Vance. The cognomen of the loyal nephew with the Secesh uncle. I will be
brief. Our stores began to fail. One morning we equipped Vance with a
horse, a pack-mule to lead behind him, a list of purchases, and eighty
golden dollars, bidding him good-speed on the trail to Mariposa. He was
to return laden with all the modern equivalents for corn, wine, and oil,
on the fifth or sixth day from his departure. Seven days glided by, and
the material for more slapjacks with them. We grew perilously nigh our
bag-bottoms.
One morning I determined to save the party from starvation, and with a
fresh supply of the currency set out for Mariposa. At Clark's I learned
that our man had camped there about noon on the day he left us, turned
his horse and mule loose, instead of picketing them, and spent the rest
of the sunlight in a _siesta_. When he arose, his animals were
undiscoverable. He accordingly borrowed Clark's only horse to go in
search of them, and the generous hermit had not seen him since.
Carrying these pleasant bits of intelligence, I resumed my way toward
the settlements. Coming by the steam saw-mill, I recognized Vance's
steed grazing by the way-side, threw my lariat over his head, and led
him in triumph to Mariposa. There I arrived at eight in the evening of
the day I left the Valley,--having performed fifty miles of the hardest
mountain-trail that was ever travelled in a little less than twelve
hours, making allowance for our halt and noon-feed at Clark's.
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