The Sacramento evidently flowed through a wide valley, for mountains were visible beyond the timber on either hand. Each evening the schooner stopped for the night, tying or anchoring. Not until noon of the fifth day on the river was any sign of settlement along the banks encountered, although boats continued frequent. But that noon a large ranch was passed, where a settler by the name of Schwartz had been wise enough to start in raising vegetables. He had made over $15,000 already, claimed people aboard the schooner—yet for all that nobody on the Mary Ann seemed ready to farm instead of mine.
Next, ahead on the right bank, above the Schwartz ranch, appeared a collection of houses and tents. The Mary Ann waxed excited again.
"There's Sacramento!"
"Get your things together, boys."
"Is that Sacramento, cap'n?"
"No, sir," answered the captain, shortly. "That's only Sutterville."
"Do we stop?"
"No, sir; we do not."
"Where's Sacramento?"
"Three miles above."