THE CODE IN PRISON.

783

in April 1869 with swords. Amidst circlings, and divers jumping-jack manœuvrs, they pricked each other until the blood began to flow, when they concluded they did not like it, and went home.

A duel was fought with Kentucky rifles, thirty paces, wheel and fire, at. Los Angeles the 25th of March, 1870. The high contending principals were John B. Wilson, son of a senator, and Charles E. Beane, journalistic scribe; cause, wine and politics, a common but unhealthy mixture. Taking with them a surgeon, which signified blood, the belligerents gat themselves beyond the city limits, and prepared each for the other's death. Wilson was the challenger. At the signal Wilson turned quickly and pulled, but the gun refused to fire, and Beane magnanimously withheld his shot. Re-loading Wilson's piece the order was again given and both fired. Beane was unharmed but Wilson dropped his gun, his honor satisfied. A flesh wound was found in the left arm. Then followed a scene of sweet reconciliation, and the heroes departed to their homes.

Confinement does not always wring all passion from the man, and the inmates of prisons deem their right to cut and kill each other in a gentlemanly way as good as that of prize-fighters, judges, and legislators. Peter Hanley and John O'Brien lived at San Quentin, lived there upon compulsion. One day, it was the 4th of June, 1877, as for their sins they were carrying the hod, they indulged in an argument upon the moral character of a Barbary coast bar-keeper. Waxing warm in their dispute, and unable to injure each other with words, they agreed to settle the discussion with knives, which they forthwith secured for that purpose from one of the shops. Retiring to a secluded spot behind one of the new buildings, they engaged in some really cutting arguments, until the alarm was given and they were separated. O'Brien was badly injured. Hanley was gashed somewhat about the face, but not so badly as to be unable to endure

twenty-five lashes, which were administered upon the bare back. It is a pity that judges, senators, editors, and others of that stripe, could not have had some of the same medicine administered to them.

Two old and respected inhabitants of Mariposa county, old enough to know better, and respected enough to do better, met informally and fought with shotguns in September 1877. David Evans living six miles from Hornitos was one, and Moses V. Northrup the other. Seven or eight years before Evans' barn was burned, and he said that Northrup did it; said so gently at first and then more positively, and kept saying so for seven years, until the latter became tired of hearing it. So one day he called upon his enemy with a shotgun and told Evans to bring out his and meet him on equal terms. Evans soon appeared with his gun and asked, "Are you ready?" "Ready," said Northrup, and the two men fired almost simultaneously. Evans was killed, while Northrup remained unharmed. Thus the God of battles adjudged Northrup innocent of having fired Evans' barn. A plain, practical, common-sense solution of a question which never otherwise might have been solved.

CHAPTER XXV.

TALES OF THE TIMES.

How indestructively the Good grows, and propagates itself, even among the weedy entanglements of Evil.

-Sartor Resartus.

Or tales of the times I have enough at hand to fill volumes. I can only give brief specimens. Nowhere in the world's business did fortune ever turn her wheel more tauntingly; dealing right and left sudden and unfamiliar changes, her ways being outside of ordinary experiences, so that the shrewdest heads were little better than those supporting ass-ears for interpreting the future. A hundred instances might be cited; in fact every man of those days was the hero of an unwritten romance. Bootblack and banker alike might give each his remarkable history, only the former would perhaps far exceed the latter in incident and vivid interest. What a thousand and one tales they would have made, could some seer have read and repeated them, the life's doings and changes of all those varied characters in the gulches and in the towns; clerks, cooks, merchants, mechanics, gamblers, preachers, doctors, and the rest!

With the great emigration to Oregon in 1846 came Simeon Pettigrove, distantly related, I cannot now exactly say how, to that Pettigrove who once owned the ground that Portland stands on, and who should have been one of the richest and most influential men of that rich and hospitable city, instead of chinking glasses during his latter days with Van Bokkelen and Swan in the hotel at Port Townsend.

CAL. INT. Poc. 50

(785)

Of the same wagon-train with young Pettigrove in crossing the continent was Mary Wilder, a brawny maid of eighteen, who walked beside her father's oxen with a long whip, having a sharp gad at the thick end to prod them on through the powdered alkaline plains, and all the long way of that wearisome journey, taking entire charge of the team while her father helped a neighbor with his live stock. Pleasing was she to look upon, although her face was saffroned by the sun and dust, and her clothes begreased and tattered, and her feet broad and bare, for her head and hair were beautiful, and when in the vein the light and warmth of her countenance might kindle the campfire. Heart and legs were stout, and her hands well formed-for yoking cattle; and woe betide the bullock that pulled too much to right or left, or pressed its neck too lightly against the yoke. All the Wilders' wealth was in that wagon, where sat the mother 'midst the younger children—all their wealth except the daughter Mary, a precious property, who must make a good match, and help to raise the family respectability.

Along by the willows, through the sagebrush, over the sandy desert, and over the rugged mountains, Simeon walked with her, talking with her much, and loving her more. He asked the father might he marry her. No. She had nothing; she must marry something, and Simeon had no more than she.

He went his way, and came again, and went and came as did the winter and the summer "How much must he have who marries Mary?" 'At the least, a thousand dollars." Simeon was in despair. As wages then were in Oregon, he could not lay by that amount in five years. The mines of California now began to be talked about, and an expedition was organized to go and dig for gold. Here was his opportunity, and Pettygrove was among the first to join. And as he wound by the base of Shasta butte down into the valley he took a solemn oath never to return without the money which should buy Mary.

On Feather river he began to dig. How his heart beat, how his soul gloated over the first half ounce secured; how beautiful it was to gaze at, how sweet, how lovely, how pure! But not more pure or lovely or sweet or beautiful than Mary, who was awaiting him away back in Oregon. As his pile increased, his darling yellow pile which was to secure the loved object, he could not contain himself for joy. His comrades soon learned his heart's ambition, and once the ice was broken he was forever talking of it. Soon it was the standing joke of the camp. "Pet, how's your gal?" the boys used to ask when they wished to know of the day's success. "It's all right, boys. I'll get her, sure," was the customary reply. When fifty ounces were safely bagged-"She's mine, boys, she's mine," he used to say, or rather, sing; for his heart was singing, and the voice would echo it whether he would or no.

A hundred ounces, "Well, boys, I've got what I came for; I reckon I better go back and marry Mary now." Rather tamely this was said as compared with the late wild overflow of feeling. The fact is, his claim was paying well, and fascinated with gold-gathering, Simeon did not much like to leave it. Easily persuaded was he to remain and work a little longer.

After this the yield began rapidly to increase, until Simeon had secured five thousand dollars. With store clothes he put on a thoughtful and subdued demeanor, hired men to take his place in the ditch, and was soon worth ten thousand dollars, then twenty thousand. Little was said these days regarding Mary Finally he was asked, "Pet, how about that Oregon gal?" Simeon hung his head a little as he said, "Well, the fact is, boys, her folks are mighty common, and couldn't give her much of a bringing up, and while she's good enough for a thousand dollars, I think I can afford a better one now."

One may be moderately shrewd with comparative