Meet us on:
Entire Site
    Try our fun game

    Dueling book covers…may the best design win!

    Random Quote
    "People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use."

    Subscribe to Our Newsletter

    Follow us on Twitter

    Never miss a good book again! Follow Read Print on Twitter

    Chapter XXXVII

    • Rate it:
    • Average Rating: 5.0 out of 5 based on 5 ratings
    • 5 Favorites on Read Print
    Launch Reading Mode Next Chapter
    Chapter 41
    Previous Chapter
    It was somewhere in the neighborhood of Mono Lake that the marvellous
    Whiteman cement mine was supposed to lie. Every now and then it would be
    reported that Mr. W. had passed stealthily through Esmeralda at dead of
    night, in disguise, and then we would have a wild excitement--because he
    must be steering for his secret mine, and now was the time to follow him.
    In less than three hours after daylight all the horses and mules and
    donkeys in the vicinity would be bought, hired or stolen, and half the
    community would be off for the mountains, following in the wake of
    Whiteman. But W. would drift about through the mountain gorges for days
    together, in a purposeless sort of way, until the provisions of the
    miners ran out, and they would have to go back home. I have known it
    reported at eleven at night, in a large mining camp, that Whiteman had
    just passed through, and in two hours the streets, so quiet before, would
    be swarming with men and animals. Every individual would be trying to be
    very secret, but yet venturing to whisper to just one neighbor that W.
    had passed through. And long before daylight--this in the dead of
    Winter--the stampede would be complete, the camp deserted, and the whole
    population gone chasing after W.

    The tradition was that in the early immigration, more than twenty years
    ago, three young Germans, brothers, who had survived an Indian massacre
    on the Plains, wandered on foot through the deserts, avoiding all trails
    and roads, and simply holding a westerly direction and hoping to find
    California before they starved, or died of fatigue. And in a gorge in
    the mountains they sat down to rest one day, when one of them noticed a
    curious vein of cement running along the ground, shot full of lumps of
    dull yellow metal. They saw that it was gold, and that here was a
    fortune to be acquired in a single day. The vein was about as wide as a
    curbstone, and fully two thirds of it was pure gold. Every pound of the
    wonderful cement was worth well-nigh $200.

    Each of the brothers loaded himself with about twenty-five pounds of it,
    and then they covered up all traces of the vein, made a rude drawing of
    the locality and the principal landmarks in the vicinity, and started
    westward again. But troubles thickened about them. In their wanderings
    one brother fell and broke his leg, and the others were obliged to go on
    and leave him to die in the wilderness. Another, worn out and starving,
    gave up by and by, and laid down to die, but after two or three weeks of
    incredible hardships, the third reached the settlements of California
    exhausted, sick, and his mind deranged by his sufferings. He had thrown
    away all his cement but a few fragments, but these were sufficient to set
    everybody wild with excitement. However, he had had enough of the cement
    country, and nothing could induce him to lead a party thither. He was
    entirely content to work on a farm for wages. But he gave Whiteman his
    map, and described the cement region as well as he could and thus
    transferred the curse to that gentleman--for when I had my one accidental
    glimpse of Mr. W. in Esmeralda he had been hunting for the lost mine, in
    hunger and thirst, poverty and sickness, for twelve or thirteen years.
    Some people believed he had found it, but most people believed he had
    not. I saw a piece of cement as large as my fist which was said to have
    been given to Whiteman by the young German, and it was of a seductive
    nature. Lumps of virgin gold were as thick in it as raisins in a slice
    of fruit cake. The privilege of working such a mine one week would be
    sufficient for a man of reasonable desires.

    A new partner of ours, a Mr. Higbie, knew Whiteman well by sight, and a
    friend of ours, a Mr. Van Dorn, was well acquainted with him, and not
    only that, but had Whiteman's promise that he should have a private hint
    in time to enable him to join the next cement expedition. Van Dorn had
    promised to extend the hint to us. One evening Higbie came in greatly
    excited, and said he felt certain he had recognized Whiteman, up town,
    disguised and in a pretended state of intoxication. In a little while
    Van Dorn arrived and confirmed the news; and so we gathered in our cabin
    and with heads close together arranged our plans in impressive whispers.

    We were to leave town quietly, after midnight, in two or three small
    parties, so as not to attract attention, and meet at dawn on the "divide"
    overlooking Mono Lake, eight or nine miles distant. We were to make no
    noise after starting, and not speak above a whisper under any
    circumstances. It was believed that for once Whiteman's presence was
    unknown in the town and his expedition unsuspected. Our conclave broke
    up at nine o'clock, and we set about our preparation diligently and with
    profound secrecy. At eleven o'clock we saddled our horses, hitched them
    with their long riatas (or lassos), and then brought out a side of bacon,
    a sack of beans, a small sack of coffee, some sugar, a hundred pounds of
    flour in sacks, some tin cups and a coffee pot, frying pan and some few
    other necessary articles. All these things were "packed" on the back of
    a led horse--and whoever has not been taught, by a Spanish adept, to pack
    an animal, let him never hope to do the thing by natural smartness. That
    is impossible. Higbie had had some experience, but was not perfect. He
    put on the pack saddle (a thing like a saw-buck), piled the property on
    it and then wound a rope all over and about it and under it, "every which
    way," taking a hitch in it every now and then, and occasionally surging
    back on it till the horse's sides sunk in and he gasped for breath--but
    every time the lashings grew tight in one place they loosened in another.
    We never did get the load tight all over, but we got it so that it would
    do, after a fashion, and then we started, in single file, close order,
    and without a word. It was a dark night. We kept the middle of the
    road, and proceeded in a slow walk past the rows of cabins, and whenever
    a miner came to his door I trembled for fear the light would shine on us
    an excite curiosity. But nothing happened. We began the long winding
    ascent of the canyon, toward the "divide," and presently the cabins began
    to grow infrequent, and the intervals between them wider and wider, and
    then I began to breathe tolerably freely and feel less like a thief and a
    murderer. I was in the rear, leading the pack horse. As the ascent grew
    steeper he grew proportionately less satisfied with his cargo, and began
    to pull back on his riata occasionally and delay progress. My comrades
    were passing out of sight in the gloom. I was getting anxious. I coaxed
    and bullied the pack horse till I presently got him into a trot, and then
    the tin cups and pans strung about his person frightened him and he ran.
    His riata was wound around the pummel of my saddle, and so, as he went by
    he dragged me from my horse and the two animals traveled briskly on
    without me. But I was not alone--the loosened cargo tumbled overboard
    from the pack horse and fell close to me. It was abreast of almost the
    last cabin.

    A miner came out and said:


    I was thirty steps from him, and knew he could not see me, it was so very
    dark in the shadow of the mountain. So I lay still. Another head
    appeared in the light of the cabin door, and presently the two men walked
    toward me. They stopped within ten steps of me, and one said:

    "Sh! Listen."

    I could not have been in a more distressed state if I had been escaping
    justice with a price on my head. Then the miners appeared to sit down on
    a boulder, though I could not see them distinctly enough to be very sure
    what they did. One said:

    "I heard a noise, as plain as I ever heard anything. It seemed to be
    about there--"

    A stone whizzed by my head. I flattened myself out in the dust like a
    postage stamp, and thought to myself if he mended his aim ever so little
    he would probably hear another noise. In my heart, now, I execrated
    secret expeditions. I promised myself that this should be my last,
    though the Sierras were ribbed with cement veins. Then one of the men

    "I'll tell you what! Welch knew what he was talking about when he said
    he saw Whiteman to-day. I heard horses--that was the noise. I am going
    down to Welch's, right away."

    They left and I was glad. I did not care whither they went, so they
    went. I was willing they should visit Welch, and the sooner the better.

    As soon as they closed their cabin door my comrades emerged from the
    gloom; they had caught the horses and were waiting for a clear coast
    again. We remounted the cargo on the pack horse and got under way, and
    as day broke we reached the "divide" and joined Van Dorn. Then we
    journeyed down into the valley of the Lake, and feeling secure, we halted
    to cook breakfast, for we were tired and sleepy and hungry. Three hours
    later the rest of the population filed over the "divide" in a long
    procession, and drifted off out of sight around the borders of the Lake!

    Whether or not my accident had produced this result we never knew, but at
    least one thing was certain--the secret was out and Whiteman would not
    enter upon a search for the cement mine this time. We were filled with

    We held a council and decided to make the best of our misfortune and
    enjoy a week's holiday on the borders of the curious Lake. Mono, it is
    sometimes called, and sometimes the "Dead Sea of California." It is one
    of the strangest freaks of Nature to be found in any land, but it is
    hardly ever mentioned in print and very seldom visited, because it lies
    away off the usual routes of travel and besides is so difficult to get at
    that only men content to endure the roughest life will consent to take
    upon themselves the discomforts of such a trip. On the morning of our
    second day, we traveled around to a remote and particularly wild spot on
    the borders of the Lake, where a stream of fresh, ice-cold water entered
    it from the mountain side, and then we went regularly into camp. We
    hired a large boat and two shot-guns from a lonely ranchman who lived
    some ten miles further on, and made ready for comfort and recreation.
    We soon got thoroughly acquainted with the Lake and all its
    Next Chapter
    Chapter 41
    Previous Chapter
    If you're writing a Mark Twain essay and need some advice, post your Mark Twain essay question on our Facebook page where fellow bookworms are always glad to help!

    Top 5 Authors

    Top 5 Books

    Book Status
    Want to read

    Are you sure you want to leave this group?