"Si, señor, I have heard so," replied the doctor, who had studied a little Spanish, and was, like all the rest of us, fond of letting it off on every occasion.
"And do you know who I am?"
"Si, señor."
"Don't you say see senior to me," returned his amphibious antagonist, with drunken deliberation, and shaking his fist portentously at every syllable; "I know what see senior means as well as you do—it means darn your eyes."
While this was passing, a fierce dispute arose among the crowd on the other side, when one of the combatants seizing a small crowbar, dealt his enemy such a blow on the seat of honour as fairly knocked him into the creek, then jumping in after him, they instantly grappled with deadliest animosity, each striving to force the other's head under water, until they were with difficulty separated by the more sober among the spectators. This did not end the disturbance, however; knives were drawn, and matters began to assume a decidedly bloody aspect, when a miner named Graham, a man of unusual energy, seized an empty musket and threatened incontinently to shoot the first man who should renew the contest. This was an argument that all could understand; the ferment gradually abated, and something like the peace and quiet of a New England Sabbath was at length restored.
By far the greater part of the miners regarded these scenes with abhorrence; and to prevent their recurrence as far as possible, and wipe off from Ford's Bar the reputation of being the worst place on the river, they appointed a meeting to be held the next day for enacting certain laws, and choosing officers to see that they were executed.
About fifty miners assembled at the time appointed, and after a long discussion, arising from the folly of some who thought everything must be done in the same formal and cumbrous manner in which parliamentary proceedings are conducted, in more civilized communities, a few simple laws were agreed upon, Graham chosen Alcalde, and a bulky Missourian sheriff of Ford's Bar and the adjacent diggings.
The very next day an opportunity occurred of testing the new regime. The Tinker was again the hero of the play. Having swum the river, at this place comparatively smooth, he entered the store entirely naked; and after calling upon us to view his fine proportions, and touching briefly but with infinite power of expression upon his only sister, then residing in the elegant neighbourhood of the Five Points, he slung four bottles of brandy round his neck, and again committed himself to the rapid current. He would undoubtedly have reached the other side with little difficulty, even though encumbered with his precious freight; but having imprudently ventured to make a display of his amphibious powers, he was drawn into an eddy, and compelled to abandon his brandy to save the only thing he held more dear—his life.
Our hero, or rather our Leander, having thus, like hook-nosed Cæsar landing on the shores of Britain, reached the farther bank and escaped the dangers of the deep, was compelled to do battle with a yet more cruel foe. Thickset, bull-headed, exasperated by the loss of that liquor in which he was a partner, the burly giant rushed upon The Tinker, who received him nothing loath, and then ensued a combat such as was often witnessed in the classic games of Rome, but is seldom seen in these degenerate days. The contest was fierce and obstinate—long time in even scale the battle hung, but when the dust cleared away from the field of view, our reporter, intently watching the progress of the fray through his levelled glass, announced that The Tinker was victorious.
Sitting astride on the body of his prostrate foe, like Mr. Dhu on poor Fitz Jamie, or Warburton on his astonished crocodile, a junk bottle—fit instrument for such a deed—already gleamed high in air, and the next moment, as next moments always are, would have been too late, if Thickset had not suddenly drawn a knife from his right boot, and by sundry cuts and thrusts diverted the deadly blow.