon as 
 the sun rose we were off. Keid went on in advance, 
 
THE BATTLE IN THE WOODS. 29 
 
 followed by Caffirey, and to these two we trusted to keep 
 us out of ambush. The trail took us again to the river, 
 and then again through a tongue of woodland out on to 
 a narrow open plain with trees again beyond. As we 
 trotted from under shelter, we saw our advance guard 
 about half a mile ahead halted on a gentle rise that ran 
 across the plateau. And almost immediately afterwards 
 Eeid turned his horse's head and rode towards us. 
 
 ' Found ! ' said he, as he came up. ' They are just 
 over the ridge there in those trees, and seem to think we 
 are coming. They are saddling their horses, and getting 
 ready for a start.' 
 
 ' How many are there 1 ' 
 
 ' I counted fifty, but I don't think they have any 
 guns.' 
 
 ' What are they ? ' 
 
 ' Caffrey says they are the same as he saw ; but they 
 are a big lot of fellows, quite different to the usual run of 
 Indians this side of the Sierra.' 
 
 ' Like the Barber r 
 
 ' Something, but not so well built, and they don't look 
 as big. I expect we shall find it a tough job.' 
 
 * Are our horses there ? ' 
 
 ' Mine is. I can't swear to yours, though I have no 
 doubt you'll find them. But, anyhow, there are more 
 horses than the beggars want, and we may as well have 
 them.' 
 
 All this time we had been approaching the ridge. 
 When we had nearly reached it, Caffrey beckoned us to 
 stop, and came and joined us. 
 
 We held a council of war. The council was of an 
 unusual kind. Unlike most such councils, we intended 
 
30 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 to fight, and ended by fighting ; still more unlike such 
 councils, one man had a plan which was approved the 
 instant it was explained ; and, even still more unlike such 
 councils, the plan did not want much explanation, for 
 it was suggested by the ablest, understood by the 
 dullest, and adopted unanimously in rather less than 
 three minutes. It was CafiPrey's plan, and to him belongs 
 the honour of the victory — a very barren victory, as it 
 proved. 
 
 We left M'Quarrie and two men to take charge of the 
 horses and form the reserve, Caffrey, Smith, Fielden, 
 and Lacroix went off to the right, so as to attack the 
 Indians on the flank. We others followed them to the 
 ridge, and then, plunging into the trees in front of us, 
 went straight at the right corner of the Indian camp. 
 
 Caffrey fired the first shot, and an Indian fell. 
 Springing behind the trees, the redskins were instantly 
 at work, and arrow after arrow came whistling past. 
 While we were loading, at least a score of arrows could 
 be rained off ; and very alarming the long shafts proved 
 to me, as with each flutter of the bowstrings they floated 
 spitefully towards us, and quivered in the tree-trunks, or 
 buried themselves in the ground. The course of a bullet 
 no man can follow, but an arrow is a messenger of death 
 whose whole journey is visible. 
 
 Very uncomfortable I felt at first, and for a long time I 
 did not shoot. It was only when I found a fellow aiming 
 deliberately at me that I recognised it was necessary for 
 me to fire if I wished to live. I fired, and the man fell ; 
 and then I felt as though a skin had been drawn off me, 
 and I fought like the rest. 
 
 From tree to tree we advanced, and from tree to tree 
 
THE BATTLE IN THE WOODS. 31 
 
 we slowly drove the Diggers. They were seven to one, 
 and the rapidity of their shooting gave them an advan- 
 tage, which, however, the shelter of the trees rendered of 
 little use. Ably led, they suddenly took the offensive. 
 Nearer and nearer, dodging from trunk to trunk, they 
 came. Waiting their chance until nearly all our rifles were 
 unloaded, they gave a terrific whoop, and charged right 
 on to us. Alas for their hopes ! Our rifles, as they 
 judged, were useless ; but they knew nothing of our 
 revolvers, and, as soon as we had them well within pistol 
 range, we greeted them with a rattling fire that sent them 
 staggering to the trees. Back they went, fighting every 
 inch of the way. At last they reached a mass of boulders 
 and rugged rocks hidden among thick underwood. There 
 it was that the real battle began. All the rest we found 
 was merely an opening skirmish. 
 
 Some twenty of the enemy had fallen, wounded or 
 killed; but all of them had been carried out of fire, and 
 the horses had all been led to the rear. The rough 
 ground lay in a half-moon ; we could not work round it. 
 All we could do was to press the attack in front. None 
 of our men had been seriously injured, though Fielden 
 and the Crane had received slight flesh-wounds. 
 
 As the Indians disappeared under cover of the rocks, 
 Eeid and I found ourselves loading behind two neigh- 
 bouring trees. Ned was the picture of steadiness ; he was 
 as cool as if he were amusing himself shooting at a mark. 
 
 * Seen the Barber yet ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' No. These f ellow^s seem to belong to a different 
 tribe.' 
 
 ' If he helped to steal the horses, he'll be in the fight 
 round those rocks.' 
 
32 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 * The horses have gone/ 
 
 ' Only to the rear, I think. This is a queer business. 
 I fancy we shan't all see the end.' 
 
 * There's one won't. Look ! ' 
 
 Lacroix had fallen. His foot had caught in a twig, 
 and as he stumbled forward an arrow whipped through 
 his hunting-shirt and pinned him to the ground. Instantly 
 half a dozen of the redskins left their cover. Tomahawk 
 on high, they leapt yelling towards him. The leader 
 had nearly reached the unhappy trapper, when Keid's 
 rifle rose to its work, and, as the white puff thinned away, 
 the victim stooped quite double, and fell forward — dead. 
 The others turned to shelter, and Lacroix was saved — 
 only for a time. 
 
 l^ever shall I forget that desperate fight among the 
 rocks. Soon I found myself on one side of a boulder, 
 with an Indian on the other watching my every move- 
 ment. It was to be his life or mine. There was no 
 escape for both of us ; he who made the first sHp would 
 fall. The Digger watched me, and I watched him. Not 
 for an instant did we take our eyes off each other. Every 
 twitch and promise of movement did we follow and 
 guard, as we blinked and glared, and strove to read each 
 other's innermost thought. A horrible fascination came 
 over me. I felt as if my power of will was slipping 
 away. It seemed to me hours since the horrible gaze 
 began. I knew that I should fail and die unless some 
 one intervened. Fortunately help did come; and my 
 antagonist was the first that fell as M^Quarrie brought up 
 the reserve. 
 
 As it was with me, so it was with the others. Every 
 rock was the scene of a lengthened duel fought within 
 
THE BATTLE IN THE WOODS. 33 
 
 arrowshot of the rear-guard, who every now and then 
 joined in the fray. From rock to tree, from tree to bush, 
 from bush to rock again we drove the enemy, and at last 
 the arrow rain ceased. We were engaged only with those 
 immediately in front of us. Lacroix fell shot through 
 the heart. Fielden sold his life dearly, and lay clasped 
 in the death embrace of the man who gave him his last 
 wound. Peters dropped, crushed lifeless with a stone 
 hurled full in his face. 
 
 Eeid and the long-legged Crane were farthest in 
 advance. Caffrey and I came next. The others were 
 a few yards behind, giving help where required. The 
 noise of the fight had almost ceased, for each of us was left 
 with only one antagonist barring the way to the crest of 
 the ridge. Reid was the first to clear away the danger. 
 The Indian thought a chance had come, and let fly an 
 arrow, which Ned warded off with his revolver as he 
 aimed and fired. Hearing the death-yell, and seeing that 
 the odds were hopelessly against them, the three survivors 
 gave a terrific shout, and boldly rushed to close with us. 
 We gave them no chance. They met their fate. We 
 stepped over them, and ran to see what had become of 
 their companions. 
 
 They had all disappeared. The heap of rocks was on 
 the edge of a deep gully that curved away to the east- 
 ward. We looked down it in vain for the fugitives. Our 
 horses were as far off as ever. The only Indians near 
 were those lying dead in the wood among the rocks. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE GOLDEN GRAVEL. 
 
 HOULD we follow 1 
 
 We looked to 
 Caffrey, who had acted 
 as our commander-in- 
 chief. 
 
 *Welir said 
 M'Quarrie to him. 
 
 *WelV sir, said 
 Caffrey, 'what I want 
 to know is where those 
 rascals come from. 
 Where have they 
 gone to? I have spent 
 many a year on the 
 Pacific slope south 
 and west of this, but 
 never did I see 
 Diggers like those 
 chaps, or heard of a Bigger making such a fight. Away 
 to the east there's nothing but snow at this time. They 
 
THE GOLDEN GRAVEL. 35 
 
 cannot cross the Cascade Kange. There's no place for 
 them hereabouts that I know oV 
 
 * Let's follow them and see/ said Ned. 
 
 * Follow them ? — yes. But are we strong enough ? If 
 they fight like that away from home, they'll fight as well 
 when their squaws are by. We've lost three of our best 
 men, and we shall be less in number, while they are more. 
 They can't go north, they can't go south, they can't get 
 over the range. They mtist live somewhere not far up 
 the hills, and can be easily found when we want them. 
 Let us send back for help, and stay here till we get a 
 dozen more men. Then we can find and follow the trail 
 with some chance of winning.' 
 
 * It's best so, I'm afraid,' said M'Quarrie. 
 
 ' I'U be off and hurry them up,' said Smith. ' What 
 says Mr. Eeid *? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Eeid says, never lose scent of a redskin when he's 
 on the run. This affair is a mystery to me. The men 
 we've been fighting are not of the same tribe as the 
 Barber belonged to. Their marks were different, and 
 their twang was different. Where he came from I don't 
 know ; where he has gone to I don't know. He wasn't 
 in the fight. If he was the prisoner, they have nobbled 
 him for some purpose of their own. Where has my horse 
 gone 1 I am not going to let old Zeke be spirited away 
 by some fellows from the moon in this fashion without 
 knowing the reason why. You stay here and send for 
 help, as Caffrey says. I'll follow on and keep out of shot, 
 and when you come up I can be of use.' 
 
 * I'll go with you,' said I. 
 
 ' What ! you, eh ? Well, two heads are better than ona 
 But there'll he a little risk.' 
 
 c 
 
36 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 * Never mind the risk. I'm willing to share that with 
 you, if you don't object.' 
 
 * Better stay here and go on with us,' said Caffrey. 
 
 * No,' replied Ned. * I think not. You be as quick as 
 you can, and I'll trust to you to come to my assistance.' 
 
 And, in short, Ned and I filled up with stores and 
 ammunition and started down the gully. It curved away 
 to the eastward, as I have said, and we were soon out of 
 sight of our companions. The track was obvious enough. 
 It led along the bottom, and rose to the level of the plain 
 among a patch of forest some two miles from the scene of 
 our recent fight. Through the forest we went, out into 
 the open. Then we entered another patch of woodland, 
 and, following the trail to the north, found it was leading 
 us to the river. 
 
 ' We are sure to end on a river of some sort,' said Ned. 
 * If these horse-stealers are Californians, they are bound to 
 have their village by the side of a stream.' 
 
 'Whyr 
 
 ' All the Diggers do. Other Indians have their villages 
 on the hill-tops.' 
 
 * Why do you call them Diggers ] Is that their right 
 name 1 ' 
 
 * They call them Diggers because they dig. They mostly 
 live on roots and com, and are farmers, in fact, in a small 
 way. Some folks say they never touch animal food, but 
 I know better. What their real name is I don't know 
 for certain. I fancy it is Mutsun, or some such word.' 
 
 * That doesn't sound right to me.' 
 
 *Well, perhaps not. I only heard the word once. 
 However, perhaps your barbering friend will tell us if we 
 find him.' 
 
THE GOLDEN GRAVEL. 37 
 
 ' Do you think he was a spy ? ' 
 
 * Can't say/ said Reid. *I only saw him for that few 
 minutes the night before last. You knew him, and you 
 say you would trust him. I wouldn't trust an Indian, 
 but I would trust your judgment. You are too green to 
 go far wrong. You don't judge from yoTir experience, 
 only from your fancies. You are like the women, who are 
 generally right because they know so little.' 
 
 *They have a different sort of knowledge, you 
 mean.' 
 
 ' That's better. And it's an older knowledge. It isn't 
 dotted out into because and because, and therefore and 
 nevertheless, and all that sort of thing. A man says 
 another's a bad un because he does this, and because he 
 does that ; whereas a girl gives him a look, and says he's 
 a bad un because he's a bad un — and there's an end 
 of it.' 
 
 *You are not a woman-hat^*, then, like most of you 
 fellows.' 
 
 * Not I ; but then they never say I'm a bad un,' said 
 Ned, with a grin. ^ They play one game ; we play another. 
 Our game's a good one if we know all about it, which 
 we don't. Their game's not so good, perhaps, but it must 
 have been played longest. The mother's habit is the 
 daughter's nature. When Bearspaw was telling me about 
 the waggon in the Death Valley, he evidently was puzzled 
 as to why the emigrants went there. Not so his squaw. 
 Her answer was ready enough. " Him fool ! " When I 
 asked why Bearspaw hadn't gone down for the guns, 
 " Him not fool ! " was her remark. When I said I was 
 going down she looked a bit staggered, but seemed to 
 have no fears for my safety. Bearspaw thought I was 
 
38 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 committiiig suicide, and gave me his last good-bye. Mrs. 
 Bearspaw very civilly said, " Him no fool ! " and hoped I 
 would call in next time I passed. Now, according to his 
 lights, Bearspaw was right ; but he did not know every- 
 thing. He knew that no one who had been there before 
 had come back, and therefore, and therefore, and so on. 
 Mrs. Bearspaw didn't worry about the reasoning, but got 
 to the grit of the matter at once. It was nothing to her 
 that no one she had heard of had come back.' 
 * But somebody had. How about the Barber 1 ' 
 ' Ah r said Keid ; ' that's what I thought. But " him 
 no fool," though he may be a shameless rascal.' 
 
 As we neared the river we heard the roar of falling 
 water. The trail followed the brink of the canyon, and 
 as we passed we could look down to the eddying stream 
 beneath. The walls were nearly vertical, rising sheer 
 from the very bottom. At the far end they closed in 
 somewhat more than the perspective seemed to justify. 
 There a lofty cascade curved over in one solid mass, like 
 a thick roll of glass. The sunlight just fell on the brawl- 
 ing upper river. Kuled off by the shadow from the silver 
 ripples, the smooth fall was almost invisible until it poured 
 into its foam-cloud below. And from the cloud there 
 broke forth a shower of spurts and patches that floated 
 on the swirling waves, and danced and vanished down 
 the gloomy gorge. As soon as we were abreast of the 
 fall, we found another stretch of the river, ended by 
 another waterfall about a mile ahead. Then the walls 
 began to widen as we descended a long hill slope, and 
 then the river ran for several hundred yards along a 
 channel thickly strewn with great rock masses that broke 
 it up into a thousand rills. During that afternoon, as we 
 
THE GOLDEN GRAVEL. 39 
 
 followed the canyon bank, we passed sixteen different 
 cascades and four long stretches of rapids. 
 
 At last we reached a wide, rolling country. The stream 
 flowed more quietly. The canyon came to an end. And 
 at a spot where the stream was almost level with the 
 banks the trail split. The main trail, the one we had 
 been following, went off abruptly to the right; but 
 straight ahead there went another and older trail, leading 
 apparently to a camp or village from which l^ed declared 
 he could see smoke rising. I looked where he pointed, 
 and, steadily gazing for a moment or so, I saw a puff rise 
 and float over the trees. 
 
 ' We must leave the river,' said Ned. ' If we go wrong 
 we can start fresh from here.' 
 
 We turned our backs to the Wakalla and struck due 
 south. The trail led us into a patch of woodland, and 
 there, for us, it ended. The air had been gradually grow- 
 ing colder, the clouds had been banking up as the rising 
 wind brought them off the hills. Suddenly the sun was 
 obscured, and we were caught in a heavy snowstorm. In 
 the patch the Indians had evidently halted, and, before we 
 could find by which side they left it, the snow had covered 
 the ground. 
 
 * I can't bring myself to think that this trail goes far 
 from the river,' said Ned. ' It ought to get back there 
 somehow. And as we can do no good here we might as 
 well make for the smoke. This snow will soon blow over, 
 but it will take till next morning to melt.' 
 
 To the smoke we steered. Before we reached it we 
 were again on the bank of the Wakalla, rising again to 
 some height above the stream, and crowned with trees. 
 Through the trees we went, and before us, by the side of 
 
40 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 a low waterfall, a few furlongs off, lay an Indian settle- 
 ment. Evidently it was a peaceful and prosperous one. 
 The storm had ceased, the sun had come forth again, and 
 the huts looked quite homelike in the rosy snow. 
 
 ' Well, captin, how goes it ? ' 
 
 We instinctively felt for our revolvers as a tall young 
 Indian stepped towards us from behind one of the trees 
 The snow aU round was untrodden. He had evidently 
 been there for some time. 
 
 * Wumeh ? ' said Eeid ; * whence come you ? ' 
 The seeming savage laughed. 
 
 *Me understand English better than you speak 
 Choomteya.' 
 
 ' That's the word you wanted,' said Eeid to me. * The 
 Diggers hereabouts are Choomteyas, a tribe of the Mee- 
 wocs.' And then, turning to the Indian, he continued, 
 ^ Who are you ? ' 
 
 *I am Ahrua, the son of Taipoksee. Who are youl 
 Do you come to seek gold ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, if you have any to spare,' said Ned. * How much 
 have you *? ' 
 
 * I will lead you to my father.' 
 
 ' You are quite a man of business,' said I. 
 
 ' Business to business men,' said Ahrua. 
 
 We stared at him. Could this scantily - clothed son 
 of the wilderness be some office-boy escaped from 
 'Frisco? 
 
 * Where do you get your gold from ? ' asked Reid. 
 
 * In the morning you will see. It grows in the gravel 
 of the stream.' 
 
 ' Hullo ! ' said ISTed ; * where's that bit of paper of yours *? 
 Isn't this your golden gravel 1 ' 
 
THE GOLDEN GRAVEL. 41 
 
 Ahrua understood at least the latter part of the 
 question. 
 
 'The golden gravel is not his, but my father's. No- 
 where is gold got as my father gets it. He is the friend 
 of the white man, and the terror of the Awahnees.' 
 
 * Who are the Awahnees ? ' asked I. 
 
 * They are the men of the mountains, who would steal 
 if they dared.' 
 
 ' Steal horses ? ' asked Eeid. 
 
 ' Steal everything ! ' said the Indian, with a sigh, as if 
 he regretted he could not say the same of himself. 
 * They are taU and mighty ; they have bows and arrows ; 
 but Tenaya is no match for Taipoksee. We are peaceful 
 Indians. We have much gold.' 
 
 Ahrua announced the fact with as much complacency 
 as if he were a city merchant with a five-figure balance 
 at his bankers. 
 
 * Have the Awahnees been past here lately ? ' asked 
 Ned. 
 
 ' My father will tell you.' 
 
 ' We must see the old gentleman,' said I. 
 
 * Yes,' said Ned, *and ask him about that gravel.' 
 
 We were led to the * palace,' and introduced to the 
 great chief. Great chief he really was, as we afterwards 
 learned ; and no better ruler can the Choomteyas boast. 
 When he died, six years after our visit, there were twelve 
 hundred men present at his funeral, — an enormous number 
 for such a communistic nation as the Meewocs. Fortu- 
 nately he was friendly. He had found that the whites 
 sought gold for the comfort it enabled them to purchase, 
 and, being himself in possession of an ample source of the 
 precious metal, he worked it in his own peculiar way, and 
 
42 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 held his land against all comers. He was the richest 
 Indian I ever met, — much too rich to engage in reckless 
 fighting. But he was a splendid fighter and leader when 
 he did begin ; and, careless as he seemed, was always 
 prepared for eventualities. Within a few minutes of our 
 reception, we found that he had had us under observation 
 for several miles. 
 
 We told him why we followed the trail, and how we 
 lost it. 
 
 * Beware of the Awahnees,' said he. * Seek them not 
 in their home until another moon has passed.' 
 
 ' They stole our horses,' said Reid. 
 ' If you follow them now you will be lost.' 
 ' Where do the Awahnees live ? ' 
 
 ' Their home is on the banks of the river whose music 
 you hear, but it is high up among the mountains.' 
 ' So I thought,' said Reid. ' But how far off is it T 
 
 * A four days' journey, but not by the stream.' 
 ' Why not ? ' 
 
 ' There is no way for a man to pass. To follow the 
 Awahnees you must turn to the south or the north, and 
 not regain the Wakalla till far above this.' 
 
 ' Then the thieves will escape us.' 
 
 * !N"o,' said Taipoksee. * There is no need of haste. 
 The Awahnees will be found when you want them. 
 Their home will not change until the winter comes 
 again.' 
 
 Thus far Taipoksee had been as stiff and ceremonious 
 as could reasonably be expected of a man in his exalted 
 position. But politics soon grew irksome to him, a 
 change set in, and he thawed into commerce. 
 
 ' Ahrua says you wish to buy gold.' 
 
THE GOLDEN GRAVEL. 43 
 
 * Quite a mistake/ said Eeid ; * we thought we would 
 take any you might have to spare.' 
 
 * At how much ? ' said the chief. * Our gold is good, 
 and it always hrings a good price.' 
 
 * Do yoii sell it, then ? ' 
 
 * Sell to those that will buy.' 
 
 * Do people come here for it 1 ' 
 
 'No, but every moon my young men carry it to the 
 banker.' 
 
 * Do you mean to say you have a regular monthly gold 
 escort ? ' 
 
 ' It is so,' said Taipoksee. And it was so, as we after- 
 wards found. 
 
 * Where does the gold come from 'I ' 
 *From the bed of the Wakalla.' 
 
 * From under the water ] ' 
 
 * Yes. To-morrow you will see.' 
 
 'We are on the track of the golden gravel, I believe,' 
 said ISTed to me, as we turned in for the night in a wig- 
 wam which the hospitable old fellow had put at our 
 disposal. * We are in for three finds now. First, to find 
 old Zeke ; second, to find that rascally Barber ; third, to 
 find your fortune. Does Crowther hold shares in the 
 gravel pit T » 
 
 * No. It's all mine — when I find it.' 
 
 ' When you get it, you mean. I'll stand in for a tenth, 
 if you've no objection.' 
 
 ' Oh, more than that ! Let us agree you are to have 
 Crowther's half.' 
 
 * Done ! Queer old boy, Taipoksee ! I wonder how he 
 works his gravel ! ' 
 
 * I wonder, indeed ! ' 
 
44 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 And when we saw him working it, we wondered still 
 more. 
 
 At a quarter to eight next morning, — which, by the way, 
 was February 19, — the first meal of the day being over, 
 the Indians of Taipoksee^s village, to our unmitigated 
 astonishment, began clearing up and stowing away things 
 generally. We thought they were about to start on some 
 expedition. We were mistaken. 
 
 At eight o'clock the old chief Taipoksee came out of 
 the doorway of his wigwam, and stood alone in the sun. 
 
 Like all the Choomteyas, he was above the middle 
 height, almost black in colour, straight as an arrow, and 
 — he was quite clean. An unexpected ending for the 
 sentence, perhaps, and not very complimentary, but to 
 those acquainted with Indian habits it will convey a 
 pleasing fact ; — for, like all his people, he began each day 
 with a plunge in the neighbouring stream. Alone, then, 
 in the full blaze of the sunlight, stood the great chief of 
 the Wakalla. 
 
 In the centre of the village was a huge redwood tree, 
 and for a few minutes Taipoksee watched the shadow of 
 its topmost branch, as it slowly glided over the ground. 
 His right hand grasped a spear, his left hand rested on his 
 hip. Suddenly he raised his hand from his hip and pointed 
 to the sun, and in a voice of thunder he roared forth, — 
 
 * To work ! To work ! To work ! ' 
 
 From all the wigwams of the village the men, women, 
 and children came out, and marched steadily to the river 
 bank just below the fall. The old men, the women, and 
 the children carried the bowls and baskets and boards, 
 such as were then used on the alluvial diggings. They were 
 evidently going to work the gravel. But how 1 
 
THE GOLDEN GRAVEL. 45 
 
 Taipoksee, still alone at the door of his wigwam, again 
 roared forth, — 
 
 ' To work ! To work ! To work ! ' 
 
 And, as we afterwards found, every one of his people 
 not incapacitated by illness was forced to obey his command. 
 
 ' To work ! To work ! To work ! ' shouted the chief 
 for the last time. And the old men and the women and 
 children stood ready for the gold-bearing soil, and the 
 young and vigorous men had ranged themselves by the 
 side of the stream. 
 
 Suddenly the man nearest to us stepped back a pace 
 or two, gave a short run, and took a header into the pool 
 below the fall. Another, and another, man after man, all 
 along the line, went plunging in like porpoise after por- 
 poise in a shoal. Soon the first man came to the surface, 
 and trod water to the shore, where one of the squaws stood 
 ready with a basin, into which he cast a handful of gravel. 
 
 As did the first, so did the rest. Each brought a hand- 
 ful from the bed of the pool, and threw it into the bowl 
 that was held out for it. Then the men scrambled ashore. 
 Kested for a minute or so, they took up their line again, 
 and, man after man, in the same order as before, dived 
 into the stream. 
 
 ' What think you of the gold divers of the Wakalla ? ' 
 asked Taipoksee, as he approached us. 
 
 * Is that the only way you get the gold ] ' 
 
 'The only way. The only gold there is is at the 
 bottom of that pool, and there the gravel is as thick as 
 the shade of the redwood tree 1 ' 
 
 ' Where does it come from 1 
 
 ^ It comes from the hiUs of snow, from the home of the 
 Awahnees.' 
 
CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 THE HOME OF THE AWAHNEES. 
 
 For a time we stood 
 and watched the gold 
 divers, and talked to 
 Taipoksee of the 
 difficulty he must 
 have had in dis- 
 ciplining his people. 
 Never before had I 
 conceived it possible 
 that an Indian settle- 
 ment could be ruled 
 like a factory village 
 on the Atlantic coast. 
 It was an ideal com- 
 munity. Everyman, 
 woman, and child 
 was employed in a task for which they were most suited, 
 and the ablest man, the only man amongst them who 
 was fit for anything besides picking and diving, was in 
 
THE HOME OF THE AWAHNEES. 47 
 
 supreme cominand. Taipoksee^s word was law. There 
 was no question about that. 
 
 *Do your men always obey orders as they did this 
 morning 1 ' asked Ned. 
 
 ' If one of my people disobeys me — he goes ! ' 
 
 ' Goes where 1 ' 
 
 * I do not care. He does not stay here alive ! ' 
 
 What has now become of the Choomteyas I know not. 
 When we were amongst them they seemed a happy people, 
 thriving exceedingly under their benevolent despotism. 
 Taipoksee's character was quite a study ; the combination 
 of the Indian chief with the captain of industry and 
 trader-in-general was to us so comical that it was with 
 difficulty we could keep ourselves from laughing. In 
 fact, on several occasions I did begin to laugh, but for- 
 tunately managed to ease off the outburst into an approv- 
 ing grin. The last time I did so, however, I noticed 
 Taipoksee give me a sly, suspicious look, and I thought 
 it best for the future to laugh with him and not at 
 him. 
 
 He took us round the gold pans much as any other 
 manager would do round his works. He explained how 
 the gravel was washed and the gold secured, and how 
 every month he sent off an instalment by his messengers, 
 who returned with its value in dollars. He even showed 
 us all the little contrivances by which he kept a check on 
 liis men's proceedings ; and he seemed as pleased while he 
 described them as a down-east Yankee telling how he got 
 inside a patent. I took quite a fancy to the ingenious 
 old tyrant, the first of his race I came across who was 
 doing his best to swim with the civilizing stream. When 
 he informed us in broken Endish that his working hours 
 
48 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 were from eight to three, Ned's hilarity could no longer 
 be restrained. He laughed loud and long. Luckily 
 Taipoksee mistook the laugh for a compliment. 
 
 * First they would work only ^ye hours; but I said 
 that was not enough, I must have six. Then I said I 
 must have seven. That is all I can get; but it is 
 enough. "If you want eight hours," one squaw said, 
 "you must pay overtime." " Overtime! " I said. "Your 
 husband will no more go messages for me ; he learns too 
 much ! " But I think it best to say no more about 
 eight hours ! ' 
 
 And the old fellow gave us a wink that would have 
 done credit to an Irishman. I have always understood 
 he was a pure-blood Indian ; but I have had my doubts. 
 That wink was a staggerer. 
 
 As soon as we civilly could, we bade adieu to the go- 
 ahead Choomteya, and started in chase of the Awahnees. 
 Taipoksee's advice was for us to cross the Wakalla, strike 
 north-east for a * tree cave,' and then keep to the south- 
 east until we regained the river. According to him the 
 river was no longer branchless; we were now on the 
 higher ground, and the feeders began to pour in from the 
 snow-fields in the distance. Our road, we were warned, 
 would be a rough one ; we would have to make our way 
 over hills and plains, by torrents and precipices, and 
 through marshes and forests ; but the track was clear 
 enough, and afforded us a definite turning-point. We 
 were also assured that game would be plentiful on the 
 march, and that we should in the end be able to approach 
 the Awahnees unobserved owing to their always using 
 the southerly route. The only risky part of the road 
 seemed to curve through a patch of forest. 
 
THE HOME OF THE AWAHNEES. 40 
 
 *'But easy enough there,' said Taipoksee ; * him marked 
 with skunk/ 
 
 * With skunk ! ' exclaimed both of us. 
 
 *lt is so,' said Taipoksee, resuming the grand manner 
 of the redskin warrior. * You will smell your way through 
 the forest, for the trail is marked with the bodies of the 
 skunk in the manner of the Meewocs.' 
 
 ' Do we follow that scent, or do we run away from it 1 ' 
 asked I. 
 
 * I think we^d better go south,' said Eeid. However, 
 it appeared that the skunk novelty only extended through 
 this forest, and, as we could easily keep 'just within range,' 
 as Ned said, we resolved to start on the north side. 
 
 As the old chief had assumed his stilts, we bade him 
 farewell in equally stilted phrase. In a few minutes we 
 had taken our last look at the gold divers of the Wakalla. 
 We were crossing the limestone range which was soon 
 to lead us on to the mass of granite that forms the core 
 of the Sierra. Far to the eastward we could see peak 
 after peak fading away in the blue until they seemed in 
 their gleaming whiteness to be but phantoms — the spirits 
 of the hills in the age of ice. As an almost transparent 
 speck we could see the tiny cloud that wreathes the bright 
 gorget of the king of the Sierra, that granite helm with 
 its plume of snow which crowns the summit of the 
 highest mountain in JSTorth America. 
 
 And the plant-life was changing as we rose higher 
 towards our goal. The pale blue digger pine and black 
 oak had been left behind ; we were nearly through the 
 zone of the redwood trees, and were soon to make our 
 way among the pitches, and the sturdy sugars that boast 
 the bunches of gigantic cones. 
 
50 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 Keeping well to the north as soon as we struck the 
 first feeder of the Wakalla, we trudged along steadily and 
 cheerily to the tree cave. Our course was clear enough, 
 albeit a rough one, and the only point where Ned found 
 it necessary to pull up and reconnoitre was at the strip 
 of the woodland which we soon discovered to have the 
 trail through it marked with the skunks as hinted by 
 Taipoksee. Fortunately the characteristic odour of these 
 pests of the wilderness had been much modified by time. 
 Here they were, hung up on the trees, one body just out 
 of nose range of the other, so that, as Ned said * the road 
 was as clear as may be, if you'll only trust to common 
 scents.' Keeping * just within range ' of the chaste per- 
 fume of the decaying carcass of the skunk, we found our 
 way through the forest, and without adventure reached 
 the tree cave at sundown the day after we left the Indian 
 village. 
 
 This tree cave was just the place for a startling ex- 
 perience, and I often think that somehow or other we 
 were either too soon or too late in getting there. With 
 such surroundings we ought to have had a thrilling 
 adventure ; but all that happened was a snowstorm which 
 kept us prisoners for a day. It was merely an ordinary 
 fall of the blinding sort ; but, from what the Choomteya 
 had told us, we felt sure of closing with the Awahnees, 
 and, as the horses were safe, a day more or less mattered 
 but little. The cave was a wide crack in the limestone 
 some hundred and forty by ninety feet in area, running 
 off into smaller cavities around. In its floor was a pool 
 that seemed over thirty feet deep ; the top was open to 
 the sky, and from the overhanging cliff to the water was 
 at least six-and- thirty yards. The strangest part about 
 
THE HOME OF THE AWAIIXEES. 51 
 
 the cavc^ was the magnificent maple tree which rose 
 from within, and towered upwards many feet above the 
 rift, looking like a dwarf on the hill side. 
 
 We were very comfortable in the cave ; we had been 
 fortunate in keeping the larder well supplied, and we 
 spent the time contentedly enough discussing the chances 
 of our success on the three matters in which we were 
 interested. I need not dwell on what was said ; the 
 result was very fairly summarised by Keid as he was 
 making himself straight for the night. 
 
 * Number one is Zeke — verdict, we shall see him. 
 Number two is your gravel pit — verdict, doubtful. 
 Number three is your craze about the Barber — verdict, 
 very doubtful. Who is that fellow ? He was not an 
 Awahnee, he was not a Choomteya, he was not a plains 
 Digger ; and all of them differ in their marks and build. 
 Who are all these fellows, if it comes to that ? Seems to 
 be rather mixed, anyhow. Good-night ! ' 
 
 The next morning the snow had ceased and mostly 
 gone. We were early afoot and away. At first we kept 
 south-east as we had been advised, but after a time we 
 found the road getting difficult, and unfortunately bore 
 more and more to the south, so as to strike the main river. 
 A foolish thing this proved to be. All that day neither 
 of us got a sliot, and very glum were we when we took up 
 our quarters for the night among a mass of rock at the 
 head of one of the lesser canyons. The night was cold, 
 and at daybreak we started, hoping for better luck and a 
 better road. We had neither ; and it is now a wonder to 
 me how we got on as we did. Eeid wished to follow up 
 one of the canyons, and take a parallel course some dozen 
 miles to the northward. This would have been by far the 
 
 D 
 
52 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 best plan. But somehow I felt that we were doing right 
 in sticking to the route we had chosen, and, instead of 
 my accompanying Ned, Ned gave in to me. As events 
 proved, my obstinacy was justified, or rather excused. We 
 certainly arrived at the nick of time, and we could have 
 done no good had we reached our goal a day or two 
 earlier. 
 
 There is a great satisfaction in reasoning yourself out 
 to be right when your stomach tells you you are wrong, 
 and this I felt acutely during that cold wearying day up 
 and down the rocks and gullies that fringe the Wakalla. 
 From early morning we had been at the same work, and 
 not a sign of animal life had we seen. Our provisions 
 were running short, and we had placed ourselves on half 
 allowance, so that it was with the gloomiest forebodings 
 that hour after hour went by, and no game hove in sight 
 to cheer our painful advance. 
 
 At last, when well on in the afternoon, as we were 
 crossing a strip of tableland between two strings of preci- 
 pices, I happened to look away to windward, and just 
 beyond the nearest ridge I caught sight of a herd of 
 strange animals, three-quarters sheep and one quarter deer. 
 They were about a mile off, and were slowly moving 
 towards us, grazing as they came. 
 
 ' Bighorn ! ' said Ned ; * I never knew they ranged this 
 side of the Sierra. Stoop down behind that bush, keep 
 still as a mouse, and let them saunter on.' And stretched 
 at full length, with our rifles laid so as to be ready when 
 the heads rose into view, we crouched there and waited. 
 The bighorn did * saunter ' most cruelly. We must have 
 remained silent and motionless for quite an hour. 
 Cramped with the long stay in the one position, I was 
 
VUNCEASINGLY RAGED THE BOOM AND ROAR.' 
 
54 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 just drawing up my legs to rise when Ned touched me. 
 There, through the bush, about a cricket pitch in front of 
 us, I saw the finest head and horns it has ever been my 
 lot to meet with. The ram stood boldly facing us, gazing 
 full at the shrub which formed our cover. Long and 
 thoughtfully he peered into it, until he was joined by his 
 companions, who all favoured us with a stare. Theirs was 
 but an indifferent gaze, however; his seemed to pierce 
 the foliage and contemplate the danger he knew not how 
 to avoid. I was bending to fire when Ned whispered me 
 to wait. And immediately, as if by magic, the heads had 
 disappeared. The herd, about a score in number, had 
 turned sharp round and noiselessly stolen away. 
 
 Night was closing in, and all we could do was to camp 
 near by and follow the trail in the morning. Close to us 
 one of the ravines ran deep into the plateau ; stealthily 
 we crept to it, and down among the rocks we huddled 
 together, in a sort of shallow cave, and, with as little 
 noise as possible, made ourselves comfortable for the 
 night. I say made ourselves comfortable, but most of the 
 comfort consisted in anticipation ; for, truth to tell, we 
 felt much as a gambler is supposed to feel when he makes 
 his last throw. Our last piece of deer flesh formed our 
 supper, and, as there was a possibility of the pair of horns 
 rising in front of us at any moment, we ate it as if we 
 were afraid that our jaws would creak and betray our 
 whereabouts. Wearied out, I fell asleep and dreamt the 
 day's journey over again. Again I saw the bighorn, again 
 he came and looked at me, again I grasped my rifle to fire. 
 There, between us and the stars, stood the gigantic head, 
 deliberately moving towards me. I stretched out my 
 hand, and was tugged into consciousness by a grip from 
 
THE HOME OP THE AWAHNEBS. 55 
 
 Eeid, who said lie thought it was about time for him to 
 sleep. And sleep he did, according to his account, 
 * without any such silly fancies. ' 
 
 At daybreak we crept away in search of the ram. A 
 sprinkling of snow had fallen during the night, and 
 among the higher rocks we soon came upon his tracks. 
 Evidently the whole herd had passed along the ledge we 
 were following. Bare and rugged were the rocks of the 
 ravine, and wilder grew the gap as we tracked the 
 bighorn among the crags. Soon the ledge narrowed, and 
 Xed proposed that one alone should go on. 
 
 * IS'o,' said I ; 'let us both go, and one can help the 
 other.' 
 
 I went first. I was the lightest, and the most sanguine. 
 The spoor was sharp and undisturbed, and among the 
 many footprints we could easily identify those of our 
 thoughtful patriarch. It was cold work creeping along 
 the shelf which led round the face of a canyon, and up 
 into a narrow branch where a recent slip had broken back 
 into the wall. For half an hour we followed the foot- 
 prints. At times the ledge was so narrow that we had 
 to stand upright with our backs to the rock that towered 
 above us. 
 
 We shuffled along sideways like ghosts at a play. A 
 hundred yards below us leapt the torrent ; a hundred feet 
 above us rose the grey wall ; to the right and left stretched 
 the white ribbon of snow, dotted with the spoor of the 
 bighorn. Often the brink of the precipice was only an 
 inch or two from our toes as we sidled round the critical 
 points. Once or twice the look-down was so terrible, that 
 my head grew light, and it was with difficulty I could 
 force myself back against the wall. A frightful pro- 
 
5G 
 
 UNDER THE AVALANOPTE. 
 
 pensity developed itself within me ; it seemed as though 
 I must lean forward and strive to float on the air of the 
 canyon. When we came to where the ledge widened, 1 
 
 turned my face to the wall, and along the first and second 
 narrows after I passed safely ; but at the third narrowing 
 it seemed as though T must push myself hack wards. T 
 
THE HOME OF THE AWAHNEES. 57 
 
 kept my hands flat against the rock; but, in spite of 
 myself, the muscles would contract, they would attempt 
 to spring me over. I thought I was lost; move I could not; 
 I was going, when I caught sight of the spoor of the 
 bighorn extending on each side of me, and my reason 
 told me that where there was room for a sheep to walk 
 there was room for a man to stand. The thought gave 
 me back my ballast, and I crept away again. Reid was 
 cooler, but, as he afterwards confessed, *felt a bit skeery.' 
 He knew that where the bighorn went he could go, ' pro- 
 vided they walked ; ' and he followed me round the cliff, 
 but he dared not speak for fear of giving an alarm. 
 
 Thus did we advance in mid-air ; and in the end we 
 found that the bighorn had leapt a chasm some four feet 
 broad, and continued their journey back and round the 
 opposite ledge. With that awful depth frowning beneath 
 me, I dared not follow. I could hardly step ; to jump was 
 impossible. The * taking off' was not more than twenty 
 inches, the landing was hardly as wide ; between was a 
 gash three hundred feet straight down. Mad though we 
 were at our want of faith in our surefootedness, we agreed 
 that 4t was hardly worth while,' and began the retui'n 
 journey. When we came we had all the excitement of 
 hope to lead us on ; as we went back we had nothing but 
 despair. Judge then of my thoughts and fears as we 
 made the perilous journey the second time. 
 
 But we did not give up the bighorn. Reid was decided 
 as to that. To him the voyage along the ledge was a 
 ^ curious experience,' all in the day's march. He had 
 made up his mind to have a bighorn steak for breakfast ; 
 he had convinced himself it was his duty to get that 
 steak ; and through fire and water he would unflinchingly 
 
58 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 go until that steak was got. So we went down and 
 round for a mile or more, and at a lower level found the 
 track. We made another skirt of the precipice. Ned 
 went first. 
 
 ' Excuse me, sir,' said he, with a grin, * you've had your 
 chance. Turn ahout, you know, and my turn now.' 
 Again we had at times to creep and at times to sidle, but 
 the road proved unbroken. To Ned's gratification, ' the 
 beggars walked ; none of their skylarking jumps.' And 
 eventually we sighted the ram and his family. 
 
 Keid motioned to me to take the ram, while he aimed 
 * at a yearling. I thought this was considerate of him ; 
 so it was, but in a different sense to what I imagined. 
 We fired, and both hit. The ram fell dead, with his back- 
 bone smashed; the yearling gave a wonderful writhing 
 skip, and toppled over, shot through the brain. The rest 
 of the herd fled like the wind. 
 
 * Glad I didn't miss,' said Ned. * Your ram is a good 
 one to look at, but the youngster will give us the best 
 breakfast.' 
 
 Tlie breakfast was a long time coming, for we had again 
 to retreat, and make a considerable circuit before we found 
 our game. The yearling was soon disposed of to advantage. 
 The horns of the ram were immense ; they measured 
 eighteen inches in circumference at the base. They were 
 the largest Ned or I had heard of, and the largest but 
 two that I have since read about. 
 
 Our chase of the bighorn led us into better ground. 
 Our difiiculties for a time were over. We started straight 
 away across a long rolling slope, gradually ascending as 
 we went. We camped for the night as cheerfully as we 
 had done in the tree cave, and in the morning resumed 
 
THE HOME OF THE AWAHXEES. 
 
 f>9 
 
 our journey to the east. We expected to get within sight 
 of the Indian camp before sundown. 
 
 We had now passed beyond the zone of the pitch and 
 sugar pines, and were among the firs and tamaracks. 
 
 Every now and then we passed through strips of forest, and 
 as we crossed the rising ground we could see the trees 
 gradually thin off in the distance, as they straggled up 
 the sides of the snow -clad hills. About noon we passed a 
 lon.o^ open strip from which the trees in front seemed to 
 
60 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 extend right away for several miles. As we sat and rested, 
 we could hear the murmur of falling waters borne towards 
 us by the southerly wind. 
 
 * A waterfall on the Wakalla,' said Eeid. 
 
 ' Yes, let us make for it ; we cannot be far wrong now.' 
 
 The apparently wide patch of forest barred the way. 
 As we were in the enemy's country, we advanced with all 
 due caution. We expected at least a five-mile walk before 
 we reached the river. The forest was a mere strip ; we 
 were soon through it, and out on the flat. And in a few 
 minutes there swiftly unrolled itself before us the most 
 astonishing scene that ever greeted the eyes of man. 
 
 We were on the brink of a narrow valley half a mile 
 wide and three or four miles long. The walls of the 
 valley were cruel, bare, grey granite, with here and there 
 a stripe of black or brown ; and these walls were vertical. 
 It seemed as though a knot in the plain had been cut 
 round like a piece of a puzzle and slipped bodily towards 
 the centre of the earth. It had slipped so deep that at 
 first our eyes refused to grasp the magnitude of the 
 cataclysm. Those vertical scarps of rock rose nearly three 
 thousand feet from the ground. The cross of St. Paul's 
 Cathedral is three hundred and sixty feet from the 
 churchyard pavement; figure to yourselves eight such 
 cathedrals piled one on top of the other, and you have the 
 height of the Awahnee valley. 
 
 And over these astonishing walls poured the waters 
 from the higher country. Around us the winter had 
 nearly gone ; beyond us we could see the snows still low 
 on the mountain sides ; beneath us was a different climate 
 altogether. The upper lands were in mid-winter, the 
 valley was in early spring. From the melting snows the 
 
THE HOME OF THE AWAHNEES. 61 
 
 streams were almost choked with water, and down they 
 came steadily along the high plateau, to leap wildly and 
 determinedly into the river, which, like a glittering tape, 
 lay seemingly motionless beneath. 
 
 Over a hundred cataracts did we count as they broke 
 into foam at the foot of the cliffs, — some roaring down in 
 one straight stream, others shattered again and again on 
 projecting ledges before they vanished behind the pigmy 
 trees that fringed the granite scarp. Here was a group 
 of ten ; here, a group of six ; there, nine narrow streaks 
 marked out the wall at regular intervals. To the right, 
 to the left, all around us, the water went pouring in; 
 the heavy falls sternly, strongly, and steadily drenching 
 down ; the lighter falls swaying in the breeze, feathering 
 and breaking into spray, and ever sprinkling off new 
 showers of crystal to sparkle like brilliants in the glorious 
 sun. The arch of the rainbow rose from many a rippling 
 cloud, and in one of the nooks we could see the circle 
 complete. We were afterwards to learn of another, where 
 three full rings are shown, how its spirit breathed on 
 three Indian girls and bewitched them, so that their 
 spirits still dwell among the falling waters. 
 
 We gazed for a time in awe, Not a word of gratifica- 
 tion or surprise escaped our lips. We looked at the cliffs, 
 and we looked at the waterfalls, and we looked at the 
 trees, and we looked at the central stream. And it was 
 not until we had looked at them and thought of them 
 again and again that our tiring eyes began to wander. I 
 say * our,' but I think I could have stood there at gaze 
 till the evening. It was JSTed who broke the speU. 
 
 ' Look ! look ! Those buttons are wigwams, and those 
 ants are horses.' 
 
CHAPTEK Y. 
 
 THE GRIZZLY INTERVENES. 
 
 The villap^e lay amid a few trees on tlie bank of the 
 middle stream. In the narrow straggling meadows we 
 could see the horses leisurely grazing. From the height 
 at which we were above them they were about the size 
 of rice grains, and the wigwams, as 'Ned said, were no 
 bigger than buttons. 
 
 * Keep back ; the Awahnees may see us.' 
 ' Not they,' answered Keid. ^ They are in another 
 world down there. Luckily for us, we missed the road. 
 Their look-out is down the western throat of the valley 
 and up the slopes that guard its flanks. They never 
 expect an attack from the upper country. However, we 
 may as well have a rest.' 
 
THE GRIZZLY INTERVENES. 63 
 
 And lie flung himself full length on the ground by the 
 side of one of the torrents, and watched its waters as they 
 fell over the precipice. I joined him, and for some 
 minutes we remained speechless. I was off into dream- 
 land, half hushed to sleep by the silvery music of the 
 cascades. 
 
 * Wonder,' said ]^ed at last, — * wonder which of these 
 falls your gravel comes down ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! ah ! ' said I. * I had forgotten all about that. 
 Which should you think 'I ' 
 
 * Well, perhaps the whole hundred of them.' 
 
 ' Then I'm afraid your share isn't worth much.' 
 ' ]Nror yours. But cheer up. If " the farther you go 
 the more you get " holds good, the central stream ought 
 to be the richest. It comes from the high level, and yet 
 has got down there. It looks to me as though it flowed 
 into the valley as a river, not as a cascade. If so, we 
 had better strike it higher up. We can then work down 
 to those fellows from the unguarded side, and make our 
 observations.' 
 
 ' What are we to do then ? ' 
 
 ' Keep quiet, find out all we can, wait for M'Quarrie's 
 people, and when they come claim the valley as first 
 finders. It would make a nice little farm.' 
 ' Very. But how about the present owners ? ' 
 'They turned out those that were here before them, 
 and out they'll go before their betters. It is the same 
 old game ever since the world began ; if you can't keep a 
 thing, you must drop it. All men have to do it whether 
 they like it or not. All the beasts have done it. And 
 even those firs could only have got a footing there by 
 crowding out some other green thing.' 
 
64 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 ^ Then the strongest always win 1 ' 
 
 * Yes, but only when they are the cleverest. Fact is, 
 you are not strong unless you have got thinking strength 
 and downright genuine justice behind you ! ' 
 
 * Which, of course, you have 1 ' 
 
 * We should never do anything in this world if we 
 didn^t believe we had.' 
 
 * I believe in good, honest, steady work.' 
 
 * Seems so, doesn't it 1 ' said IN'ed, with a twinkle in his 
 eye. * Nothing like pegging away, sailoring, for instance ? ' 
 
 The question was a poser. 
 
 ' You see there is a difference between preaching and 
 practising,' I remarked ; feebly, I admit. 
 
 * There is indeed,' said Ned; *but, as the preaching 
 is only a means to the practising, you are judged by the 
 practising.' 
 
 ' Now be candid, Ned ; you don't want to steal all that 
 belongs to the Indians 'i ' 
 
 * No, not all ; let us only steal the bit that has got the 
 gravel. Honestly and steadily work it, eh 1 And buy up 
 the rest of the valley with the profit from the stolen patch. 
 That is the usual trade, isn't it ? Takings are keepings in 
 another form, you see. It sounds cruel, and we ought to 
 stop it, but how 1 ' 
 
 * You are a philosopher, Ned, and of the old shocking 
 school. How about your horse, for instance ; are takings 
 to be keepings there ? ' 
 
 * Not if I can help it. And we shan't turn the Diggers 
 out — if they can help it. But out they'll go, as safe as 
 eggs ; for this valley of theirs is too good for the likes of 
 them ! ' 
 
 * And how about the Barber ? ' 
 
THE GRIZZLY INTERVENES. G5 
 
 * Oil, bother the Barber ! If he's here he'll turn up 
 safe enough. I shouldn't wonder if he isn't the chief or 
 the opposition boss of the Awahnees.' 
 
 * But you said he wasn't an Awahnee ! ' 
 
 ^1^0 more I think he is, now you remind me. But 
 come on ; we must keep our eyes open. Those fellows 
 down there are too comfortable to run far. Let us get 
 along to the east, and see if there is any way into this 
 Digger trap. It is a curious place ; so was Death Yalley. 
 Who would have thought that our earth had such holes 
 in it ! ' 
 
 Following the run of the marvellous valley, we made 
 our way to the east. We had to cross many streams, all 
 of which were pouring their waters over the cliffs. The 
 scenery was magnificent. Never before, or since, did I 
 see such a land. Every few yards fresh beauties opened 
 upon us. I gazed wonder-struck. Ned took it all very 
 coolly, remarked that the snow was still hanging about, 
 supposed that we should have a bad time of it if we did 
 not get down soon, guessed that Caffrey would take the 
 south trail and come in on the other side, etc. etc. At 
 last I grew quite angry with him. 
 
 * Why don't you wake up, Ned, and drop your selfish- 
 ness 1 Look round you and .enjoy the finest sight your 
 eyes ever looked on.' 
 
 ' I do enjoy the sight, and I am not so selfish as you 
 take me for. But I see bows and arrows as well as water- 
 falls, and I am not easy in my mind.' 
 
 ' Well, we shall be in for it if we stop. Shall we go 
 back?' 
 
 ' No. I mean to stay. But, as far as I can see, we can 
 do nothing. Do you know, I feel as if I was being 
 
G6 UNDER THE AVAT.AXCHE. 
 
 bewitched, or electrified, or something of that sort. That 
 water streaking down seems to be charming something 
 out of me or into me. And now the clouds have begun 
 to drift across the sun, I seem to be troubled as the 
 shadows run along these cliffs. Fact ! I feel as I did 
 when I looked into that waggon. And I don't like it ! ' 
 
 The conversation dropped as we crossed a torrent that 
 seemed to go roaring by with glee at the glorious jump in 
 front of it. Reid was right as to the central stream. The 
 Wakalla flowed in as a river; it did not leap in as a 
 cataract. It divided the valley ; the rift was but an 
 expansion of its canyon. 
 
 For five or six miles we kept on before we found a 
 practicable descent. The farther we went the higher we 
 got, and soon we reached the snow line. Just on the 
 border we sighted a herd of wapiti, some feeding on the 
 miserable grass, others couching dreamily on the snow. 
 There were^ about twenty of them in all, and, after an 
 exciting stalk, which I need not stop to describe, we 
 bagged four. The pursuit led us down almost to the bank 
 of the Wakalla. Fortunately the bulls fell near together. 
 
 When we had dropped the last we looked round for a 
 camping-place, as, though it was early, the abundance of 
 food thus suddenly fallen to us was worth securing. 
 Near us, at the foot of a precipice, was a heap of frag- 
 mentary granite, brought down by a recent- fall, which 
 had marked a long scar on the face of the cliff. The 
 masses had piled themselves up as though to form a 
 Cyclopean temple. Huge stones, as big as the sarsens of 
 Stonehenge, lay tumbled on and against each other like 
 nursery bricks ; and just as bricks often fall when thrown 
 away in confusion, so had these rugged monoliths. 
 
THB GRIZZLY INTERVENES. 67 
 
 Facing us was a fairly good doorway. The lintel was 
 certainly not straight, but still it was there. Entering 
 the doorway, we found ourselves in a somewhat angular 
 space entirely enclosed on the sides and top. From it a 
 narrow passage between two upright blocks led to another 
 and larger wedge-like area, which was open to the sky 
 only by a narrow crack about a yard long and five or six 
 inches wide. In all directions openings led off between 
 the stones; some shut suddenly off by a sharp angle, 
 others leading farther than we then cared to look. 
 
 We passed through the doorway. All seemed quiet 
 and safe. We explored the first chamber, which was 
 only just high enough to allow of Keid standing upright. 
 It aroused no suspicion. We then entered the second 
 chamber, which was about a yard higher, say, nine feet in 
 all, for Ned was as nearly as possible six feet, straight 
 and sinewy as one of Cooper's backwoodsmen. The second 
 chamber was all clear, and the cracks and cavities, being 
 peered into, seemed to be all void and new. 
 
 * Just the place for a comfortable camp ! ' said Eeid ; 
 * and within easy range of our coloured friends. There's 
 the river, which we can prospect for its gravel, and that 
 tiny stream running through the hole in the back room 
 we can use for drinking. By-the-bye,' and Ned went out 
 and looked up at the cliff, * that stream would be better if 
 it didn't come down just there ; that ravine is a little too 
 full of snow to please me. But I suppose the water will 
 carry it off.' 
 
 * Oh, there's no fear from that ! ' said I ; * we can't better 
 this. We are well sheltered by the cliff, and if the 
 founder has only just occurred, as, judging from all these 
 fresh edges of rock, it seems reasonable to suppose, why, 
 
 E 
 
68 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 we are the first comers, and the Diggers have never been 
 here.' 
 
 * Hum ! ' said Ned ; ' let us just take a look around.' 
 And a *look around' we took, and all seemed satis- 
 factory. So, with much effort, we got our four deer into 
 the second chamber. And when we had done this, which 
 was by no means an easy task, for we had to bring one of 
 the bulls quite a quarter of a mile, we set to work to have 
 a good meal and make ourselves generally comfortable. 
 
 The sun set, and, as the fading daylight died away, the 
 moon grew bright. From a milky disc on a curtain of 
 grey we watched her grow to a gleaming sphere on a 
 canopy of violet blue. The stars came out to gem the 
 heavens, but their light was lost in the silver radiance of 
 the queen of the night. We could hear the ripple of the 
 streams near at hand, and we could hear the murmured 
 music of the falls in the valley, as it was fitfully borne by 
 us on the breeze. Suddenly there was a distant noise, as 
 of something fallen from a height. 
 
 * What's that? 'said I. 
 
 ' Let us go and see,' said Ned. * I feel as though some- 
 thing was giving us the slip. Let us be off by moonlight 
 down the valley.' 
 
 * Agreed,' said I ; * but what a fellow you are for feelings 
 and fancies ! You are as bad as an ^olian harp, and 
 sound to every puff that comes.' 
 
 * Well, I can't go far wrong if the puff comes from the 
 right quarter.' 
 
 Down the valley we went, and nothing did we see of 
 the cause of the fall ; but we saw many other things that 
 we did not go to look for, and which made that moonlight 
 walk the most memorable expedition of my life. It was 
 
THE GRIZZLY INTERVENES. 69 
 
 as light as day, but the shadows were deeper, and the 
 light had that strange effulgence which only the moonrays 
 give. From our doorway the view down the river was 
 fine enough, but, when we turned the buttress that barred 
 the way, and could look some distance before us, it seemed 
 as though we were gazing into fairyland. Immediately 
 in front was a magic mirror, the slightly rippled surface 
 of a lake through which the stream flowed. On either 
 side the rocks rose high, and their summits stretched up 
 to the very stars. Soon we were in the valley itself. As 
 it widened, the waterfalls were gradually revealed ; and, 
 after crossing the innumerable tributaries of the main 
 stream, we at last reached the centre, and took a long 
 look round us. What the scene was from the top during 
 the daylight I have done my best to tell ; what it was 
 from below, in the moonlight, I must leave to your 
 imagination. 
 
 Where the valley was widest its width could not be 
 more than eight hundred yards, and of this about five-and 
 twenty were taken up by the Wakalla, which, flowing first 
 on one side and then on the other, alternately touched the 
 fallen fragments at the foot of the cliffs. By the river 
 side were alders, and willows, and Gilead balm, and 
 patches of bush and underwood, raspberries, pentstemons, 
 ferns, and wild roses. On the low granite heaps were 
 oaks and maples and laurels. Behind them was the grey 
 wall of rock, hidden every now and then by the curtain of 
 falling water glittering in the light of the moon. In 
 places the granite wall was broken back ; and in places it 
 was buttressed by square-cut massive towers, one of which, 
 three thousand three hundred feet high, can be seen from 
 the San Joaquin, sixty miles away as the crow flies. And 
 
70 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 on both sides the wall was the same, the dark fringe of 
 the trees, the ashen rock, and the crystal veils with their 
 upper curves like silver bars, and their edges and folds of 
 mist and cloud; and unceasingly raged the boom and 
 roar of the cascades, and the seethe and hiss of the rapids 
 and streams. 
 
 As we neared the village we could see the lights moving 
 about, and we heard a sound as of revelry. Cautiously 
 approaching under cover of the bushes, we found that a 
 great festival was in progress, and a ceremonial dance was 
 in full swing. As the well-built, athletic figures of the 
 Awahnees moved round the fire in the moonlight, 
 advancing and retiring, sidling and wriggling, writhing 
 and leaping, the thought struck me that they looked much 
 as elves would look if seen through a microscope. What 
 Ned compared them to may be imagined ; but his criti- 
 cism was prejudiced. We watched them and waited. 
 At last the dance ended, and the dancers, now joined bj 
 the women, moved towards us, and, circling round what 
 looked like a huge cradle, indulged in a grand finale of 
 the most astonishing yells and gestures. This they kept 
 up till they quite tired themselves out ; and then, with a 
 farewell insult hurled at the cradle, each of the performers 
 went home. 
 
 The dance was over, and all was still. We waited 
 and watched for an hour in the solitude. No one stirred 
 in the Indian camp. All seemed asleep. 
 
 * What is that cradle ■? ' I whispered to Eeid. 
 
 ' Can't make out. Is it worth having a look 1 ' 
 
 * Yes ; but are we safe 1 ' 
 
 ^ I think so. They are all done up.' 
 
 Stealthily we moved nearer in the shadow. From tree 
 
THE GRIZZLY INTERVENES. 71 
 
 to tree we crept, and in a few minutes reached the cradle. 
 It was a rough framework of twigs, plaited in and out 
 like a hurdle and shaped like a dome. Beneath it was a 
 pair of saplings crossed, and to these sapKngs there was 
 tied a man who lay fast asleep. The moon shone full on 
 the cradle, and the light streamed in through the gaps 
 on to the face of the sleeper. 
 
 * By all that's wonderful,' hissed Keid under his breath, 
 'it's the Barber!' 
 
 And so it was. 
 
 ' He's a prisoner/ said Ned ; * and they'll murder him 
 or burn him at sunrise.' 
 ' Not if I know it,' said I. 
 
 * Whisht ! Get under cover again, and watch.' 
 
 For a quarter of an hour we remained silent. Nothing 
 stirred in the camp. 
 
 * Now,' said Ned, * you keep guard, and I'll cut those 
 twigs off pretty sharp. Are your revolvers loaded ? ' 
 
 * Yes.' 
 
 * Then don't fire if you can help it. If anything goes 
 wrong, run for our rubbish heap.' 
 
 Ned stepped up to the cradle. Swiftly the knife 
 flashed in the moonlight. Silently he lifted the cage, 
 and then, with a touch to the Digger to wake him, he 
 severed the bands at his hands and feet. 
 
 The Indian was free ! 
 
 With a bound he was at my side, and all seemed 
 over, when from the nearest wigwam a gigantic Awahnee 
 rushed to the cage, and, seeing it empty, turned round to 
 look. As he dashed up to the cage we three scuttled off. 
 With a yell that woke vhe village he was after us. On 
 we went, making the best of our start, out into the open 
 
72 
 
 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 straight for the head of the valley, the Awahnee after ns, 
 
 and all the warriors of the tribe bounding after him in a 
 
 straggling line. 
 
 *Run for 
 yoTir lives!' 
 said Ned. 
 
 And run we 
 did ; but we 
 did not gain on 
 the pursuers. 
 
 When we 
 reached the 
 narrowing of 
 the valley, it 
 became evident 
 that we would 
 have to fight. 
 The Barber 
 was tiring, and 
 would have to 
 be left behind 
 if our safety 
 was to depend 
 on our running 
 powers. The 
 Awahnee was 
 gradually gain- 
 ing ; and the 
 
 yelling tribe behind showed no sign of giving out either 
 
 in voice or speed. 
 
 In front of us was a fallen tree, and the only passage 
 
 was round it or over it. Ned led the way round its 
 
THE GRIZZLY INTERVENES. 
 
 73 
 
 roots. I was hardly a yard behind. As we placed the 
 tree between us and our pursuers, Ned called me to halt, 
 
 and we swung 
 round to defend 
 ourselves. The 
 Barber followed, 
 the leading Awah- 
 nee not ten feet 
 behind him. 
 
 As I raised my 
 rifle I saw some- 
 thing move at the 
 roots of the tree. 
 A grey mass rose 
 full in the moon- 
 light. With a yell 
 the Barber leapt 
 over it. But the 
 Awahnee saw it not till he rounded ; and before he could 
 leap, or save, or defend himself, he was clasped in the 
 relentless hug of a furious grizzly bear. 
 
CHAPTER VL 
 
 THE LOST KARBYA. 
 
 The pursuers halted in 
 dismay. As the stragglers 
 closed up confusedly, there 
 rose from the excited crowd 
 a wild shout of terror. 
 
 *TJzumaitee! Uzumaitee! 
 The grizzly bear ! The 
 grizzly bear ! ' 
 
 The man was to be left 
 to fight out the battle alone ! 
 The moon had now risen 
 to its height in the heavens ; 
 and in the full wealth of its brilliant rays every detail of 
 the duel could be watched. Across the path lay the 
 tree, its topmost boughs dipped in the Wakalla, its wide- 
 spreading roots torn up from the mound at the base of 
 the precipice and stretched forth like the scraggy limbs 
 of a school of hags, to leave a gap some six feet in width 
 between them and the wall 
 
 In the gap the struggle took place. It raged in 
 duplicate. There bent and swayed the writhing group 
 of the strugglers ; and there bent and swayed in unison 
 the group^s dark short shadow cast by the light of the 
 
THE LOST KAREYA. 75 
 
 moon. The sharp, Tinblurred phantom seemed as real as 
 the substance. The death wrestle did not last long. 
 The man fought his utmost in vain. Soon he dealt the 
 bear a mortal wound, and the pain drove the brute to 
 frenzy. Crushing the life out of the Awahnee, it bore 
 him to the ground. The shadows parted. Eushing at 
 the cowering crowd behind, the grizzly scattered them as 
 if they were all in shadow-land. And then it stumbled, 
 and snarled, and stopped, rolled over, kicked, and died. 
 
 But while the fight was on we had continued our 
 retreat, looking back every few moments to watch its 
 progress ; and we saw it end from the higher ground. 
 Then we ran again by the river bank, and then in the 
 shade of the trees, and then out. again into the moon- 
 light, until we reached our stronghold. The Indians 
 resumed the chase as soon as the bear died, but we had 
 gained considerably on them, and our plunge into the 
 shadow put them ojff the trail. The trail they soon took 
 up ; and about a quarter of an hour after we reached our 
 temple, or cave, or rubbish heap, or whatever it should be 
 called, we saw the leaders appear round the left buttress 
 that shut out our view down the valley. 
 
 Meanwhile we had not been idle. In front of the 
 doorway were a few smaller lumps of granite, which we 
 piled up as a breastwork ; for further retreat was not to be 
 thought of, and our only hope of safety lay in standing a 
 siege until M^Quarrie's men found their way to the village. 
 
 As soon as he entered the cave, Ned ran to see if the 
 deer were safe. 
 
 * All right ! ' he said cheerily ; * we have got enough grub 
 to last us for a week or two, if the Digger don't make a 
 beast of himself.' 
 
76 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 I saw the Barber give him a look straight in the face. 
 Their eyes met. It was only for an instant, but it was 
 enough. 
 
 Reid held out his hand. 
 
 * Give us a grip to show there's no ill-feeling. You 
 didn't steal those horses ? ' 
 
 ' No. They stole me.' 
 
 ' What ! the horses ? ' said Ned, with a smirk, * or 
 those cowardly skunks V 
 ' The Awahnees.' 
 
 * Are you one of them ? ' 
 
 * No.' 
 
 * Were you ever one of them 1 ' 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' Then who — All right ! we are all together. Just 
 give us a hand with these stones outside ; and, • 
 Langham, have the barkers ready. This is an awkward 
 job, but at least we have done the right thing in saving a 
 man from being roasted.' 
 
 And so we piled up the blocks in the doorway. And 
 we had only just placed the four on the top, leaving three 
 narrow gaps between them, when, as I have said, the 
 leader of the Awahnees appeared round the buttress. 
 
 It was not until I learned that he was destined to be 
 head torturer in the ceremony of the morning that I ceased 
 to regret his fate. 
 
 'Better begin as we intend to go on,' said Ned. 'If 
 the grizzly takes number one, and I take number two, 
 those thieving brutes may knock under.' 
 
 And as deliberately as Ned covered the bighorn, so did 
 he cover the Awahnee. And just as the bighorn died 
 without a groan, so did the Indian. 
 
THE LOST KAREYA. 77 
 
 * Better lend the Barber your spare revolver/ said Eeid 
 as he reloaded. 
 
 There was no immediate occasion to use it. 
 
 The death of the first in the chase had its influence. 
 The Awahnees drew back. For a few minutes we saw 
 and heard nothing but the flow of the river and the quiver 
 of the boughs as the wind sighed through them laden 
 with the chorus of the distant cascades. 
 
 Then the branch of a tree was waved up and down the 
 edge of the rock. 
 
 * Flag of truce/ said I. 
 
 * Looks like it/ said Eeid. 'I wish they'd wait till 
 daylight, though. I don't like this moonlight business.' 
 
 From the rock into the open there stepped an Indian, 
 with his- bow slung over his shoulder and the branch in 
 his hand. In answer I waved my handkerchief; and, 
 alone, he came towards us. 
 
 * Shall we go out to meet him 1 ' said I. 
 
 'No,' said Keid. *Let him come within hailing dis- 
 tance and shout what he has got to say.' 
 
 * But that's not civilized warfare ! ' 
 
 ' Who said it was 1 Is any of it civilized warfare 1 Is 
 it civilized warfare to steal a man's horses 1 Is it civilized 
 warfare to kidnap a poor beggar, and keep him for days, 
 till the moon or the sun happens to rise over a particular 
 raspberry bush, before you roast him or boil him ? Is it 
 civilized warfare to tie a poor fellow wrist and ankle to a 
 pair of trees, and dance round him till your throat goes 
 dry with the hot insults you have shovelled out on to 
 him? No, it isn't ! Let the beggar come and shout.' 
 
 The ' beggar ' did come, and he did ' shout.' He was 
 an old, well-built fellow, of about the middle height, 
 
78 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 whose low, broad shoulders and deep chest showed that 
 in early manhood he had been as athletic as his fellows. 
 Now, as generally happens, his broad shoulders had 
 developed and gained in fat, and he was somewhat 
 unwieldy. With great dignity he approached us, waving 
 the branch as he did so. 
 
 * That^s the olive branch,' said I. 
 
 * 'No, it isn't,' said Ned ; * but it ought to be. It does 
 as well. A fat fellow like that might wave anything, 
 and we'd fancy he was a messenger of peace. I wonder 
 what the game is ? ' 
 
 The Awahnee came up fearlessly to within about fifteen 
 feet of our door. Then he stopped, waved his branch to 
 the right, to the left, to the ground, to the moon, and 
 then across his body. 
 
 * I am Awuyah,' he shouted, * and I come from Tenaya, 
 the chief of the Awahnees ! ' And he paused. 
 
 * He wants you to say who we are,' said Ned. * You'd 
 better ai^wer.' 
 
 * What shall I teU him?' 
 
 ' Oh, anything that sounds grand. Tell him a song, 
 but drawl it slowly. Say we are the hopefuls of George 
 Washington and William Shakespeare.' 
 
 ' We are the potent signiors of the — of the — of the 
 what, Eeid ? ' 
 
 * Of the Western Sea.' 
 
 * We are the potent signiors of the Western Sea. We come 
 to you with the power of the Langham and the Eeid.' 
 
 * Tenaya welcomes the Langham and the Eeid, and he 
 says that his thoughts are peace.' 
 
 *He's very kind,' said Ned. *Give the old man an 
 echo. Tell him to drive on, or something.' 
 
THE LOST KARBTA. 79 
 
 ' Proceed, Awuyali ! ' said I, with dignity. 
 
 ' Tenaya claims his prisoner, Owyanu, the outcast.' 
 
 ' What prisoner 1 * 
 
 * Owyanu, the outcast from amongst men.' 
 ' I am Owyanu,' said the Barber quietly. 
 
 ' And the outcast from amongst men ? ' asked Eeid, 
 looking at him, or perhaps I ought to say looking 
 through him. 
 ^ * Awuyah says so.' 
 
 * Give him his echo,' said Ned. * Ask him what 
 nextr 
 
 * What further says Tenaya ? ' 
 
 * He says that he wants but Owyanu, his rightful captive 
 according to all the laws of the Meewocs.' 
 
 ' I am not a Meewoc,' said the Barber. 
 
 * And then ? ' said I to the herald. 
 
 ' Tenaya desires to live at peace with the white men. 
 He wants not their goods nor their horses. He will give 
 you back the horses his people took from the San Joaquin, 
 lie will add to them ten horses of his own, if Owyanu, 
 the outcast, is given up to suffer the penalty he has 
 earned.' 
 
 * And what is that penalty % ' 
 
 ' To die the death of a traitor when the rays of the 
 rising sun rest first upon Tisseyak.' 
 
 ' Tell him,' said Reid, * that the what-you-may-call-'ems 
 of the Western Sea care not a dollar for Tisseyak, and that 
 they know better than trust to the promises of a thieving 
 Digger.' 
 
 ' The horses,' continued Awuyah, * will be brought to 
 you, and Tenaya will guide you home.' 
 
 ' To steal them again, I have no doubt,' said Eeid. 
 
80 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 * I don't think that/ said I. * They evidently want our 
 friend.' 
 
 * What have you done, Mr. Barber ? ' asked Ned. 
 
 * It is a long story.' 
 
 ' Have you murdered anybody 1 ' * No.' 
 
 ' Shot anybody ? ' ' No.' 
 
 'Kobbed anybody?' *No.' 
 
 ' Damaged anybody ? ' * No.' 
 
 ^ Sold anybody?' * No.' 
 
 ' Are you really the man Tenaya means ? ' * I am.' 
 
 ' Used you to live here ? ' * No.' 
 
 ' Were you ever in this valley before ? ' ' No.' 
 
 ' Then what have you got to do with Tenaya ? ' 
 
 ' It is a long story.' 
 
 ' Will they kill you if we give you up ? ' 
 
 ' They wHl.' 
 
 ' And they were keeping you for a show to-morrow, eh ? ' 
 
 ' They were.' 
 
 ' And you had no hand in stealing our horses ? ' 
 
 'None.' 
 
 * Then tell Awuyah,' said Eeid to me, * to tell Tenaya 
 that we have found an honest man, and we will fight for 
 him as long as we've limbs to defend ourselves. Tell him 
 liis warriors will fall as they did before the grizzly and 
 my number one. But don't tell him that Caffrey's on the 
 way, and quite able to take over the horses for himself.' 
 
 ' Then you won't give up the Barber 1 ' 
 ' No ; of course not.' 
 
 * We might get a grant of our gravel pit.' 
 
 * Eh ? what ? Would you give up a man to torture for 
 the sake of a gravel pit ? ' 
 
 * No ; but from what you said, I thought you might.' 
 
THE LOST KAREYA. 
 
 81 
 
 * Then you don't know Ned Reid. You should judge 
 him by his practice, and not by his preaching. Tell that 
 pompous Digger to clear off.' 
 
 In the nearest approach to blank verse that I could 
 
 manage, I shouted to Awuyah that Owyanu was our 
 friend, and that we would defend him to the last. 
 
 * Tell him we can get out when we like,' said Ned. 
 
 The which I duly did. 
 
 Awuyah listened, courteous and unmoved. 
 
82 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 * It is not true,' he said, * that you can depart when 
 you please. There are but three of you, and the paths 
 are not known to you. The Awahnees are many and 
 brave, and though many may fall the victory will be 
 theirs. Tenaya wishes you well. Give up Owyanu. He 
 is the outcast of his tribe and his race, and the curse will 
 never depart from him. He can never prosper, nor can 
 he rest. Hunted from hill to hill, all that shelter 
 him will die. It is not our law ; it is the law of all that 
 dwell to the east and west of the mountains of snow. 
 Think what you are doing. Tenaya gives you grace ; he 
 will not attack you until the rays of the moon fall full on 
 the flank of Tutakanoola. I will come again.' 
 
 And with much dignity Awuyah withdrew. 
 
 * Now, what is all this- mystery ? ' said I to the Barber. 
 * Tell us what it means. Who are you ? * 
 
 * I am Owyanu, the lost Kareya.' 
 
 * And who, or what is that 1 ' asked Eeid. 
 
 ' I am not an Awahnee ; I am not a Meewoc. I am 
 a chief of the Kahrocs, the noblest of the tribes of the 
 Pacific slope. But, though there are many tribes, they 
 are but one people, and all combine to curse when one 
 begins. I came of a sacred family, and I grew up hoping 
 to be the chief of all my tribe. The Meewocs know no 
 future, and think of nothing but what they see; but 
 the Kahrocs have other thoughts, and worship the great 
 Kareya. I was to be the priest of the great Kareya, and 
 the hour of my initiation drew nigh. I was to go to the 
 mountains to bring home the sacred fire which is fed by 
 the branches cut from the wondrous tree. The summit 
 of that tree grows in the shape of a man's head and 
 outstretched arms, and to trim it is to weep.' 
 
THE LOST KAREYA. 83 
 
 'Never mind the fire; go on/ said Keid. 'We must 
 have an answer ready for Awuyah. Tell us what you 
 have done.' 
 
 'I was to go to the mountains to bring home the 
 sacred fire ; and I was to see the great Kareya, whose 
 viceroy I was to be. I went forth with a companion, 
 who was chosen for me, on what you call the 21st of last 
 August. We went into the woods, and up into the 
 mountains, and he told me I must fast. He could eat 
 the porridge of the acorns, but I must not. We wandered 
 many a mile up even into the snow, and looked forth 
 to the eastern hills till we saw the sun rise from lower 
 than I ever saw it before. Then we returned, and not 
 far from our village, deep in the woods, we rested till it 
 was time. Though my companion could eat, I must not ; 
 and with hunger I grew thin and feeble until I could 
 hardly stand. Seeing me growing so weak, my companion 
 gave me a little acorn porridge, but that was all. I asked 
 him to teach me the knowledge of my people, but he 
 said there was no knowledge. I asked him of the great 
 Kareya, and he told me many strange legends, but nothing 
 that I thought was true. All I asked was answered ; but 
 the answer was that in the future I should know. I 
 asked if he intended to kill me when I grew too weak, 
 but he showed me how all the others that were before 
 me had gone through the same trial and had survived. 
 For ten days were we away in the woods, I being sup- 
 posed to learn all wisdom, and learning nothing but pain 
 and foolishness. At last the time came for us to return. 
 It was the 1st of September, the great day of the Kahroc 
 year, when we approached the village. There aU the 
 .[)eople were gathered from far and near for the dance of 
 
84 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 propitiation. My companion left me almost dying by 
 the trees, and from the summit of the hill that overlooked 
 our village shouted forth the news that the Kareya was 
 coming. Then all the people fled in terror, for it was 
 death for any to behold me. Some wrapped their heads 
 in their blankets, some lay with their faces to the ground, 
 some shut themselves up in their wigwams. For none 
 must look upon the Kareya. As I was so weak and 
 helpless, my companion summoned a guard to help me. 
 Four there were of them, and, as they came up the hill to 
 him, he descended to meet them, and blindfolded them 
 one after the other, because, as I said before, it is death 
 to see the Kareya. Down the hill he came, leading the four 
 blinded men towards me, slowly and stumblingly, as if 
 each moment they would fall and be lamed. When they 
 came to me they set open the sacred blanket, and, feeble 
 as I was, a mere skeleton, nothing but bones and shrivelled 
 skin, they set me on it, and, led by my guide, carried me 
 slowly into the village. All was silent. A few men I 
 saw face downwards in the dust. There was nothing to 
 show that the village was peopled ; but I knew that, 
 though I could see them not, and they could not see me, 
 there were hundreds in the wigwams, crouching and 
 waiting for the sacred fire. I brought no fire with me. 
 I had nothing but my skeleton and my thoughts. They 
 carried me, wondering and expecting much, to the 
 assembly chamber dug deep in the ground, and they set 
 me on what they said was the sacred stool on which 
 Kareya sits. Then I waited for the wisdom ; but none 
 came. They told me to make the sacred fire; and I 
 waited, but none came. Then they told me to make it 
 again, and they gave me tinder and flints, and told me 
 
THE LOST KARBYA. 85 
 
 the fire was the same as other fire, and I was to make it 
 in the same way. So I chipped, and at last the spark 
 fell into the tinder, and I nourished it into a blaze, and 
 the fire was alight, and the smoke rose through the roof. 
 My companion shouted, and the blindfolded men tore ofi' 
 ^heir bandages, and gave me food. And when I had 
 finished eating, a cry went up from my guide, and with 
 a roar and a whoop of joy the warriors swarmed out 
 round the assembly house, all dressed in their finest and 
 best, their trappings, and beadery, and strings of the red 
 scalps of the woodpeckers, which serve amongst us for 
 money. A few had the cherished black deerskin, and those 
 that had not had the head and skin of some other deer 
 stufied and borne on a staff, the skins flowing loose. 
 Then they all formed a circle and joined in the chant, 
 and the long step dance, lifting and lowering the one foot 
 while they sang, for two hours. All this time the 
 warriors only sang ; those that looked on were silent until 
 the sacred dance ended, and then all joined in and danced 
 and sang till they were tired. Then all was over, and I 
 was the Kareya Indian ; but I learnt nothing of the 
 knowledge I expected. And when I got strong again, I 
 asked my guide about the meaning of all that had been 
 done, and he could not tell me. And I asked if all that 
 was told was true, and he said he did not know. And I 
 asked who it was that knew the true secrets of our race ; 
 and I was told that those only knew the mysteries who 
 had crossed the valley of the Amargosa, where our sacred 
 axe was found. The axe was of green stone, the same 
 stone as you showed me at M'Quarrie's. I asked further 
 about this stone, and I was told that no man knew 
 whence it came, but that fully finished axes were found 
 
86 UNDER THE AVATJLNGHE. 
 
 on the western slope of the valley. I wa5 told that the 
 valley was all black rock, and that no green rock was 
 there, nor was there any such known anywhere except 
 in the shape of axeheads. Inquiring further into these 
 things, I was told that those who passed through the 
 valley learnt all knowledge ; and I resolved to go. The 
 sacred council tried to stop me ; they said I must not leave 
 them ; they told me my going meant my death. I asked 
 them if it was true about the valley, and they said it 
 was; and then I warned them I should go. I was 
 watched night and day ; but I felt angry that the people 
 should be in darkness, and I made up my mind to find 
 out the truth, and tell them And one night I slipped 
 away. I went to the valley ; and, when I saw the birds 
 fall as they strove to fly over it, and the waggon stop as 
 it strove to drive through it, I understood that it was 
 indeed the Yalley of Death, and that the meaning of our 
 wise men was that they knew nothing. This did not 
 satisfy me, and I tried to go down in search of the axes ; 
 and, instead of the axes, I found a nest of the green 
 stone enough to make axes for an army ; and you too saw 
 a nest of it on the other side. And so I found that all 
 the knowledge I had gained was the knowledge that T 
 knew nothing. And I would have gone back to my 
 people ; but the council had proclaimed me an outcast, 
 and sent from tribe to tribe the news that I had been 
 false to my trust, and that I must die. And all the 
 Kahrocs and all the Meewocs, and all their allies on this 
 side of the Sierras, agreed to kill me. But I did not know 
 that any besides the Kahrocs would do so ; and I came 
 to work in the land of the Meewocs. The head tribe of 
 the Meewocs are these Awahnees, and Tenaya, the chief, 
 
THE LOST KAREYA. 87 
 
 is glad to show his power. ISo he came at night and 
 seized me, and carried me here to sacrifice me to-morrow, 
 that the tribes may tell how the Awahnee chief avenged 
 the treason of the lost Kareya.' 
 
 Anything more unexpected than this strange story I 
 could not conceive. It was so utterly different to any- 
 thing I had imagined, that I was completely taken aback. 
 Ned's facial play was quite a study. Owyanu evidently 
 told the truth, but the thought and action throughout 
 seemed quite opposed to all Indian nature. 
 
 ' What is your name ? ' asked Eeid. 
 
 ' Owyanu.' 
 
 ' Who were your father and mother 1 ' 
 
 ' My father was Kusudah, and my mother was Muoro/ 
 
 * Were both of them natives of your village, or did 
 they come from afar ? ' 
 
 * They were born in our village.' 
 
 I rose and looked out through the entrance, and saw 
 Awuyah advancing, waving the branch of truce. 
 
 * I come for your answer to Tenaya.' 
 
 * What is it to be, Ned?' said I. 
 
 * I will go,' said Owyanu. ' You shall not risk your 
 lives to save mine.' 
 
 * Will you stand by us to the end, if we stand by youl' 
 asked Ned. 
 
 * I will ; but it is better I should go.' 
 ' I think not. Tell him we'U fight.' 
 
 * Awuyah ! ' I shouted. 
 
 ' I am waiting for your answer. The time is passing.' 
 
 * Let it pass. This is our answer to Tenaya. Tell him 
 we mean to stay here and to fight ; and, as the grizzly rose 
 from its lair to save the outcast from his pursuers, so will 
 
88 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 we bar tlie way to all that come against him. Go back 
 in safety, but the next man that appears round that rock 
 shall die; and the next, and the next !' 
 
 With a scornful laugh, Awuyah goes back ; and, just 
 as he reaches the buttress, round come Tenaya and his 
 tribe. With a whoop and a chorus of yells that echo 
 again and again, as the sound-waves strike the parallel 
 cliffs, the Awahnees come on to the attack. The 
 arrows rain round us. Throwing away their bows, the 
 foremost Indians charge up to storm our stronghold hand 
 to hand. The moonlight is thinning into the grey of the 
 morning as that furious crowd, like so many maniacs, 
 rages up to the door. We fire — and neither misses — and 
 we pick up the revolvers. But to stop that storm is 
 hopeless. Bang ! bang ! bang ! go the pistols, but the 
 advance is unchecked. At the head of his men comes 
 Tenaya. In a minute he will be in ! All seems lost ! 
 
 When — without a word of warning, without a note of 
 fear — everything, above, beneath, around, begins to shake. 
 There is a rattling roar that drives the very cliffs apart. 
 Tenaya opens his arms to stay his men ; and, as our last 
 shots speed, the light fades, and the fight ends. ■^Ve 
 are alone. All is silent as death. We are under an 
 avalanche I 
 
CHAPTEE YTL 
 
 UNDER THE SNOW. 
 
 OwYANU was the first to break the silence. 
 ' I am sorry.' 
 
 * Sorry for what 1' asked Eeid. * That we are alive V 
 
 * 1^0. That you should be doomed to a death like this 
 for having helped me.' 
 
 * I was thinking we were precious lucky to be saved 
 from a death like that.' 
 
 * But we are under the snow ! ' 
 
 *And so is Tenaya, I hope. Keep your eye on the 
 doorway, Langham, in case any of those Diggers should 
 try to wriggle in.' 
 
 * I think they all escaped.' 
 
 *More's the pity! Let us hope they think we are 
 done for!' 
 
 * I am afraid we shall be if help doesn't come soon. 
 And how we are to be found under the snow, I don't 
 quite see.' 
 
 * Cheer up,' said Ned. * After Owyanu's story I am 
 prepared for anything.' 
 
 * Well, we must take it coolly.' 
 
90 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 'Why, certainly we shall, if we don't have a fire/ 
 
 * We cannot have a fire.' 
 'Why not r 
 
 ' There's no draught ; we are all shut in. What will 
 you do with the smoke V 
 
 ' We must have a look as the light gets better. Let us 
 see if our rear is all right.' 
 
 And, while I guarded the door, l!^ed went into the 
 second chamber to find that aU was safe. 
 
 * Nothing there,' he said, as he came back. ' Let us 
 have something to eat. Where is the cold venison V 
 
 This he found, and in the darkness we ate in 
 silence. 
 
 *No Indian will come to us through the snow,' said 
 Owyanu. ' We oould sleep in peace.' 
 
 * That's what I was thinking,' said Ned. * We are all 
 right at present, but we are tired out. Let us have a 
 rest, and when we wake we can talk matters over.' 
 
 And we lay down. I made myself comfortable, full 
 length across the doorway. Ned slept across the passage 
 between the inner and outer rooms. The Indian was in 
 the first chamber, between us. I slept for some hours. 
 When I opened my eyes, the stin had evidently risen, for 
 the light was stronger and more diffused. In the pearly 
 gloom I saw Owyanu sitting gazing fixedly at the door. 
 Then he rose and felt the roof with his hands. He was, as I 
 have said, magnificently built, and his fine, powerful figure 
 showed off to perfection, for the Awahnees had stripped 
 him of his working clothes, and all he now wore was his 
 hip-cloth and buckskin girdle. He stood there in the 
 milky light that streamed in through the snow above the 
 breastwork behind me, and as his limbs outlined them- 
 
UNDER THE SNOW. 
 
 91 
 
 selves against the sombre background, he seemed to be 
 holding up the roof, under which his height made him 
 stoop. The whole weight seemed upon him. 
 
 At first I thought I was dreaming, and it was only 
 gradually that I became aware I was awake. • 
 
 ' Well, Owyanu V I said. * What are you aoing V 
 
 ' I think the snow overhead is thin, but it is deep at 
 
92 UNDER THE AVALANOHB. 
 
 the door. I think we might take away that breastwork 
 and let in more light/ 
 
 * We will wait to hear what Eeid says when his sleep 
 is over.' 
 
 * Which it is/ said Ned, rising. * We can bring those 
 stones in, and dig away some of the snow. The more we 
 get out into it, the more air and light we shall get.' 
 
 ' Owyanu says the snow overhead is not very thick.' 
 
 * How do you know that ? Is that one of the 
 mysteries ? ' 
 
 ' No. I only think so. The stream is still running. 
 It has not been choked.' 
 
 ' Yes, I suppose we shall be aU right for air as long as 
 that stream runs.' 
 
 ' Is this stone overhead the only one, or is there another 
 on the top of it 1' 
 
 ' There is a heap of rubbish there ; but in the next 
 room there is a crack that was open.' 
 
 * Let us have the front clear,' said I. 
 
 And in a very few minutes our breastwork was down, 
 and the dim light shone in through the doorway. Then, 
 with his knife, Ned carved away at the snow, and we 
 carried through to the stream all that we dug out. The 
 snow was dry and clean as we worked into it, and came 
 down readily, so that in an hour's time we had an alcove 
 from the door about a yard and a half in length. 
 
 * Driving an adit,' said Ned. * We expected to go in 
 for the alluvial, and here we are, landed as soft quartz 
 crushers.' 
 
 This working in the ghastly whiteness of the snow had 
 a strange effect upon me. I became quite dazed. The 
 cruel glare gave our eyes no rest. In the cold stillness 
 
UNDER THE SNOW. 93 
 
 our voices sounded hollow and unnatural. Our flesh was 
 bloodless and pallid. Our clothes seemed to hang on us 
 like dank, dirty rags. 
 
 ' You would think/ said I, * that we were only the 
 ghosts of ourselves.' 
 
 * What does it matter if we are V answered Ned. * We 
 may be, for all you know. But if we can work together 
 as ghosts the same as we work together as men, what 
 difference does it make to us ?' 
 
 * Not the ghost of a difference, I suppose I ought to 
 say.' 
 
 * Then don't bother your head with what you look like, 
 or what you feel like. Stick to the work that comes along, 
 and keep your eyes open.' 
 
 * Like the coyote,' said Owyanu. 
 
 ^ Like an intelligent man,' said Eeid. * But I suppose 
 the coyote means much the same thing.' 
 
 * I think so, sometimes, but some men are better.' 
 
 * Eh ? Let us knock off work and take a meaL And 
 if you don't mind telling us some of that wisdom of the 
 Kahrocs that ended in nothing, Langham and I will listen. 
 Why should we keep our eyes open like the coyote ? 
 The reason may give us a notion. Sometimes two trails 
 are better than one. We are in for a long stay, I expect, 
 so take your time. There's no hurry.' 
 
 * The wisdom of the white man is not the same as that 
 of the Kahroc' 
 
 * Perhaps not, but it often ends where yours did.' 
 
 ' The white man laughs at all wisdom but his own.' 
 ' So does the red man.' 
 
 ' Not always,' said Owyanu ; * but I will tell you the 
 story I was thinking of. The wise men of the Kahrocs say 
 
94 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 that once there was no world. And Kareya sat on the 
 sacred stool, and said to himself he would make one. And 
 first he made the water ; and then he made the land. 
 And then he made the fishes that swim in the big water. 
 And then he made the snakes; and then he made the 
 birds ; and then he made the animals that walk on the 
 green land. And all the animals were equal, and it was 
 not settled which should be meat for each, and which 
 should be meat for man. Now one evening all the animals 
 were gathered together in a certain place. It was many- 
 summers ago, and Kareya had told the man to make bows 
 and arrows of differing length and strength, and give them 
 to the animals as he pleased, according to the power he 
 thought they deserved. The sun had set, and the man, 
 according to Kareya's command, began to make the bows. 
 And it was nine sleeps before the work was ended. And 
 all the animals that were gathered together went to sleep ; 
 all but the coyote, who was exceeding cunning, and who 
 said to himself, The man will give the longest bow to him 
 who is first awake. So he laughed to himself, and laid 
 his long nose on his pa*ws, and made believe to be asleep, 
 like all the others. Now about midnight he himself 
 began to get sleepy; and he scratched his eyes and 
 walked about, and skipped and jumped to keep himself 
 awake. While he was jumping about he woke some of 
 the others ; but he soon lay down again, and so did they. 
 Well, he could not keep awake, try all he could, and 
 when the morning star came up, he found he must go to 
 sleep ; for the night was so long. So he took two sticks 
 and sharpened them, and with them propped up his eye- 
 lids, so as to take a wink or two while gazing at the 
 morning star. Now he fell quite off to sleep, and the 
 
UNDER THE SNOW. 95 
 
 pointed sticks slipped in and pinned his eyelids together. 
 And day broke, and all the birds began to sing, and all 
 the animals went forth to meet the man. And the man 
 gave the longest bow to the cougar, and one by one he 
 gave away the bows, until he was left with the shortest bow 
 of all; and there was none to claim it. So he called over all 
 the animals, and the one that did not answer was the sleep- 
 ing coyote. And when he looked for him he found him 
 with his eyelids fast together ; and, he laughed. But he 
 liked the coyote, and, although he had to give him the 
 shortest bow, he gave him the gift of being ten times 
 more cunning than he had been before. So the coyote is 
 the most cunning of all the animals.' 
 
 ' I suppose that means,' said I, * that by keeping our 
 eyes open we shall always learn, but we shall not always 
 prosper.' 
 
 ' It is a good story,' said Ned, * and it ought to be of 
 help to us, but I do not yet see how. Do you mean to 
 tell us that those dirty Digger fellows that swarm on the 
 San Joaquin can tell stories like that 1 ' 
 
 * They are but Meewocs. I am a Kahroc' 
 
 ' Just so. But can all the Kahrocs tell us how the 
 world was made ? ' 
 
 * Only those who are taught by the wise.' 
 
 * Oh yes, I forgot,' said Eeid. ' What did you mean 
 by keeping our eyes open like the coyote ? ' 
 
 * I meant we might fail, though we might learn much. 
 The Awahnees will watch us from a distance, and in the 
 end we shall fall.' 
 
 ' Now I am not so sure of that,' said Ned. * If the 
 Awahnees cannot get at us, the longer we stay here the 
 better, but we must make ourselves comfortable. If we 
 
96 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 had a coyote here he might dodge up a fire perhaps, for 
 we want one badly. I did not quite see how the bow 
 business bore on our present state ; but if you can give 
 us a fire story we might find it useful.' 
 
 * It was the coyote who first brought fire to man.' 
 
 ^ 'Now we are on the track,' said I. * Proceed, Owyanu, 
 and, if you are in need of a text, tell us how he managed 
 matters under the snow.' 
 
 * It is a strange story,' said Owyanu. 
 ' Likely enough,' said JS'ed. 
 
 * There was no fire amongst men ; and the men tried in 
 vain to obtain it. It was first made by Kareya, and it 
 was kept from the world by three old hags who lived in 
 a wigwam on the top of a high hill. Many trials did the 
 animals make to get it, but all failed, and the three old 
 women kept it to themselves. Man tried often ; and at 
 last he sent for the coyote, who put his long nose on the 
 ground, and lay and thought. Then the coyote went out 
 and called the animals together. And all came, from the 
 cougar to the frog ; and with them and an Indian he set 
 out to the hill on which the fire was kept. And he left 
 the frog to keep watch at the bottom of the hill, ajid all 
 the way up the hill he placed the animals in order. The 
 worst runners were placed first, and the cougar, the 
 strongest of the animals, was placed last, on the top of 
 the hill, near the wigwam of the women. And the Indian 
 he hid under the hill. And all the animals in a long row 
 lay down and waited. Then the coyote walked up the 
 hill and knocked at the door of the wigwam. And one 
 of the hags came to the door, and saw but a little coyote. 
 " Good evening," said the coyote. " Good evening," said 
 the old woman. " It is a cold night," said the coyote ; 
 
UNDER THE SNOW. 97 
 
 •*can you let me in to sit by the fire?" And the old 
 vv^oman, seeing he was but a little coyote, let him in. 
 And he lay down by the fire, and put his nose between 
 his paws and pretended to sleep. But he was awake all 
 night watching the women, and the women were watching 
 him. So, next morning, he thanked the women for their 
 shelter, and ran down the hill to the Indian, and told him 
 how carefully the women watched the fire. And he said 
 to the Indian that the next night he would go to the 
 cabin, and while he was inside the Indian was to attack 
 it. So the next night, with the animals all placed on 
 the hill, he walked up to the door of the wigwam, and 
 knocked. " Good evening," he said. " Good evening," 
 said the old woman. " It is a cold night," said the coyote ; 
 " can you let me sit by the fire?" And the old woman, 
 seeing he was but a little coyote, let him in. And he lay 
 down by the fire, and put his nose between his paws and 
 pretended to sleep. But he was awake all the time. 
 And in the middle of the night the Indian suddenly 
 attacked the door. And the three women rushed to 
 defend it. And the coyote caught up a burning stick in 
 his teeth, and ran off with it out of the other door. 
 And the hags saw him, and by the sparks they chased 
 him, and they ran like the wind. And they had almost 
 caught the coyote when he reached the cougar; and, 
 throwing the stick to the cougar, he slunk away. And 
 the hags chased the cougar ; and just as they were over- 
 taking him he threw the stick to the next, who carried 
 on the fire. And so from animal to animal it was thrown, 
 until it came to the ground squirrel. And he carried it 
 b'O awkwardly that his tail caught fire, and the pain was 
 such that he curled his tail up against his back, and so 
 
98 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 burned the black spot you see between his shoulders 
 to-day. And the ground squirrel was nearly caught by 
 the hags, and was only just in time to pass on the ^'re to 
 the next animal. And on it went, from the next to the 
 next, until it came to the frog. And the frog opened his 
 mouth and swallowed the fire and jumped. And one of 
 the hags was so close behind that she caught hold of his 
 tail And the tail came off in her hands ; and no full- 
 grown frog has a tail to this day. So the frog escaped ; 
 for he jumped into the water. And he swam under the 
 water for a long way, until he ^ame up out of breath and 
 spit the fire on to a log of driftwood. And the man took 
 the driftwood and dried it in the sun, and when he 
 rubbed it together the fire came forth.' 
 
 * Which it would have done without the coyote,' said 
 I, ' had the Indian only had the sense to try.' 
 
 ' Why, then, we are as bad as the Indian,' said Ned. 
 ' We have been waiting for the fire to come down the 
 hill, and never tried for ourselves. Let us strike a light, 
 and see what we have got to burn.' 
 
 And in a minute Eeid had a match alight, and was 
 peering round the inner chamber. 
 
 * There is wood,' said Owyanu. * The rock has fallen 
 on trees and bushes. Look ! ' 
 
 Another match held where the Kahroc pointed showed 
 us two or three twigs sticking out from under a lump of 
 stone. In an instant Owyanu had seized the stone and 
 dragged it into the opening. Beyond it were two small 
 blocks, one on the other. He seized the top one, and 
 brought it in. A draught of air blew out the match. 
 
 ' Swallowed by the frog,' said Ned. * Here, hold it 
 while I liffht it.' 
 
UNDER THE SNOW. 99 
 
 Again the light shone in the opening. Owyanu lugged 
 in the lower stone, and Keid, with his hunting-knife, cut 
 at the branch on which they had rested. The light again 
 went out, but Owyanu and Eeid seized hold of the 
 branch and dragged at it. It moved a few inches, and 
 we heard something fall, and then it broke off at the cut, 
 and was dragged into the chamber. It was dry. 
 
 * Light it,' said Eeid. 
 
 And we broke it up, and we lit it. And the firelight 
 shone down the opening from which it had come. Along 
 it was a pile of rubbish, and overhead was a huge slab, 
 supported on large stones at the side, one of which was 
 three and the other four feet high. The rubbish was 
 loose, and Owyanu, stooping to the work, threw it back 
 to us in handfuls. The more he cleared, the stronger blew 
 the draught and the worse became the smoke. 
 
 * Heed not the smoke,' said Owyanu. * I see daylight 
 and hear the falling waters.' 
 
 Faster flew the rubble towards the fire, and soon the 
 passage was clear. Scrambling over the trunk of a tree, 
 we found ourselves in a third chamber, in which one 
 solid mass of rock leant against another. And through 
 the narrow angle on the right, and from a small gap over- 
 head, the light streamed in. 
 
 I ran to the upright mass, and looked through the gap 
 above me. It was the side of the precipice, which 
 towered up straight for hundreds of feet. The snow had 
 fallen clear of the base of the cliff. There was no way 
 out of our prison. But we had found fresh air. 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 A SUEPRISE. 
 
 •■\ 
 
 
 
 And so we proceeded to 
 *make ourselves comfort- 
 able/ At first we were 
 doubtful about the fire, 
 but Ned decided it was 
 worth the risk, as it 
 might serve as a signal 
 to M'Quarrie's men, 
 should they find their 
 way to us. We therefore 
 moved into the third 
 chamber, and lighted the 
 fire at the base of the 
 clifF. 
 
 We had light, and we 
 could hear the sound of 
 the distant cascades ; but 
 we could see only a few 
 yards up the valley. 
 Nearly all the terrors of 
 our imprisonment had, 
 however, vanished. We 
 had food for a fortnight 
 
A SURPRISE. 101 
 
 at the least, and by that time we should probably have 
 cut our way out through the snow. Would the Awahnees 
 be in waiting to receive us ? Would they dig in to us ? 
 
 Ned thought they would. 
 
 'These Awahnees/ he said, * were willing to sacrifice every- 
 thing for the lost Kareya. Most of them evidently looked 
 upon him as accursed. Their attack ended so strangely 
 that they would take the fall of the snow as a judgment. 
 If we were to be quiet they would fancy we were all 
 dead. But still they would watch till the snow melted, 
 in order to make sure. If we keep the fire going, they 
 are bound to see it, and they will watch us night and day. 
 But they wiU watch us at a safe distance, as they do not 
 like what they call medicine. !N"ow I know that Caifrey 
 will reach the valley, and when he does they will have 
 enough to do to look after themselves; and when he 
 settles them, as he is sure to* do, they will tell him about 
 the avalanche, and we shall be got out. What we have 
 to do is to dig just far enough through the snow to be 
 safe, and then watch and wait.' 
 
 We therefore lighted up our fire, cooked our dinner, 
 and prepared for a fortnight's rest. For reasons that will 
 be obvious to those acquainted with Indians, we occupied 
 separate rooms. To Owyanu we left the third chamber, 
 and JSTed and I occupied the first alternately, the central 
 one being reserved for the man off duty. 
 
 It was strange to live in silence under the snow ; but 
 it was the only thing we could do. The blocks of which 
 our stronghold was composed were nearly all of giant size, 
 quite beyond our powers to move. We tried to clear a 
 way all round, as we had done through over the tree, but 
 in each case we were stopped before we had proceeded a 
 
102 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 yard or so. A whole corner of the cliff seemed to have 
 fallen, and the blocks, being shaped by the joint planes 
 and mostly unbroken, were immense, and formed an 
 impassable cage. Fortunately they had fallen upon a 
 clump of trees and underwood, so that there was no want 
 of fuel. 
 
 Thanks to the light in the third cave, we could tell the 
 duration of the night and day, and regulate our work and 
 leisure. The work was simple enough ; all we had to do 
 was to dig out the snow in front of the door and drive the 
 gaUery towards the vaUey. How many tons of snow we 
 cleared out and melted in the middle cave, I am afraid to 
 say, as, calculating the quantity cut and carried each hour 
 by the number of hours we were at work, the total amounts 
 to too many tons to be easily credible. And I have no 
 wish to exaggerate, or to make any statements that may 
 cast a doubt on the truth of this straightforward story of 
 facts. 
 
 On the second morning after our imprisonment, we were 
 called by Owyanu to listen at our peep-hole. Above the 
 murmur of the waterfalls we could hear what seemed to 
 be the report of firearms. At first these sounds were 
 distant, but they gradually approached, and then died 
 away again. All was silent for a time, and then a con- 
 fused murmuring smote on our ears, and Eeid said he 
 could distinguish the gallop of horses. Perhaps he could ; 
 perhaps he could not. At any rate, the noise all died 
 away, and we heard no more than the monotonous water 
 music. In the hope that our friends had come, we made 
 ip the fire so as to give as much smoke as possible. But 
 we waited for succour in vain. Nothing came, and we 
 watched anxiously all that night and the next day, and 
 
A SURPRISE. 103 
 
 kept the fire going to no purpose. This was a great 
 disappointment to us. However, we agreed that we must 
 have been mistaken, and that we had only to wait a Httle 
 longer for relief. 
 
 Our next adventure, if adventure it can be called, was 
 about a week afterwards, at supper - time. We were 
 silently munching away at our venison, when we heard 
 a peculiar rattle, and, before we could move, a lithe body 
 glided from Eeid's legs and disappeared through one of 
 the crevices between the rocks. 
 
 * A rattlesnake ! * exclaimed Eeid ; * rather too near to 
 be pleasant ! I wonder whether there are any more 0/ 
 them ! ' 
 
 * They will not hurt you,' said Owyanu. 
 ' I am not so sure of that.' 
 
 * The serpent will never hurt you so long as you carry 
 that piece of green stone with you.' 
 
 ' Is that so ? ' asked :N"ed. 
 
 * It is. The serpent fears the sacred stone.' 
 
 * Have you a piece with you ? ' 
 ' I have.' • 
 
 ^ Then, Langham, I'll give you haK mine, and we shall 
 all three be rattlesnake-proof.' 
 
 *The stone must be unbroken as it comes from the 
 valley.' 
 
 'Then I'm sorry. You are out of it, old chap.' 
 
 * Oh, don't apologize ! ' I said ; ' I'll take my chance. 
 But is there any connection between the snake and the 
 stone 1 ' 
 
 ' The snake is sacred. In the south-east of the mountains 
 they worship him, and there they keep the implements 
 of stone.' 
 
104 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 * Oh yes, I remember ! ' said Ned. *I liavc heard that 
 somewhere on the Eio Grande they have a snake dance 
 every year.' 
 
 * They have, at Hualpi.' 
 
 ' Are the dancers of the same tribe as yours 1 ' 
 
 * ^0 ; they are the Opeyai, who live near the people 
 whose hawks come to the finger, tamed and trained to 
 prey for the villagers. The white men call them Moquis. 
 And each year, on the ninth day before our Kareya goes 
 forth to fast, they hold their solemn festival and worship 
 the serpents and the implements of stone.' 
 
 * Were you ever there ? ' 
 
 ' No ; but those who have seen it have told me. On 
 their altar they heap the stalks of ripening corn, and in 
 front of the corn they lay the calumets, and behind them 
 they pile the axes, hoes, and trowels. Many of the axe^* 
 are of slate, many more of obsidian, like that which linefc 
 the Amargosa, and many more are of the green stone.' 
 
 * But they don't really worship the rattlesnake 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes, worship the rattlesnake. They gather the snakes 
 and charm them, and join with them in the dance.' 
 
 * Join with them in the dance ! ' 
 
 ' They charm the snakes and coax them with the 
 feather wand. And they carry the snakes in their left 
 hands, and in their right hands, and in their mouths. 
 They march, and dance, and prance with the snakes, which 
 fondle and obey them.' 
 
 * But the poison fangs are taken out ? ' 
 
 *No; the poison is there, but the snake dare not 
 break the charm of the mighty medicine. The dance is a 
 great sight to see. The men wear their serpent cloths and 
 scarlet moccasins, and make themselves gay with broad 
 
A SURPRISE. 105 
 
 white armlets and yellow skins of the fox ; their hair is 
 made bright with the tufts of the woodpecker, and their 
 faces are blackened to 'their lips, and whitened to their 
 necks, and in the mouth, where the black line meets the 
 white line, they hold the rattle of the writhing snake.' 
 
 ' But what is the end of all this ? ' asked I, in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 *The snakes are sprinkled with the sacred meal, and 
 picked up by the children and passed on to the chief, who 
 prays over them, and herds them in the circle by the 
 sacred rock. And when they have all been gathered, the 
 meal is sprinkled on the heap, and then the men rush on 
 to them, grasp them in handfuls, and run to the east and 
 down the cliff, and throw them to the winds.' 
 
 * Do you mean to say Indians grasp handfuls of live 
 rattlesnakes and scatter them broadcast over the country 1 ' 
 
 ' They do.' 
 
 * Where r 
 
 ^Far over the mountains in the plains to the north- 
 east, in Hualpi, Tegua, and Suchongnewy, the villages of 
 the Opeyai.' 
 
 * How horrible ! ' said I. 
 
 * Your Indian religions, Owyanu,' said Ned, * are not 
 very comforting. The lesson you learnt by your trip to 
 the Death Valley was not a cheering one. And nothing 
 you have told us, or hinted to us, seems to hold out any 
 hope for you.' 
 
 * I am but a poor Indian.' 
 
 * Then why remain so ? Why not have some of the 
 white man's faith ? ' 
 
 ' The faith of the white man is not for the Indian.' 
 
 * If faith is good for any, it is good for all.' 
 
106 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 ' Even for the little coyote ? ' 
 Ned was rather staggered. 
 
 * Well, yes, even for the coyote.' 
 
 'It is not so,' said Owyanu. *The Indian can nevei 
 be like the white man. The chance came to him, and 
 stayed with him for a while ; and now it has gone, and 
 the Indian must die.' 
 
 * Nonsense, man ! Listen to the white man's faith ! 
 You may miss ninety-nine chances, but save yourself with 
 the hundredth.' 
 
 ' It is better for all men that faith did not save the 
 coyote ; it is better for the white man that faith does not 
 save the Indian ! / 
 
 * One would think you were old M^Quarrie ! ' 
 
 * It is true ! The Indian's time is past, and you can only 
 whisper in his ear the message of those that have gone 
 before him to the plains beyond the Western Sea, from 
 whence he came. Lay him in the ground, hang up his 
 clothes above him, and let the shells over his grave go 
 clicking and chattering in the night wind, while no one 
 speaks his name. Here the white man rules ; there the 
 Indian has another chance ! ' 
 
 Let it not be supposed that I give the exact words of 
 Owyanu. His phrases had all the meaning I have tried 
 to give them, but the words were often absurdly ill- 
 chosen and the structure of the sentence ungrammatical. 
 To give the exact words would, however, be painful to me, 
 and I do not care to burlesque his speech by sprinkling it 
 with errors and curiosities. 
 
 * Then it comes to this, Owyanu : we must do our 
 work well, no matter who's the master or what's the 
 
A SURPRISE. 107 
 
 * Work and help ; and you white men work for your 
 race, and not for yourselves as we poor Indians did.* 
 
 * We are getting down to the usual pegging away.' 
 ' Yes, pegging away like Tutakanoola.' 
 
 * What was that gentleman's name 1 ' I asked. 
 
 * Tutakanoola.' 
 
 * Who washer 
 
 * Long, long ago two little boys were playing in the 
 Wakalla. They bathed and swam, and splashed each 
 other. And then they were fired, and they climbed on to 
 a stone by the stream, and fell asleep side by side in the 
 sun. And as soon as they fell asleep the stone began to 
 rise, for the stone was the top of a mighty rock. And 
 inch by inch the rock rose to the sky. And the fathers 
 and mothers sought the boys in vain, for they were on the 
 top of the rock and no one could see them there. The sun 
 went down, and the moon passed over, and still the rock 
 rose, until at last it reached the sky, and, as the moon 
 rolled across, it touched the boys' faces with its edge. 
 Now, although the Indians knew not what had become of 
 the boys, the animals did. And they all gathered together 
 in this valley ; and, because the boys had been good to 
 them and not hurt them, they resolved to bring them 
 home again. And the boys still slept, and the rock 
 stopped rising. Then it was agreed that the animals 
 should spring to the top of the rock one after the other. 
 And first the mouse sprang, and he jumped but a hand- 
 breadth. And then the rat jumped, and he jumped two 
 handbreadths. And all tried, one after the other, and none 
 reached near the top. And the highest jump was that of 
 the grizzly bear, and when he failed the animals all gave 
 up. But before they had gone away there came along 
 
108 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 Tutakanoola, the little measuring-worm, which even the 
 mouse could have crushed had she trodden on him. And 
 they told Tutakanoola why they were there, and how they 
 had failed. And Tutakanoola said he would bring down 
 the boys. And all the animals laughed. And the little 
 measuring- worm crept to the foot of the cliff, and began 
 to creep up it. And he crept past the jump of the mouse, 
 and past the jump of the rat, and at last past the jump of 
 the grizzly bear. Yery slowly up he went till he was out 
 of sight. But though no one was looking, he still kept 
 on, although he was but a little measuring-worm. And 
 up he went to the very top, and found the children ; and 
 there strength was given him because he had succeeded, 
 and he brought the children down. But the rock remains 
 to this day, and it is the seventh peak from this on the 
 side of the valley below the great cascade.' 
 
 * Talk about philosophy from a brazen image ! ' said 
 Reid. * That's just the sort of story my father used to 
 read out to us ! Have you any more of the same sort ? ' 
 
 And then Owyanu told us another and then another 
 of his wondrous store of Indian legends and fables. I 
 fancy I can see him now, sitting there in the firelight, 
 with his piercing eyes shining like diamonds as the re- 
 flection of the flame shot across them. 
 
 ' It's all very well for you to talk to us about Kahrocs 
 and Meewocs and such people,' said Reid to him ; * but 
 you will never make me believe you are a thoroughbred 
 Indian. I never saw or heard of such a redskin before. 
 You must have been changed at nurse, shipwrecked when 
 a boy, or something of the sort. The only Indian thing 
 about you is the bronze varnish you wear. You are no 
 more a Digger than I am a born backwoodsman.' 
 
A SURPRISE. 109 
 
 * But you are going to stay in the backwoods, are you 
 not ? ' asked I. 
 
 * Ah, I suppose so ! I wonder how that gravel pit is 
 getting on ! ' 
 
 * And I wonder. Let us refresh ourselves with a peep 
 at the mystic document.' 
 
 And I flattened it out on my knee, and we read it over 
 again together. And then we turned it over and studied 
 the map. 
 
 That was a map ; or rather it is, for I have it with me 
 now ! There are rivers and there are branches, but the 
 rivers and the branches are all of the same thickness, and 
 run at right angles to each other ; and, as there are no 
 other marks but circles and crosses, and no indication 
 as to which is the north of the map, the opportunity it 
 offered for mental recreation may be imagined. We 
 marked the sides 1, 2, 3, and 4. I felt sure that 1 was 
 the northern side ; Ned insisted that that must be the 
 eastern side, * towards the morning.' Turn the map as we 
 would, neither I nor Ned nor Owyanu could make out the 
 least resemblance between it and the Awahnee valley. 
 
 We had told Owyanu how Taipoksee had said that the 
 gold came from the home of the Awahnees, but he did 
 not seem to take the remark in the same spirit that we 
 had done. 
 
 * You say I am no Indian ; but Taipoksee is not sc 
 much of an Indian. If he knew where the gold came 
 from, he would go there to fetch it.' 
 
 'Perhaps it would not be worth his while.' 
 
 * It is not worth his while. It comes a little at a time 
 down each of these streams, and down aU the streams 
 that join the Wakalla.' 
 
110 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 * That's it, I believe ; and where his village is, the fall 
 and the bed of rock are so arranged that the lighter sand 
 and stone are dashed out and along into the stream, 
 while the heavier gold is caught in the hollow.' 
 
 * Then you'll have to buy out Taipoksee ! ' laughed 
 Eeid. 
 
 * And of course, as you are my partner, you'll find half 
 the funds ! ' 
 
 The more we thought of our golden gravel, the more 
 we made fun of it, and the less and less grew the chance 
 of our making a serious effort to obtain it. A fortnight 
 passed, and we still worked onwards at our gallery, and 
 no help had come. Latterly we had dug on very slowly 
 and cautiously, and with a due regard to our defence in 
 the event of the enemy breaking in. We had thought 
 best to keep on the ground, and not attempt to get to the 
 light upwards, as we should certainly have fallen an easy 
 prey to the Awahnees had we been caught struggling out 
 of the snowdrift. How thick the snow was we had no 
 means of knowing, but from the terrible force of the blow 
 we suspected that the mass must be enormous. As it 
 happened, we went the longest way to work ; but it was 
 the safest. As we had to command the approach to the 
 caves, our gallery had to be straight, and the straight 
 line, as luck would have it, led directly through the 
 greatest length of the avalanche. 
 
 The first night of our captivity was a very cold one, 
 and the frost lasted for a week ; but during the second 
 week a gradual thaw set in, and the stream running 
 through the central cave became much larger. It seemed 
 as though we should be thawed out before we were helped 
 out. The prospect was not an inviting one. We pre- 
 
A SURPRISE. Ill 
 
 tended to be exceedingly cheerful, but our cheerfulness 
 got hollower and hollower during the second week. In 
 our hearts we were growing tired of our make-believe. 
 
 ' We shall have to end this thing/ said Reid on the 
 sixteenth day, as he contemplated the remainder of the 
 deer; ' we shall be starved out.' 
 
 Not a sound was there but the ceaseless murmur of 
 the waterfalls. Although we watched and listened, not 
 a whisper could we hear, not a sign of man or his works 
 did either of us discover. 
 
 The next morning we held a serious consultation as to 
 what was best to be done. After going through the 
 question in all its bearings, we agreed to begin energetic 
 action. We were to cut our way out through the gallery, 
 but if possible to keep a thin veil at the end to be broken 
 through at night. And we were then to attempt a 
 retreat up the canyon. We did not like giving up the 
 gold, the horses, or our friends ; but we saw no other 
 way of saving our lives. 
 
 * If we must die,' said Reid, ' let us die in the day- 
 light.' 
 
 And so we started on our final effort. Owyanu cut 
 out the snow, I carried it to the cave, and Reid stood 
 armed and ready in case the figure of an Awahnee showed 
 itself through the wreath. 
 
 About eleven o'clock, while I was in the central cave, 
 I heard a sound of footsteps. I gave the alarm, and we 
 ceased working, and speedily made ourselves ready for a 
 desperate rush for freedom. 
 
 The footsteps drew nearer, and we heard men's voices. 
 Strange voices they were, seemingly Indians' voices, but 
 all was so indistinct that we could distinguish nothing. 
 
1 1 2 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour we could hear that there 
 were several people gathered round us. The sound was 
 reflected by the cli£P. Were the speakers friends or foes ^ 
 One thing was certain — they were Indians. 
 
 Suddenly there came a grating, rattling noise.- The 
 people were moving on the top of the granite blocks ! 
 We looked at each other in dismay. The snow had 
 evidently gone from above. The noise came directly 
 overhead. 
 
 ' They are moving to the door,' whispered Keid. ' They 
 will drop in front of it.' 
 
 ' The roof is thin,' said Owyanu. * Stand clear of the 
 steps, the roof may fall in ! ' 
 
 The footsteps softly and stealthily gathered overhead. 
 
 * Moccasins ! ' said Owyanu ; ' not boots ! ' 
 Suddenly there was a shout. Then came a shower of 
 
 snow down the doorway. The light broke in at the same 
 moment as a figure fell to the ground. 
 
 Up went Keid's rifle ; but Owyanu struck the barrel 
 aside. The figure gathered itself together briskly, stood 
 for an instant in the full light of the sun against the 
 background of the long white tunnel, and stepped into 
 the cave with, — 
 
 * How do, Ned Eeid ! Me friend in need ! ' 
 
 * Why ! ' said Ned, — ' why — why ! — it's — it's — it's 
 young Bearspaw 1 ' 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 THE ROAD HOME. 
 
 Bearspaw followed his son, and in a few seconds half a 
 dozen of his following had dropped into our tunnel and 
 began to clear it from the top. The snow roof was 
 hardly a foot thick, and the passage was soon laid open. 
 We were free. 
 
 But where were our companions? Where were the 
 Awahnees ? How had Bearspaw, of all men, sprung upon 
 us in this strange fashion 1 
 
 Of our greetings I say nothing. An Indian's greeting 
 is not a very gushing affair. And Bearspaw was an 
 Indian of the true type, there could be no doubt of that. 
 To Eeid he was friendly, to me he was dignified, to 
 Owyanu he was as indifferent as if he had been with him 
 for months. The youngster really gave us the best 
 welcome. He was evidently mightily pleased at his 
 lucky tumble into the doorway, and it was only the 
 
114 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 thought of his father's presence that kept him from 
 exuberance. 
 
 Bearspaw^s story was short and to the point. He was 
 not a great, orator in the English tongue, but he had a 
 knack of packing an immense amount of meaning into 
 the most excruciating fragments of phrases. 
 
 It seemed that Bearspaw had been hired, with his men, 
 as guides and escort to a body of emigrants bound for 
 California, who had got seriously wrong as to their route 
 in the plains. Luckily for them, and for Bearspaw, they 
 happened to be sighted by that active warrior when they 
 were uncertain what to do next. Bearspaw offered his 
 advice as to the road, and, receiving a fair offer, packed up 
 his few belongings and with them came over the Sierra 
 by the Sonora Pass. At Sonora his contract terminated, 
 and he was on his way back when he happened to meet 
 with some Mono Indians. From them he heard strange 
 tidings. 
 
 That very morning they had been joined by a couple 
 of Awahnees asking their protection. These told him 
 how about ten days before they had been driven out of 
 their vaUey by the white men. These white men were 
 led by a Captain Boling, and Caffrey. 
 
 It seemed that Caffrey had been reinforced and started 
 on the trail when he heard of another expedition headed 
 by Captain Boling, one of the settlers farther to the south, 
 who was also in search of missing horses. Boling had 
 been told by Jose Juarez and Cowchitti that the horses 
 had been stolen by Awahnees, and at their instigation 
 he had got together a few friends and pursued. Caffrey, 
 keeping to the south, joined hands with Boling, who took 
 the command. The expedition entered the valley by the 
 
THE ROAD HOME. 115 
 
 southern trail. The Awahnees stood on their defence, 
 called in the men who were watching our cave, and made 
 a grand fight for their own. They were hopelessly heaten, 
 and driven up into the mountains. Not an Indian 
 remained in the valley alive. Boling and Caffrey swept 
 away the horses, and, in fact, made a regular clearance; 
 and, heing unable to learn anything of us, had marched 
 back home. But the Awahnees who escaped to the Monos 
 told them the story of the two white men and the lost 
 Kareya so strangely imprisoned in the snow. And they 
 also told them how, when the snow fell upon us, 
 the sacred fire was lighted at the foot of the cliff. 
 Bearspaw, listening to this eventful history, happened to 
 ask for the names of the white men ; and the Awahnee, 
 who was no other than our fat friend Awuyah, gave us 
 our full titles of * the potent signiors of the Western Sea, 
 the Langham and the Eeid.' 
 
 From the description Awuyah gave, Bearspaw recog- 
 nised ' the Keid ' as his friend Ned ; and, thinking that 
 if he had escaped the Death Valley it was rather hard to 
 let him perish under the snow, had parted from the 
 Monos, and then set off direct for the Wakalla. 
 
 Thanks to the description given by Awuyah, they had 
 no difficulty in finding the avalanche, or rather its remains, 
 for the thaw had thinned it considerably. It seemed that 
 it was not unusual for avalanches to sweep into the valley 
 from the feeders of the Wakalla, and that ours was not 
 the only one that had fallen. But Bearspaw, entering on 
 the north nearer the ruins of the village, and making his 
 way up to the lake, had rounded the bluff where the fight 
 began, and immediately identified our stronghold. Any 
 doubt he might have had was soon dissipated by the sight 
 
 H 
 
116 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 of the smoke which suddenly shot up near the cliff. 
 With all due caution the Indians approached us, and 
 mounted the roof in the hope of finding their way across 
 to the door. The snow was then about seven feet thick 
 on the ground, but the greatest mass had fallen across 
 the doorway, and overhead only a few inches were left. 
 Young Bearspaw, boy-like, had been busily prospecting 
 where nobody else thought of going, and the result was 
 his sudden disappearance from above, and startling 
 tumble to the rescue. 
 
 When we heard all this it seemed as though an age 
 had elapsed since we had been shut in. The hope of 
 eventual release, and the conviction that our best hope 
 of escaping alive was to take things easily, had led us 
 to spend the time cheerfully ; and the days went 
 by during the first week almost too quickly for us. 
 But now we were out, the seventeen days seemed to have 
 been so many months. While we were under the snow 
 a kingdom had been invaded, a decisive battle fought, a 
 nation routed, and driven for ever from their country ; and 
 the conquerors had retired in triumph, leaving a solitude 
 behind them ! 
 
 But such a solitude ! In the camp we stayed a couple 
 of days to recover our strength. We spent the time in 
 wandering about the valley, looking in vain for the golden 
 gravel, and during our frequent rests listening to Owyanu 
 as he told us the local legends. Every cliff and waterfall 
 seemed to have its story. Tutakanoola proved to be the 
 huge rock that had attracted us so in the moonlight ; 
 Tisseyak was not far from our stronghold, a tremendous 
 mass nearly ^yq thousand feet high ; facing it was another 
 giant buttress known as Tokoye ; down the valley and to 
 
THE ROAD HOME. 117 
 
 the south of the Wakalla was the church-like group of 
 Kosuko, with the mighty tower of Sakkadueh. We had 
 seen the valley from above in the golden blaze of noon ; 
 we had seen it from below in the silver radiance of the 
 moonlight ; we saw it now in all the wealth of the million 
 hues of the setting sun. And it is in the sunset, with its 
 cliffs and cataracts aglow with the colours of fire, that I 
 still like best to picture it. It had then an awful beauty; 
 a beauty that threatened of the night, of the darkness that 
 was to come. 
 
 While the rosy blush of the lingering day was mantling 
 the rocky ramparts, we wandered down to the chief water- 
 falls. We stood in silence by the side of Yowaiyi as she 
 came leaping, leaping nearer home ; we gazed at the long 
 veil of Pohono until her witchery fell stealing over us as 
 it did over the Indian maids ; and we listened to the 
 roaring melody of Cholok and the flute-like song of Tualpa, 
 and wondered how Bearspaw and his men could have 
 found their way by her side without halting to worship. 
 For it was down her ravine that our rescuers had come. 
 
 That evening we watched the reflections fade in the 
 mirror lake of Awaia ; and next morning at break of day 
 we were up and making ready for our journey across the 
 mountains. Our horses had been snatched away from us ; 
 we had given up the gold quest in despair ; we had found 
 and rescued the Barber. The only thing left to us seemed 
 to be * to start afresh,' as Ned said ; and we decided to 
 accompany Bearspaw on his way back, until, at any rate, 
 we reached one of the main tracks to the San Joaquin. 
 
 I forgot to mention that I had been duly introduced to 
 Mrs. Bearspaw, who had come with her husband and son. 
 The good lady was hardly of prepossessing appearance or 
 
118 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 conversation; but she evidently regarded us with no 
 unfriendly eye, and had promptly classified both Owyanu 
 and myself in the same category as Ned, as distinguished 
 from the hapless emigrants. The Bearspaws evidently cared 
 not a jot for the lost Kareya ; in fact, I have my doubts 
 if they cared for anything. Perhaps I say so hastily, or 
 rather ought not to say so at all, for old Bearspaw pre- 
 sented Owyanu with an old rifle, as, I suppose, a mark of his 
 esteem ; and he made the gift with the greatest approach 
 to cordiality I ever saw him manage. I fanc}*^ Eeid had 
 something to do with the business, but it is of no impor- 
 tance. Bearspaw was a very decent feUow, all things 
 considered, and his failings were those of his race. 
 , With young Bearspaw — his real name was something 
 about six inches long, in eight or nine three-lettered 
 syllables — I became great friends. He was a bright, active 
 little fellow, always anxious to be doing, and never happy 
 unless he was in a post of responsibility. Quick in 
 comprehension, of rather sensitive nature, trusting and 
 fearless, he was, as Owyanu said, * Good Indian ! good 
 boy ! ' adding, as if in a spirit of prophecy, * But the best 
 go first ! ' 
 
 Bearspaw's route lay through the Sonora Pass, and we 
 were to go back nearly the way he had come. By eight 
 o'clock we were on the move down into the vaUey. We 
 took our last look of Tokoye, and its reflection in the 
 glassy Awaia ; we passed the foot of Cholok, clearing 
 with difficulty the stream it fed; we bade farewell to 
 Tutakanoola, and envied the climbing powers of the little 
 measuring-worm ; and then we toiled up the trail, and as 
 we rose the valley shut in behiud us. We skirted it for 
 a little, and then, with a farewell glance, struck ofl", bound 
 
THE ROAD HOME. 119 
 
 for the Tuolumne. That night we camped out on the 
 mountains, and the next day we opened up what seemed 
 to be a model of the valley of the Awahnees. There 
 were the river, and the meadows, and the trees, and the 
 cliffs, and the waterfalls, all produced on a smaller scale. 
 Had we seen this valley first, we should have thought it 
 the loveliest in the world. Owyanu told us that it was 
 the vale of Hatchatchee, and that the bold rock that 
 towered above the tall pines and spruces at its foot was 
 the giant Kolana. One of the cascades surpassed in beauty 
 any I ever saw. It was of great height, and just broad 
 enough to be gracefully proportionate ; and it was light as 
 a veil, and curved and swung and quivered as it felL 
 
 Instead of descending the Hatchatchee, we kept up 
 along the bank of the Tuolumne. This is the wonderful 
 river that has cut its gorge down into the solid rock for a 
 thousand feet and more, although it is but a hundred feet 
 wide ; and it leaps and leaps in cascade after cascade until 
 it falls nearly five thousand feet in two-and-twenty miles. 
 Narrow as is the Tuolumne, it is deep, and the body of 
 water it contains is enormous, as we were soon to know. 
 Following the river we came to another opening of the 
 gorge, another valley, a model of the Hatchatchee, as the 
 Hatchatchee was a model of that of the Awahnees. Into 
 this valley we descended, and we camped there for the 
 night, hushed to sleep, like Eorie Mohr, by the lullaby 
 of the falling water. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 BY THE LAKE. 
 
 In the morning we found 
 that we had not been alone. 
 As we were on our march 
 out of the valley, we over- 
 took an Indian and his 
 squaw, who had pitched 
 their camp some two miles 
 to the east among a pile 
 of stones that lay at the 
 foot of one of the cliffs. 
 For in aU respects, as I have said, this vaUey was the 
 counterpart of that in which we had been imprisoned. 
 
 They were Kahrocs on their way to join their tribe on 
 the Sacramento. The Indian had been on a message to 
 Tenaya, but had found the Awahnees dispersed. He had 
 met with some of the Monos, who had told him the story 
 of the strange incident of the avalanche ; and he recog- 
 nised us as the survivors, and made it his business to 
 
BY THE LAKE. 121 
 
 inform Bearspaw that Owyanu was the lost Kareya. 
 Bearspaw's indifference stood us in good stead. Without 
 the slightest sign of interest he remarked that he was 
 aware of the fact, and that Owyanu was his friend. 
 Ahma stood rebuked ; but he joined our company. He 
 was evidently biding his time. 
 
 So thought we all. Mrs. Bearspaw eyed the new-comer 
 from head to foot, and sniffed her disapproval. She gave 
 the tone to our society. Bearspaw himself seemed 
 gradually to awake to the knowledge that Abma knew 
 the trail better than he did, and it would be more con- 
 venient for everybody if he kept in front. And his men 
 took the hint. Reid whispered that we had better look 
 out. 
 
 ' Mischief brewing.' 
 
 Young Bearspaw and Owyanu were side by side. 
 
 * Him bad man,' said the youngster. * Him kill you.' 
 
 ' !N"o,' said Owyanu. * He cannot, and he will not. He 
 dare not. But he will crow when I am dead, and say he 
 did it.' 
 
 Slowly we toiled up the ravine. 
 
 'There are no more valleys,' said Owyanu. 
 
 *Then let us take a last long look at this one,' said I. 
 
 And we turned to the left and made our way to the 
 edge of the precipice. 
 
 We were on a sort of promontory where a huge but- 
 tress of granite jutted into the plain 1800 feet below. 
 Owyanu and young Bearspaw were in front. Then came 
 Reid and I. Close to us were Bearspaw and his men. 
 Behind us were Ahma and his wife. The Indians seemed 
 to care nothing for the view ; they stood there listless 
 and indifferent, — all but Bearspaw, who kept his hand 
 
122 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 on his rifle and his eye on the Kahroc ; and the Kahroc, 
 who seemed to watch us all as if he were a snake. 
 
 The atmosphere was thick and oppressive. Not a breath 
 of air was stirring. The river sighed as it flowed, and the 
 cascades hung heavily. The sun was like a globe of fire. 
 
 Suddenly the water seemed to change to oil; the 
 current stopped ; the river rose. And then, with a roar 
 that deafened us, so that our ears for a time were as dead, 
 the ground shook beneath our feet. We fell prone, and 
 lay there as the clifl" top pitched and rolled like the deck 
 of a ship at sea. At the first shock the rock was split in 
 two, and the crag fell inwards to the valley. On it were 
 young Bearspaw and Owyanu ! In horror, as we heaved 
 and swayed, we saw the mass shiver into fragments. The 
 boy fell first ; thrown down a crack in the ravine. The 
 man was hurled head foremost far out into the lake. 
 
 For as the crag was rent the whole edge of the valle;y 
 split off from the cliffs, and, crumpling and gaping and 
 cracking, the floor feU in. Down for twenty feet dropped 
 the river bed. Across the throat of the canyon a fissure 
 opened, and a cataract formed where the river a moment 
 before flowed on the level. The cataract only lasted for 
 an instant. The river came with a leap and a rush, as if 
 in triumph, and its flood roared on like a perpendicular 
 wall. Furiously it swept in, carrying everything before it, 
 over the wild confusion of the breaking rocks and writh- 
 ing trees, and the yawning, crunching, quivering ground. 
 
 Awed and helpless, we lay there, watching the deluge as 
 it flowed over what had been one of the fairest valleys of 
 California. Soon the waves licked the base of the cliffs ; 
 the new base, that is, for the fall had bared many feet 
 more of the granite scarp. Higher, higher they rose over 
 
BY THE LAKE. 
 
 123 
 
 the fallen trees, over the fallen blocks. Soon they had 
 reached the old level of the stream ; and the lower river, 
 
 which had run dry for a few minutes, filled up again ; 
 and all was quiet. The Tuolumne flowed into a lake 3 
 
124 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 the lake filled the valley ; and the Tuolumne flowed out 
 at its vi^estern end. 
 
 Ahma was the first to recover himself. As soon as the 
 earthquake ceased, he sprang forward on to the now safe 
 cliff, and, stretching forth his right hand over the lake, 
 yelled out, — 
 
 ' The curse of the lost Kareya ! ' 
 
 We went back down the ravine ; and there, in a rift in 
 the rock, within a yard of the water, lay young Bearspaw, 
 silent and — dead. 
 
 His father looked on him seemingly unmoved ; his 
 mother gazed in tearful despair. The Kahrocs joined 
 us unnoticed. Ahma blinked away across the wide sheet 
 of water, and said, — 
 
 * It came for the bad man ! It came for him who 
 betrayed his trust ! ' 
 
 'And that poor boy ? What had he done ? ' asked ISTed. 
 
 If Ahma was heartless, not so was his wife. She 
 looked at the old chief as his dry eyes rested on his 
 only son; she looked at the mother now bending with 
 grief; she looked at the silent Indians. And then her 
 woman's nature welled up. Perhaps the recollection of 
 those she had lost awoke her sympathy and stirred her 
 heartstrings. A great change came over her ; she sobbed 
 and shuddered for a minute or two; and then, with a 
 long wild moan, she broke into a tearful chant, which we 
 afterwards learnt was the death-wail of the Kahrocs. It 
 was but a simple, savage dirge, sung to the murmur of 
 the still restless water and the splash of the cascades as 
 they fell direct into the new lake. The ' wail ' was for the 
 benefit of young Bearspaw, but I could not help accepting 
 it as equally Owyanu's farewell. 
 
BY THB LAKE. 125 
 
 Kaisiug her hands over her head, and opening them 
 towards the setting sun, the Kahroc sang, now high, now 
 low, now almost in a whisper, now broken with sobs, now 
 in a torrent of tears. 
 
 * Oh, darling, my dear one, good-bye, good-bye ! Your 
 little hands shall clasp your mother's cheeks — never more ! 
 Your little feet shall tread the earth around her cabin — 
 never more ! You are going on a long, long journey, 
 away, away, to the distant spirit land. And you must 
 go alone, alone, for none here can go with you. Listen 
 then to the words I tell you, and heed them well, for I 
 speak the truth — the truth. In the far spirit land, my 
 darling, there are two roads for you to go. One of them 
 is strewn with roses, and leads to the happy western land 
 beyond the great water ; and there one day you shall find 
 your home. The other is strewn with briars and thorns, 
 and leads, I know not whither, to an evil land, the haunt 
 of the deadly snakes ; and there you may wander wearily 
 for ever. Oh, my darling, my dear one ! choose you 
 the path of roses that leads to the happy western land ; 
 for it is a fair and sunny land, and beautiful as the morn- 
 ing. Your little tender feet must walk the path alone — 
 alone. And may the great Kareya help you and guide 
 your footsteps to the right ! Good-bye ! good-bye ! My 
 darling, my dear one, good-bye ! ' 
 
 We reached Sonora. The shock of the earthquake had 
 been felt there; and the roar as the valley fell in had 
 been heard and wondered at. It was the most awful 
 catastrophe I have seen ; never before or since have I felt 
 so powerless in a time of peril. And I have had some 
 experience of danger. Twenty years afterwards I was in 
 
126 UNDER THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 the wreck of the Dashing Spray when she went down in 
 a cyclone, and we took to a boat, and spent thirty-one 
 days starving on the sea. That was a terrible trial, but 
 it was as nothing compared to what I went through with 
 Ned and Owyanu. 
 
 It will be seen that I did not stay in California. I had 
 had enough of it ; and I returned to the sailoring. At 
 Scnora I parted with Bearspaw. Reid came with me to 
 San Francisco, and thence went home, for a time at least, 
 to New Orleans. 
 
 Now I find that the home of the Awahnees has become 
 a public park, or something of the sort, and that it has 
 been rechristened after the grizzly that came to our rescue 
 in the moonlight. ' Uzumaitee ! Uzumaitee ! ' has been 
 transmogrified into Yo S emit eh, and further clipped into 
 Yosemite. 
 
 And I liear that Professor Whitney and the Californian 
 geologists now affirm that, as the lake was formed by the 
 earthquake, so was Tahoe, and so were all these valleys 
 at first formed by the in-fall of their beds. 
 
 Further, as the curious reader may discover for himself 
 on tracing up the course of the Tuolumne from its junction 
 with the San Joaquin, the Hatchatchee now figures on 
 the map in some corruption. And a few miles to the east 
 of it, in lat. 37° 50' n., long. 119"' 30' w., the lake we 
 saw made now bears the name of Owyanu, the lost 
 Kareya. 
 
 MORRISON AND GIBB, EDINBURGH, 
 PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTVS STATIONERY OFFICE. 
 
 E16124687964. 
 

(New and Second-hand,) 
 
 6, Commercial Build'gs 
 
 Lavender Hill, S.W. 
 
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