Behind me in distance stretched the sere plain where Kaweah’s run saved me. To the west, fading out into warm, blank distance, lay the great valley of San Joaquin, into which, descending by sinking curves, were rounded hills, with sunny, brown slopes softened as to detail by a low, clinging bank of milky air. Now and then out of the haze to the east indistinct rosy peaks, with dull, silvery snow-marblings, stood dimly up against the sky, and higher yet a few sharp summits lifted into the clearer heights seemed hung there floating. Quite in harmony with this was the little group of Dutch settlements I passed, where an antique-looking man and woman sat together on a veranda sunning their white hair, and silently smoking old porcelain pipes.
Nor was there any element of incongruity at the rancheria where I dismounted to rest shortly after noon. A few sleepy Indians lay on their backs dreaming, the good-humored, stout squaws nursing pappooses, or lying outstretched upon red blankets. The agreeable harmony was not alone from the Indian summer in their blood, but in part as well from the features of their dress and facial expression. Their clothes, of Caucasian origin, quickly fade out into utter barbarism, toning down to warm, dirty timbers, never failing to be relieved, here and there, by ropes of blue and white beads, or head-band and girdle of scarlet cloth.
Toward the late afternoon, trotting down a gentle forest slope, I came in sight of a number of ranch buildings grouped about a central open space. A small stream flowed by the outbuildings, and wound among chaparral-covered spurs below. Considerable crops of grain had been gathered into a corral, and a number of horses were quietly straying about. Yet with all the evidences of considerable possessions the whole place had an air of suspicious mock-sleepiness. Riding into the open square, I saw that one of the buildings was a store, and to this I rode, tying Kaweah to the piazza post.
I thought the whole world slumbered when I beheld the sole occupant of this country store, a red-faced man in pantaloons and shirt, who lay on his back upon a counter fast asleep, the handle of a revolver grasped in his right hand. It seemed to me if I were to wake him up a little too suddenly he might misunderstand my presence and do some accidental damage; so I stepped back and poked Kaweah, making him jump and clatter his hoofs, and at once the proprietor sprang to the door, looking flustered and uneasy.
I asked him if he could accommodate me for the afternoon and night, and take care of my horse; to which he replied, in a very leisurely manner, that there was a bed, and something to eat, and hay, and that if I was inclined to take the chances I might stay.
Being in mind to take the chances, I did stay, and my host walked out with me to the corral, and showed me where to get Kaweah’s hay and grain.
I loafed about for an hour or two, finding that a Chinese cook was the only other human being in sight, and then concluded to pump the landlord. A half-hour’s trial thoroughly disgusted me, and I gave it up as a bad job. I did, however, learn that he was a man of Southern birth, of considerable education, which a brutal life and depraved mind had not been able to fully obliterate. He seemed to care very little for his business, which indeed was small enough, for during the time I spent there not a single customer made his appearance. The stock of goods I observed on examination to be chiefly fire-arms, every manner of gambling apparatus, and liquors; the few pieces of stuffs, barrels, and boxes of groceries appeared to be disposed rather as ornaments than for actual sale.
From each of the man’s trousers’ pockets protruded the handle of a derringer, and behind his counter were arranged in convenient position two or three double-barrelled shot-guns.
I remarked to him that he seemed to have a handily arranged arsenal, at which he regarded me with a cool, quiet stare, polished the handle of one of his derringers upon his trousers, examined the percussion-cap with great deliberation, and then, with a nod of the head intended to convey great force, said, “You don’t live in these parts,”—a fact for which I felt not unthankful.
The man drank brandy freely and often, and at intervals of about half an hour called to his side a plethoric old cat named “Gospel,” stroked her with nervous rapidity, swearing at the same time in so distrait and unconscious a manner that he seemed mechanically talking to himself.