By EDWARD W. TOWNSEND.
11.1 1.1,“?de that Arctic explorers
do not suffer grestly (ran cold.
1 know one meson play: They
gonottrsvdiusidssuoldconcord
glue. I was warmly messed when
1 took my place inside such s stage
at Carson City for my tip up the
mountains to Aurora. but I ‘M
overlooked one precaution—Thad not
:’ Wrspped esch foot in s burlap beg.
The bitter cold in my tea ran
through all my body; hateful. as
some awful. undeserved torturez- it
'should not be—«but it was! At each
as station where horses were
§wvfi all thut any and night I
bled out and ran as well as I
could on my ach' ng fee‘t. praying for
With: that l might leave the
lingo and follow on foot.
Taken for s Priest.
We arrived at the Aurora stage
office which, I observed with satis-
flotion, sdJoined a warm and com-
fbrtable looking barmom. As I limp-
insly climbed out of the old ice box
No possible place of resort or hiding
silent men, intent upon justifiable homlci
a number of miners raised or
touched their caps to me, and I
nodded in recognition of their civiliw
to the new editor. They had mis-
taken me for Father Monogue. a
set whose arrival had been ex-
scted. Some miners winked and
touched their caps whenever they
fhet mo after that.
Before I went to Virginia. I had
traveled on horseback through all
the foothill mining counties of
California and seen many aban-
‘doned mining camps. silent. desert-
ed, but none like Aurora Aban-
doned camps in California had been
constructed of the plentiful lumber,
but Aurora, lacking lumber but
having a clay deposit ncar by, harl
been largely built of brick. This,
unique for an American mining
camp I think, gave a stage setting
impression; somcthing unreal. too
picturesque for a place on the bleak
Wildt‘r‘iwss of rocks and stunted
t‘rct-tation, where men long gone
Mil carried on the lively activities
ct a mining camp. Aurora, then be-
a‘nninx its second brief life, was
:;--i;- min-s from the line dividing
Ne‘fllilt and California. Over the
pain of the Sierra Nevadas, five
mil-v: nyonii the dividing line, was
my ' .. vr rump. Bodie, not far from
the n. zii’uins towering above the'
edge of thw Yosemite Valley.
Tim-~- prin‘l-rs who were in Au-
7 T" Wm wmks before me were
IVTK'Z tr. thi- reconditioned hotel.
“'hii' for many roars had sheltered
only rv-mlnr . unis, it, maybe.
"'m" mm-‘vriv .- l" Indians. My
e mi: wum gr. 1.
.' rent sch-tam
""’"L"‘. “If “'IrA 'inableto find its
Iwnnr My rm-nllcction is that WO
revnr riid find the owner of that
Cot'arv, but soon assumed squat“?
u-rerr-fgntv, mending broken win-
:::= with paper, the building in
. 9!
c r“SIN-Ct: being in good eon-
llil‘ir,
7‘“ . was a crystal clear. spring
R rm" ~ xrris from the kitchen door:
: drnr sold us meat and canned
in '93: a friendly (Shim
Wm
Md established his laundry In
"1““ had been an assaying plant.
baked bread for us in the oven once
“ed m a retort; and as the printers
w”. mung Americans as much in
“‘"h M adventure as was I. we
“t “can amiably settled in our
”“91““ One printer. .nnmd
"Third. who had helped Kenyon.
m" “V"al issues of the B-
ed; "W'ald and the Bodie Stand-
bu w"0 Weeklies, told me that
m:m1°ftonlr one editorial
ht °' Illa to observe, "Not to
Mu'lth any of the local
’ I...“ r —'
Where.
Wkly trip to Bodie to gather local
new. for the Bodle edition. 0n the
li'lt of'thae trips. in spite of my ef~
:fsrts to em him in conversation.
the driver with whom.I rode spoke»
not at all until we drewnear one of
those pretty «pots. a miniature vul-
:ey with which nature decorates here
:ml there the otherwise forbidding
ban-ens of the Sierras Then with
his whip hepaintsdto this spot
which even in its winter dress one
could imagine decked in gay gar-
ments; green grass flower strewn.
the little stream trilling soft accom-
psnlma'it to songs of birds among
leafy branches of the few trees.
“You' re the new editor. " the driver
resentl announced. rather t on
:sked. Iproudly concurred. "They
buried the last one over there. under
the willow by the frozen pool," he
added.
However indii'fercntly I write. I
speak with less fluency, which may
" \
account for my long silence; that
and a nervous surmise that possibly
Mr. Kenyon had the fate of that edi-
tor in mind when he endowed me
with an editorial policy. The thought
that the editor lying by the frozen
pool must have lived and suffered in
the Aurora of old heartened me
enough to ask, "Did he have any
trouble?”
"Well, you might say he did." the
driver answered. "He was shot by
the gentleman who kept the Last
Chance saloon for-Well, for sort of
getting funny with 'him about a
gravel miner who lost his cleanup in
the Last Chance."
lVe are assured by Gerald Massey
that "Not by appointment do we
meet delight." and it was certainly
by merest chance that on one of my
weekly trips I met the one stage
driver in the United States to gain
national renown; gain it by the sim-
ple expediency of telling Horace
Greeley tokeep his seat and he would
get there. Travel between Carson
and Radio increased that winter;
miners, engineers. experts. commer-
cial travelerm'gamblers, women of
prey crowded the regular stages, so
independents were attracted to the
profitable route. On the trip I have
referred to one of the added stages
came in sight. and its driver and
mine gradually slowed down their
four horse teams as they drew near.
and stopped. drivers face to face.
They saluted ceremontously with
whips. with ceremony produced flasks
from topcoat pockets and exchanged
them; each drank from the other's
with grave nods; «counter exchange
of flasks was made; the whip-salute
repeated, reins gathered, brakes u’n-
set. and We perted.- Not a. word had‘
been spoken.
"Was the: old chap a friend of
yours?" I asked. -
Only Hank Monk. , I :'
After a glance or pitylng wonder
my driver said: “Oh. no. be Just ain‘t
nobody at‘sll. He is only Hank
Mon-It!”
I began hiking. excitedly about the
story which m the ruins Hank
Monk familiar from ocean to ocean.
yes, and across. one of them. This
tapped no- spring of memory; my ‘
driver had never heard the story.\
never heard of tune had paid cere-
monloas respect to Bank M0“ N'
cause be and every other stage
driver knew * as the greatest
mountain sis“ driver in the world.
a. rsekgnod as how nobody had to
write s. piece about Bank leak in
make also famous. sauce. Greeley?
m Twain? Who were they! '
All that remained 'ef one brick * ~
building in Am W's-its side.“
backJull. Thencsntlotthusm-m
“musedhronw
pus who was 'mm
SiXShooterS
Edward W. Townsend’s Experiences in Running a Mining
camp N ewspaper—The Gambler and the Girl—Ed.-
of the East to-aa'y, being all good
citizens employed to guard mining
claims in danger of being Jumped,
bullion awaiting shipment, or stores
(1 merchandise flimsily housed. I
stopped one day at that brick walled
target range to watch three or four
gunmen practicing with revolvers
and was asked to try my hand. That
began a friendship which resulted in
my hearing many stories of their pe-
culiar business. I have told some of
those stories in print, and reviewers
have always asked if we practiced
more at targets or lying. I shall
print them all in a book some time
and call it “True Stories "
A week or mo before the Christ-
7 1 can. has.
-1.-.n.q.4~n.\,
i
,mas holidays a. lawyer from San
Francisco. looking up evidence in a
case, arrived in camp and brought
his wife with him. I met her when
I called to interview her husband,
and after that. we sent late San
"You' re the new editor. ” the driver presently announced.
on as soon as he was warm and dry.
He was told to shut. up, as that was
our bUSy hour. and he did shut up
for half an hour and then ventured
to ask where the drinking water was.
He was motioned to the back of the
mom, and went there. We recalled
latér that he must have been very
dry within however wet without, to:
he ,made frequent trips to the back
of the room before, unnoticed, he
slipped out into the night.
Our work was finished; the last
proof read, the last handful of type
dumped into the form and locked,
We washed up; we scrubbed and
brushed and dolled up with deter-
mined striving for
gees was left unsesrched; every saloon, gambling'house and dance hall was invaded by four
grinning in joyous anticipation. All
set? Now! We marched singing
to the back where on a table, cov-
ered with clean paper our banquet
had been spread.
was bare:
”4’17
”:41
The cake plate
the cggnog pitcher was
a }
, .
under the willow by the frexen pool."
Francisco papers to hef’by our otllce"
devil. a sedate Piute whose untutored
mind permitted him to employ two
hours on a ten minute errand.
The lsdys thanks for this atten- '
tlon came in s bountiful and mildly
acclaimed form; a. home made cake
and a plteher of eggnogi We were
ltogotopressthatnightsndit
was promptly agreed. that we would
not so much as sample these *sur-
.prlslng dailitles until the form was.
made upsndputtobedonthe.
{washingtou press. which, by the
‘way.Isuspectdstsdfl-omtheeec-.
and Administration of its mush-iota
rim, Three printers and an
editor never worked harder nor had
such merit in anticipation. " 7 -
unleash” Guest. A»;
' It was s. disagreeable, cold night
outside. but Within there was s. breve
displayefoflierhpsandsrosring
mmmfimmanQIO’
none of us meldembjsctlon when n
hobo sidied in messed its poor
and mm could wax-mend
dry himself. A flfst can mine, he,
was, item-in sirrulous eon-i:
empty.
speech; not a word was spoken; the
printers snatched up mallets and.
side irons and rushed out. No pos-
sible place or resort or hiding was
left unseal- ed;
gambling house. dance hall was in-
vaded by four silent men intent
upon Justifiable homicide.
. I think that hobo kept his promise.
Some. rage ls 260"}:er for"
impeccabiiiiy, ‘
that’ he hurried on through the.
friendly dark of that night to Radio
-——a.nd further. Since that tragedy
I've never laughed at the story of -
the Scotch cabby -in Ibndon who
was frequently invited by his mm.‘
”causightseeihslaIetojoinmmfn
calls at public bars. The American
noticed thatothe Scot. as soon as his
gyms” was poured. grasped the glass ‘
my and carefully but promptly
' raised it to bk lips and‘emptied it
‘t m gulp. “You‘re playing safe
“mmemmbbyrtheferereo.
who ”Aye. lion." Gabby III-
mred. “for I once overtur-med s
glass of. Whushkey"
A woman came to‘urora on the
mmwhowseldentmedto“
«me Is “Dusty Bob." u. notorious 1‘
iThls taluddressed itself—10 mess i only when+had+tlewed4n the raini a mst at—a dinner in Paris giVen
every saloon. -
. tinned:
l
win Booth and a Real Grave for Hamlet. 1 "
duster. Beneath that her clothing
was in fashion. fresh, expensive. the
played faro nightly; placed her bets
liberally; seated herself when there
was a‘, vacant chair at the table, but
refused to accept a chair if offered
by a player; talked as the other
players talked. the jargon of miners
and gamblers; never grouched if she
lost nor rejoiced if she won.‘ She
did not have the look of a woman
hardened by vice, rather good look-
ing than not, and spoke agreeably
when she playfully ‘parried my en-
deavors to learn from her something Carson and explained
more of her life than she frankly
revealed to the world. She gave me
opportunity for these inquiries by
coming to the office to look over
the San Francisco papers which she
read as if looking for something she
Would rather not find. '
When Dusty left Aurora she was
supposed to be behind rather than
ahead of the fare banks, but she was
not broke, for she hired‘ a private
conveyance todourney to another
camp. Some‘weeks later we heard
of her as associated with in that
other camp 3. gambler who was a
stranger there, a tenderfoot as to
the mining. camps, but a profes-
sional and prosperous gambler. A
week or so after that we heard the
romantic story of the marriage of
Dusty Bob and that gambler. She
had gone with him to a dance; he
wooed and won, and, before the
candlcs in the ballroom had burned
low, they were on their way to
Carson. There they were married.
fair material for a storv, so I wrote
and printed one, but as I put to-
gether the large facts they left some
crevices in the construction which
I filled with playful speculation.
These I did not regard as "funny":
nothing-moire than an ~effort to dis-
play good natured interest in a min-
ing camp romance. I had heard that
“the gambler was called "Bill," and
that he was tall, so in my story he
was named "Long Bill." There is
no way to forecast how the hero of
a news story will react to it.
There are men 'in the world who
do not subscribe to publicity seek-
ers‘ dictum, "I don't care what you,
say about me in the paper if you
will only say something." Not long
after my little venture in social gos-
sip had enjoyed its modest circula—
tion in the camps and towns of
western Nevada. 3. driver of a Car-
son stage came into my office, leanei
over my desk and 'whispered huskilv.
“That party from the Bay (San
Francisco) you called Long Bill, him
what marries Dusty Bob, he comes
to me just before I pulls out from
Carson and says I am to tell you
that when he comes up here he’s go-
ing to cut your heart out."
Vemosed With Re“
I had a pistol in thy right hand
l'Thsy buried the last one over there
drawer of my desk, and after the
driver's visit I kept that drawer
open. I was absorbed in. work the
day Long Bill quietly entered the of-
fice and did not see him until he.
Censdréd the
ample.
Press
the most soothing drink I ever took.
The winter passed: scant but dis-
coverable signs of spring were mere
hints there of the splendor that
wouli be California‘s, where. the
rail? xix ovv-r the dry season
112/ ".01 yet lliLllin .1 ‘lle tle'ds’goldcn
targets «1‘ rsz‘hsr'u? tins. "09.91151:-
ards' Some. tir: clouds of fruit
blossoms. 0n .lhc my I went to the
stage office to book passage to Car-
son it seemed as if an hour's delay
would be intolerable. great. was
my suddenly arousedédeslre to re-
turn to such scenes and to mown
lawns, flower gardens, warm sun, the ,
ocean; yes, even the fogs of San
Francisco. .Yet when two stockmen
the stage, agent introduced me to of-
fered me a saddle horse to ride to
that they
would be several days, on, the trip.
the prospect pleased. They were
driving two horses to a buckboard
and led a third. This was a good
horse and seemed to like me. for We
were friends by the time we had
worked down several thousand feet
from the ten thousand foot. elevation
where I had passed the. winter.
The afternoon of the first day we
reached a ranch where there was a
bunch of steers the buyers wanted to
look over, saddling their horses for
the purpose. I rode along for the
inspection, not knowing that my
horse was trained for the job and de-
lighted ln it. I soon learned. He
picked out a. wayward steer to round
up; the steer jumped an irrigation
ditch and turned at right angles.
with a suddenness surprising in an
animal so bulky. My cow pony
jumped and turned with even greater
suddenness, but I did not turn with
him. In an orderly manner I pur-
sued a straight course and stopped
"0“ ._..
{I’d
soaked soil a deep furrow of surpris-
ing length, considering the process‘
by which it had been made.
\Ve stayed that night at another
ranch and awoke the next morning
to find the earth covered with snow,
which was falling heavy and thick
from unseen clouds through motion-
less air. finowbound in Aprill Two
dayslater we'contggued our journey
over roads already churned into mud
by the endless procession of freight
wagons, always two wagons coupled
together and drawn by sixteen
horses, the eight teams driven by a
rider on the nigh wheel horse, who
directed his teams by a single rein
leading to the bit ‘0: the nigh leader.
There was a dismal drizzle of rain,
freezing as it, fell, and early in the
day we saw that we could not make
Carson that night, so our weary ef-
forts were' directed toward an old
inn. ohce a swing station on the
stage route from Sacramento to Vir-
ginia City.
We, did reach it some time after
dark. and I, my clothing stiff with
ice, was lifted from my horse. "like a
Clothespin from a clothesline," as one
of my companions remarked.‘ I
wanted never to be in a saddle again.
never to be out of doors except in
sunshine, never again see a road that
was a. black trail of mud, snow bor-
dered to the tops of the sagebrush.
I knew that I should never again be
warm or dry or fed. The New Eng—
land wife of the caretaker had differ—
ent views. She spread what must
have been a bale of buffalo robes in
front of the great'fireplace in what‘
had been the barroom, and a mouno"
tain of cordwood was soon blazing.-
before which, lying on the robes, 1‘
first steamed, then smoked. A la-
mous inn it was in its day, snuggled
against the lap of a rugged hill down
which a lumber flume roared With
unburdened water. In the "days of
old. the days of gold,"“bver the inn
‘bar. a stately plank of mahogany
still in place, lucky gravel m‘iners
paid for their refreshments with
pinches of gold dust. ' . .
"Come, Edwin. come!" he persisted-
'II
II;
Aday lstersts in Virginiath. .,
intending only to say good-by to my
” friends and hurry on to San Fran-
cisco. bu t my friend Davis inducedl
me to remain over for a. day becaussl
Booth. whom I had never seen. if.
to give a. performance of “Harmer?
A new theat'er built by an optimistic}
citizen named Piper was nicked into ‘
the side of Mount Davlson. more than“ ‘
half of its stage end buried in
excuvation. and the stage laid on the
natural rock foundation. How about
Ophelia's grave? The newspaperi,
had indulged in solemn joking abqui‘
what Lacrtea and Hamlet would do
lacking a grave to quarrel and «-
clalm in, and there were suggestions.
of piling old Pclion on Mount Davi-i
son until Nevada had a blue Olym-r
pus which would make the Rockies
look like a. wart. Owner Piper argued-
that he had spent enough on extra—i '
vations not to be asked to tear up
the stage and dig a grave big enough
to hold two quart-cling gentlemen“
and one lady. deceased. He thought
that the grave scene could be fakedé.
but upon being assured that no les
:1 person than William Shakespeare
:;mSclf had ordered Mr. Booth to
leap into a grave after declaring: l
‘. .A .1 This is I,
Hamlet the Dane!"
he yielded to so high an authority.
The 'grave was dug, and Booth was
much interested in the fact that for
the first. time in that scene he was
nut to jump through a trap door.
Few of us but have some experi-
ence which prompts the thought that '
in one respect this is a. snug little
world despite mandated islands which
only novelists visit. and mandated
wildernesses in Africa yet unex-
ploitcd except by statesmen occupy-
ing arnlchm'i-s in marble halls in
Versailles and other well conducted
centers of diplomacy. ;
Years after I saw Mr. Booth Jump
into that sure enough grave I was
by Harry Gillig, then owner of the
schooner yacht Romans and com-
modore of the Larchmont Yacht
Club. Besides Frederick MacMon-
nies, the sculptor. and me the guests
were a score or more of young Amer-
icans studying artin Paris. At din-
ner one student, a smiling, eager
faced youngster, asked if I were the
Mr. Townsend who had been a news-
pa..:r man in Virgl. :a City. "My
name is Piper.” he said when I had
identified myself. "I’ve heard m;
father speak of you—he owned the '
theater them." i
Later yet, in the Players Club in
New Yo: k city with the actor Fritz
Williams, who was then appearing
with Ned Holland in a Frohman ,
comedy. I recognized two men in one
of the rooms as Booth and his stage
associate. Barrett. and as I ex—
pressed a. wish to meet Booth VVllls
iams lntrduced me to him. .Barrett. C
a testy little man, was plu3king at
Booth's sleeve and clucking at him:
“Come. Edwin. Remember you are
not strong. Come, Edwin.” Ho
acted as if Booth were an infant and
he his nursc. appalled at an en-
counter bctwcen his charge And two
naughty boys who might challenge
\laster Booth to a. game of marbles.
or invite him to cross the street to
tuammcy Park for a go at leapfrog.
It was an amusing performance, and ‘
with intent to make it more so I
tired the only shot in my locker
~ to engage Booth's attention.
you. first," I said to him,
. ’ fi greeted me with a courte-
ous but wholly impersonal smile, but,
at my remark his beautiful eyes, the
most beautiful of his all beautiful
features, lighted up and glowed as
he responded with animation. “I
shall never forget that—at Virginia
City, it was." To Barrett's shocked
surprise Booth held me for some
time in lively talk of Pacific coaét
affairs. Booth. was not. in robust
health then, to be sure—but be out-
lived Barrett, at that.
Califo ’ '
rma - to
By A WEBFOOTER.
N order to appreciate home bless1
I ings some of us have to try out
“the green pastures on the other
side of the fence. Distance lends en.
chantment.
That Californians are loyal boost-
ers from the ground up and we
would do well to follow their exo.
Their papers never fall to
boost and to teach them daily how to
too, leaned over my desk and said boost for the California southlsnd.
softly: “I’m the gentleman you.
The result all the world known. The
wrote the piece about me marrying Long Beachers say of the Fanatic.
Dusty Bob." My, hand moved ner-
vously toward the open drawer, but
he placed his band on mine with a
arm-but friendly touch. as he wu-
“Just a word, brother.
Dusty, she beat it. Yes. she va-
mos'ed with my roll and diamond."
I expressed regret that he should
have been so betrayed.
naps: "If they had as good suckers
as they have blowers they would
suck up the ocean and leave us high
and dry." We natives of the virlle
North will have to develop our
bloivers or they will dry up and blow
away. t,
It is true that in the California
southland the average weather. is
, ‘,'Oh, that’s all right," he assured such that one can play out of doors
me.
don' t. write 1 piece about Dusty
“I only want to say this, if you the year around under a cloudless
sky. But who wants a clonaless sky! '
vamoslng what I said to the stage The highways are superb and grow-
driver don't go. If you do write—"
I interrupted to say that the incl- *
dent was not worth a fine—mot s
word! ‘
“All set. then, brother.” my visitor '
»eonanued.'"mitweeodowfithvsultwhuelnthealsuneethesnow
mmmVeadflnkW?” capped mountains at“ m to'
up
lug superber. The with: nights
ereclearascrystalsndthestan
bend down from their lofty heights ‘
to say. "Good evening. everybody,
The orange trees smile with golden
an Outsider
in Pasadena it tasted of an over-
dose of chloride Just like medicine.
Some said, "mts." Others salt;
“Leaves and debris." When we‘
heated it. it smelled to high heaven
with chloride. Even our tea «and
coffee were decidedly off color. .
Milk: Not fmm “contented cows“ »
surely. for we could not detecting .
cream morning. noon or night; A“,
some color at .20 a quart '
- Vegetables. Root vegetables pithy.
Local potatoes mghtfully hard after
cooking. Cauliflower-S and tomatoes
were okeh, but the r! were not so
“sud.” ' ' =
Green Grass: Sometimes but most- ,
ly patched up with brown grass and .
dried tad fraule. ~
Air: No veil. vim, vigor or vlhl- : .
ity in it. Too hot. and parched. Sal;
trymosttheume One'slipssro ,-
dryasabone. No.thankyouforn'
steady diet. _,
. Weather: An average of TMgreeu
in midwlnier and 106 degrees in the
We in September. Frequent hot
sultry winds except when it rain}
anathe- ltpoursfordaysand rivers
flood the streets. During the‘holidsyp
it rained day and night for over two
weeks. We experienced rum. frost
snovfsleetsnd bulln moons“:
winter However lust winter Wis *
unusual winter and we cannot Jam»
by it. The mm loss was 50 ru- es‘.
Norwalk Chronicler