“None inland, any more than when you travelled through fifteen years ago, sir,” said Captain Sutter. “The whole country back from the line of missions, and the few settlements, along the coast, is a paradise unused except as the haunt of the Indians. It is a fair land going to waste. Some Anglo-Saxon race should have it, and cultivate it. That race will be either England or America; mark my words.”
“Let us hope, America,” responded the lieutenant.
So fair was this sunny California that Samuel Neal the blacksmith and four others in the company asked to be discharged, that they might remain. The lieutenant let them go; and Samuel entered the employ of the post, at two dollars and a half a day, with promise of advance.
“Anybody seen Derosier?” demanded Mr. Preuss, through the camp, on the day before departure. Already had the camp been moved, in preliminary start, up stream a short distance, to the ranch of Mr. Sinclair, former mountain-man, now a farmer.
Nobody had.
“He’s been gone for three days. Does anybody know anything about him?”
Nobody did.
And Baptiste Derosier, who had been acting oddly ever since that day, back on the trail, when he had been lost, never was seen again, nor even heard of. It was thought that he must have been drowned, or else had been waylaid by Indians, among the hills. All the company were sorry, for Baptiste was a willing worker and a “bon camarade.”
“Leve! Leve!” at dawn of March 24 resounded through the camp the regulation trapper call to arise. To-day was the start to be made in earnest.
With more horses and mules than ever, to the number of 130; with twenty-five beef cattle and five milk cows; with plenty of flour and coffee and sugar; well-stocked the expedition might proceed upon their way. With them went an Indian boy, assigned by Captain Sutter to be herder of the cavvy, for the horses and cattle were almost as wild as buffalo. It would take an experienced Californian to drive them.