The position was not devoid of an element of danger, for the district swarmed with lawless gangs, to whom a woman living by herself was looked upon as fair prey. But Lola was not disturbed. She had plenty of courage. She knew, too, that the miners had formed themselves into a "guard of honour," and that it would have gone ill with anybody attempting to molest her. If the diggers were rough, they were chivalrous.
In response to a general invitation from the camp, Lola more than once gave an exhibition of her quality as a danseuse. Although the charge for admission was a hundred dollars, the hall where she appeared was always crammed to the doors. She expanded out, too, in other directions; and a picturesque account of her life at this period says that she slept under the stars ("canopy of heaven" was the writer's more poetical way of putting it) and wore woollen underclothing knitted by herself. Another detail declares that she held a "weekly soirée in her cottage, attended by the upper circles of the camp, a court of littérateurs and actors and wanderers"; and that among the regular guests were "two nephews of Victor Hugo, a quartet of cashiered German barons, and a couple of shady French counts." Obviously, a somewhat mixed gathering. For all this, however, the receptions were "merely convivial assemblies, with champagne and other wine, served with cake and fruit ad lib, and everyone smoked. The two Hugo neighbours were always there, as well as a son of Preston Brooks, the South Carolina congressman. A dozen of us looked forward to attending these salons, which we called 'experience-meetings.' Senator William M. Stewart, then a young lawyer in Nevada, said he used to count the days between each. Every song, every story, every scrap of humour or pathos that any of the young men came across would be preserved for the next gathering. Occasionally, our charming hostess would have a little fancy-dress affair at the cottage, and, clad in the fluffy and abbreviated garments she had once worn on the stage, show us that she still remembered her dancing-steps."
When not engaged in these innocent relaxations, Lola would give herself up to other pursuits. Thus, she hunted and fished and shot, and often made long trips on horseback through the forests and sage bush. Having a fondness for all sorts of animals, on one such expedition she captured a bear cub, with which she returned to her cabin and set herself to tame. While thus employed, she was visited by a wandering violinist, who, falling a victim to her charms, begged a lock of her hair as a souvenir of the occasion. Thereupon, Lola, always anxious to oblige, struck a bargain with him. "I have," she said, "a pet grizzly in my orchard. If you will wrestle with him for three minutes, you shall have enough of my hair to make a bow for your fiddle. Let me see what you can do." The challenge was accepted; and the amorous violinist, merely stipulating that the animal should be muzzled, set to work and secured the coveted guerdon.
Something of a risk, perhaps. Still, it would have been a more serious one if Lola had kept a rattlesnake.
Appearances are deceptive, and Bruin was less domesticated than Lola imagined. One day, pining perhaps for fresh diet, he grappled with his mistress and bit her hand. The incident attracted a laureate on the staff of the California Chronicle, who, in Silas Wegg fashion, "dropped into verse:"
LOLA AND HER PET
One day when the season was drizzly,
And outside amusements were wet,
Fair Lola paid court to her Grizzly
And undertook petting her pet.
But, ah, it was not the Bavarian
Who softened so under her hand,
No ermined King octogenarian,
But Bruin, coarse cub of the land.
So, all her caresses combatting
He crushed her white slender hand first,
Refusing his love to her patting,
As she had refused hers to Pat!
Oh, had her pet been him whose glory
And title were won on the field,
Less bloodless had ended this story,
More easy her hand had been Heald!