Night at last arrived, and under its sable folds I reached the railroad bed, and proceeded on my way—my place of destination, Merced. About seven o'clock I reached the outskirts of the town, and, proceeding cautiously to Fourteenth street, through Chinatown, crossed the railroad track below the El Capitan Hotel. Just as I stepped on the track two men passed on their way to town—evidently men from one of the farms beyond Merced. I was then about five hundred yards from my home, and I determined at any risk to find out the fate of my would be brother and poor dear mother, (whom I expected home on Monday night). Crawling on my hands and knees to within one hundred yards of the house (which was the last one at the west end of Seventeenth street), I watched for about five minutes to see if the place was under the surveillance of the mob. Discovering no indication of any one on the outside, I crept along, reached the back door, and cautiously tried to get a view into the interior, but could see nothing, as the windows were covered with heavy curtains. I shuddered at the gloomy appearance of everything about the house; I wondered if any of the family were dead within. I then opened the back door, and looking in discovered the children and a neighbor lady, Mrs. Keogh. When I opened the door the children ran off frightened, as they did not know who I was. I hastily asked Mrs. Keogh where the family was. She replied "all gone." "Are they all alive?" She answered "yes."
Just then I heard a noise at the front door and beat a hasty retreat out the back door. I dare not venture back where there were so many children, so I went to another part of town, where I knew almost to a certainty those who were thirsting for my blood. I ventured to look into the house of two persons whom I did not know, I saw them through the windows of their house, and knew that if they were not friends they were not enemies. Going to the door, I rapped. The door was opened, and standing in the dark I requested a drink of water, which was handed to me. It was the first water I had tasted since leaving the Half-Way House. I then stepped boldly into the room and said:
"I suppose you know who I am? I am Granice."
They remarked, "Yes."
"Well," said I, "give me something to eat; I am almost starved."
Something told me there was nothing to fear from these people. Telling them to put down the curtains and lock the door, I sat down to the table and commenced to partake of a lunch which they sat before me. I feared to eat too heartily, as I had not tasted food for twenty-four hours. After eating and drinking and resting for about a half hour, I asked for a hat, as mine had been left at the Half-Way House the night before. One was given me, and also a blanket, and some victuals which I strapped up in the blanket; and throwing the whole over my shoulder, I signified my intention of departing, and left them, with the injunction to say nothing to any one about seeing me. They gave me their promise, which they faithfully kept.
I then took up my weary march again. It had been walk, walk, since the preceding night. After leaving my newly-made acquaintances, I struck off into the chilling fog, hardly knowing which way to turn. I had learned from these people that my brother and step-father were being hunted down by Meany and his mob, and I knew I must get away from the hot-bed of their rendezvous—Merced—as soon as possible before daylight the next morning.
I proceeded toward Modesto, on the railroad track, and kept up my weary tramp, tramp, tramp, scarcely able to drag one foot after the other, until near morning. At about four o'clock I reached a point about four miles from the Merced river and one or two from the railroad, and could proceed no farther. Spreading my blanket, a single one, on the fog-damp earth, I laid down and slept for about an hour—the first rest and sleep for more than fifty-eight hours, unless it be the short stop I made while at Merced. But the sleep did me more harm than good, as the cold chilled me through and through, and left my limbs so stiff that I could scarcely stand, much less walk. I managed to drag my weary body back to the railroad, and just as I reached it I saw a hand-car coming down the track at a rapid rate. It was going toward the Merced river, to the section-house at that point. One white man and four or five Chinamen were in the car. Hailing the man, he stopped. I asked for a ride. He told me to jump on, and I did so, and sat right among the Chinamen. I told the man that I was hunting work, but had been taken sick and was scarcely able to travel; that I was going to Modesto, where I had friends. He said I was welcome to a ride. I watched him narrowly, and saw that he did not suspicion anything. I rode as far as the Merced river with him, and as he was going no farther, I was obliged to get off. He will probably be surprised to learn that that sick man hunting for a job was Granice, who at that time was being hunted down for his life, and for whom there were large imaginary rewards offered for his capture. I would advise him not to chide himself for his short-sightedness in not discovering whom I was, and thereby letting the reward slip through his hands, as I can assure him, had he captured me, he would have received not one dime for his pains.
Sick, worn out, footsore, not knowing the fate of my poor mother, brother and step-father, I cautiously approached the saloon at Cressy station, and peering through the window without being seen, I saw six or seven men sitting around the stove; I recognized but one among the number; the rest were strangers to me. Knowing my enemies, I saw at a glance there were none among those men. Half frozen and famished, I walked fearlessly into the bar-room, and took a seat by the stove. Addressing the bar-keeper, I asked for a glass of brandy. He evidently saw from my appearance that I was very sick, and needed a strong stimulant; and filling a glass half full of brandy, he handed it to me; taking it, I drained every drop. I then commenced to warm my half-frozen body, but during the operation I was very silent. In a few minutes I felt revived, and I told the men that I was on my way to Modesto afoot, but that I was sick, and did not think I could hardly make the trip.
My acquaintance in the meantime said nothing, and did not even appear to recognize me. At last I succeeded in getting him to one side, and told him I wanted to get to Modesto by some means. He said he could not help me, but would not inform on me. He told me he knew the men present, and that they would help me, if anything, to get out of the clutches of the mob. I told him I wanted to be kept out of Meany's hands; also that he was in with the mob, to my way of thinking. He said they all understood that; that they, the men, would see me safely through. Here I eat breakfast, after which I went and hid myself in a barn. Peeping through the cracks of the same, I saw Meany and some of the mob, just as the afternoon train arrived, talking to one of the men I had seen in the saloon, and I thought I would be discovered sure. But in a few minutes the sheriff and posse (?) left, going up the river. I had guessed rightly; the men did not suspect me; if they did, they kept their own counsel.