"Yes, sir," answered Charley. "To California."
"Anybody with you?"
"My father." And Charley proudly nodded toward another tall form. "Were you ever there?" he added, hesitantly.
"I should rather think so. Five years ago, and four years ago; and now I'm making another trip by a new route. The other times I crossed by the land trail."
"Oh, you must have been with Frémont!" exclaimed Charley.
The whiskered man nodded.
"I was. I was with Carson and Frémont in Forty-three—Forty-four, and again in Forty-five—Forty-six."
"I know about those travels," cried Charley. "I'm reading Colonel Frémont's reports now. I'm just finishing his last one. I guess they're about the best description of California there is. Did you fight in the war?"
The man smiled.
"See my shirt?" he queried. "All we Frémont men wore these navy shirts—some of us clear through the campaign. The sloop of war Portsmouth sent us a lot of ship's supplies, when we marched down from the mountains to Sutter's Fort, just before the uprising of the Bear War in June, Forty-six. I saved my shirt, and now I only wear it occasionally. I'm sorter proud of this shirt."