I was now in a region of country so mountainous as to be perfectly impassable for wheeled vehicles. All supplies were brought to the various trading posts from Marysville on trains of pack-mules.
“Packing,” as it is called, is a large business. A packer has in his train from thirty to fifty mules, and four or five Mexicans to tend them—mule-driving, or “packing,” being one of the few occupations to which Mexicans devote themselves; and at this they certainly do excel. Though generally a lazy, indolent people, it is astonishing what activity and energy they display in an employment which suits their fancy. They drive the mules about twenty-five miles a day; and in camping for the night, they have to select a place where there is water, and where there is also some sort of picking for the mules, which, in the dry season, when every blade of vegetation is burned up, is rather hard to find.
I came across a train of about forty mules, under charge of four or five Mexicans, just as they were about to unpack, and make their camp. The spot they chose was a little grassy hollow in the middle of the woods, near which flowed a small stream of beautifully clear water. It was evidently a favorite camping ground, from the numbers of signs of old fires. The mules seemed to know it too, for they all stopped and commenced picking the grass. The Mexicans, who were riding tough little Californian horses, immediately dismounted and began to unpack, working with such vigor that one might have thought they were doing it for a wager.
Two men unpack a mule together. They first throw over his head a broad leathern belt, which hangs over his eyes to blind him and keep him quiet; then, one man standing on each side, they cast off the numerous hide ropes with which the cargo is secured; and when all is cast loose, each man removes his half of the cargo and places it on the ground. Another mule is then led up to the same spot, and unpacked in like manner; the cargo being all ranged along the ground in a row, and presenting a very miscellaneous assortment of sacks of flour, barrels of pork or brandy, bags of sugar, boxes of tobacco, and all sorts of groceries and other articles. When all the cargoes have been unpacked, they then take off the aparejos, or large Mexican pack-saddles, examining the back of each mule to see if it is galled. The pack-saddles are all set down in a row parallel with the cargo, the girth and saddle-cloth of each being neatly folded and laid on the top of it. The place where the mules have been unpacked, between the saddles and the cargo, is covered with quantities of rawhide ropes and other lashings, which are all coiled up and stowed away in a heap by themselves.
Every mule, as his saddle is taken off, refreshes himself by rolling about in the dust; and when all are unsaddled, the bell-horse is led away to water. The mules all follow him, and are left to their own devices till morning.
The bell-horse of a train of mules is a very curious institution. He is generally an old white horse, with a small bell hung round his neck. He carries no cargo, but leads the van in tow of a Mexican. The mules will follow him through thick and thin, but without him they will not move a step.
In the morning the mules are hunted up and driven into camp, when they are tied together in a row behind their pack-saddles, and brought round one by one to be saddled and packed. To pack a mule well, considerable art is necessary. His load must be so divided that there is an equal weight on each side, else the mule works at great disadvantage. If his load is not nicely balanced and tightly secured, he cannot so well pick his way along the steep mountain trails, and, as not unfrequently happens, topples over and rolls down to some place from which no mule returns.
CHAPTER XII
SITTERS FOR PORTRAITS
I ARRIVED about dusk at a ranch called the “Grass Valley House,” situated in a forest of pines. It was a clapboard house, built round an old log cabin which formed one corner of the building, and was now the private apartment of the landlord and his wife. I was here only six miles from Foster’s Bar, and set out for that place in the morning; but I made a mistake somewhere, and followed a wrong trail, which led me to a river, after walking six or seven miles without meeting any one of whom I could ascertain whether I was going right or not. The descent to the river was very steep, and as I went down I had misgivings that I was all wrong, and should have to come up again, but I expected at least to find some one there who could put me right. After scrambling down the best way I could, and reaching the river, I was disappointed to find nothing but the remains of an old tent; there was not even a sign of any work having been done there. The river flowed among huge masses of rock, from which the banks rose so steep and rugged that to follow the course of the stream seemed out of the question. I thought, however, that I could distinguish marks here and there on the rocks, as if caused by traveling over them, and these I followed with considerable difficulty for about half a mile, when they stopped at a place where the blackened rocks, the remains of burned wood, and a lot of old sardine-boxes, showed that some one had been camped. Here I fancied I could make out a trail going straight up the face of the hill, on the same side of the river by which I had come down. It looked a hard road to travel, but I preferred trying it to retracing my steps, especially as I judged it would be a shorter way back to the house I had started from.
I got on very well for a short distance, but very soon lost all sign of a trail. I was determined, however, to make my way up, which I did by dint of catching hold of branches of trees and bushes; and on my hands I had to place my greatest dependence, for the loose soil was covered with large stones, which gave way under my feet, and which I could hear rolling down far below me. Sometimes I came to a bare face of rock, up which I had to work my passage by means of the crevices and projecting ledges. It was useless to consider whether more formidable obstacles were still before me; my only chance was to go ahead, for if I had attempted to go down again, I should have found the descent rather too easy, and probably have broken my neck. It was dreadfully hot, and I was carrying my blankets slung over my shoulder, which, catching on trees and rocks, impeded my progress considerably; and though I was in pretty good condition for this sort of work, I had several times to get astride of a tree and take a spell.