Chapter 6: We Leave for the Mine

Our departure from San Francisco attracted little notice. Parties were leaving every day for the mines, and as we had not sought to make acquaintances during our stay in the town, I imagine that we were not greatly missed. Now and then some one would hail us as we passed, but always we had a ready reply.

“Which way, boys?” called a man who was leaning against a post enjoying the sunshine.

“Off there,” answered Pike, making a wide circular sweep with his hand. His “off there “ indicated any point of the compass a man might choose.

“Must have a fine prospect, you are so secret about it,” retorted the man, good-naturedly.

“Nuff fur the hull uv ‘‘Frisco’” replied Pike. “You jist wait thar a’ginst that post till we git back, so we’ll know whar to find you, an’ we’ll give you your share. Fill every pocket you’ve got full uv gold.”

“All right,” called the man. “You’ll find me right here with my Sunday clothes on and a double set of pockets in ‘em.”

We had more than one such encounter as this, but they meant nothing. It was merely the easy familiarity of the town. Soon we left the houses behind us, and were out in the open. We meant to skirt the bay for a considerable distance and then we would make a bee line across the country—that is, if the mountains and rivers would let us—for the hidden mine.

The stimulating breezes and the charming and picturesque region through which our route lay soon had their effect upon us and our spirits rose. I am afraid the death of poor Pedro did not weigh as heavily upon us as it should have done. But he had been so lacking in spirit and all the characteristics of a man that somehow we could not regret him greatly. As Pike truly said when he lay dying at our feet the night before, he did not have backbone enough for the California of that day.

We were all on foot, while the mules carrying the baggage and part of our arms trotted along by our side. Pike and I were in front. On this expedition, as on our former one, when we crossed the plains, Pike looked upon me as his lieutenant, and I dropped naturally into that position. Indeed, Pike himself had never been made captain of the party by election, but had become such because of his supreme fitness and with our silent but unanimous consent and approval.

“You’ve got Pedro’s diagram of the mine safe, haven’t you?” I asked of the hunter.

“Yes,” he said, slapping his waist, “it’s right here, next to my hide, an’ the man who gits it away from me will hev to lay me out fust.”

In reality I did not think a great deal of the diagram, as it was so crude. We could follow Pedro’s verbal directions almost as well, but thought it best to keep it in our possession.

“I guess that cut throat, Halftrigger, hez got er copy uv this,” said Pike. “Pity Pedro hadn’t had more backbone. He might be alive now an’ joggin’ er long with us.”

“What do you think of our chances for beating Halftrigger?” I asked.

“Fust rate,” replied Pike. “All the good thar boat could do ‘em wuz to git ‘em out uv ‘Frisco an’ our reach. They kaint foller no river to thet mine. They’ve got to lan’ somewhars purty soon an’ cut across country, same ez we’re doin’. They’ve got jest the same information about the mine that we hev, and it’ll be nip an’ tuck at ween us who gits thar fust.”

“Well do our best, won’t we?” I said.

“You bet we will,” replied Pike, cheerily, “fur we’re boun’ to beat them fellers. You know it’s been said that possession is nine p’ints uv the law. Wa’al, out here in this new and wil’ country it’s ‘levin p’ints out uv ten—that is, ef you’re strong ‘nuff ter keep possession after you’ve got it. An’ ef we fin’ that mine afore Halftrigger an’ his gang do, I guess we’ll keep possession. They won’t beat us out of it, eh, boys?”

As Pike said this he looked around at us with a smile of satisfaction. We were in fact a stout party, for Henry and I were now men in everything but years, and all of us had been sharpened and toughened in’ the great school of experience. It was Starboard Sam who replied to Pike’s query.

“Not much, Cappen,” he said. “Not with this crew. We won’t let any swab like that Halftrigger cut across our course. If they try to scuttle this craft we’ll give ‘em a broadside and blow the daylights out of’em.”

In an excess of high spirits Sam threw his legs across the mule he was leading and, kicking him in the sides with both feet, trotted up to the head of our troop. Sam’s mule was a brindle-colored, mild-eyed animal of uncertain age. He looked as if he had long since lost all interest in this sublunary sphere, and shambled along with his head sunk almost to the ground, as meek and lowly a creature as I had ever seen. Sam had named him Hannibal.

“It’s because there’s no fight in him,” he explained, “an’ I want to help him out a little with a name.”

When Sam on his long-eared Bucephalus had taken the lead, he raised his hat and, describing a magnificent nourish with it, began to sing:

It oft times has been told that the British seaman bold Could flog the tars of France so neat and handy, oh! But they never—