When he heard their story Ephraim was sympathetic, but he could not offer much in the way of consolation except to assure them that they were bound to catch the man, for he appeared to be “right poorly.” There was no possibility of their pushing on that night, for old Joe, anxious as he was to continue the pursuit, decided that his dogs must have rest. So they spent the evening with Ephraim, who brought out an old violin and amused them by executing jigs and double shuffles while his old fiddle squeaked out the “Arkansas Traveler” and other lively airs.
After Ephraim had exhausted his repertoire they sat about the big stove and talked. Ephraim was a lively companion, and was frankly glad of company. He “allowed it was plum lonesome with nothing but Injuns and mamelukes fer company.” It was not necessary to attempt to join in his incessant flow of talk. He talked like a man who has pent up his thoughts and words for months and lets them go in a flood of conversation.
The talk turned to California, which Ephraim “’lowed was a white man’s country, fer sure.” He wished he was back there. What a climate it was! What wonderful air!
“Why,” declared Ephraim, “that air out thar is so wonderful deceiving that two fellers who set out fer the mountains from a plains town, thinking the hills weren’t but two miles away, rode two days without gettin’ any closer to ’em. Then they come at last to a river. One of ’em was fer crossing it, but the other, he 'lowed they wouldn’t. ‘It don’t look to be more’n a few feet across,’ says he, ‘but in this climate it’s liable ter be Christmas afore we ford it,’ an’ so they come back ag’in,” he concluded.
“'Nother time I’ve got in mind,” he went on, while his auditors gasped, “a friend of mine went fishin’. He was known as the most truthful man in the San Juaquin Valley, so there ain’t no reason ter suppose that his word wasn’t gospel truth and nothin’ else. Anyhow, he was known as a mighty good shot and right handy with his shootin’ iron, so nobody ever was hearn to doubt his word.
“Well, sir, as I’m a-saying, William Bing—that was his name, gents, William Bing—went a fishin’. He went up in the mountains, where the air is even clearer than it is on the plains. Bing, he moseyed along, lookin’ fer a likely place and totin’ his pole, when all at once he happened ter look down over a bluff, and what do you think he seen? Right below him thar was a fine hole in a big creek, and right in that hole, gents, William Bing, he seen hundreds and hundreds of trout and black bass swimming about so thick they was regularly crowdin’ one another.
“Bing says he could see their gills pumpin’ an’ their fins wavin’ jes’ like they was a-sayin’, ‘Hello, Bill! We’re waitin’ fer you. Throw us down a line and a bite ter eat, old sport.’ Waal, Bing, he didn’t lose no time in lettin’ down his line. He figgered it was erbout a hundred feet down to that hole, and he had a hundred and fifty feet on his pole. But he fished and fished all that mornin’ without getting a bite, not even a nibble. An’ thar below he could see all them fish swimmin’ about and every now and then looking up at him sort of appealin’ like. Bing says it looked jes’ as if they wanted to be caught and was reproaching him fer not doin’ the job an’ doin’ it quick.
“Bing, he reckoned something was wrong, so he changed his bait. But still nary a bite. Then he changed it again. Not a flicker, and there was those fish jumping around like peas on a griddle. It was plum aggervatin’, Bing 'lowed, and he couldn’t figger it out noways.
“He ate his lunch up thar on the top of the bluff, and then he decided that he’d kinder investigate the mystery of why those fish didn’t bite. He kind of pussyfoots around on the top of the bluff fer a while, and then he finds a place whar he reckons he can climb down right by that pool and dig inter the mystery in due and legal form.
“He sticks his pole in the bluff, leaving his bait on the end of the line, thinking that maybe he’ll git a bite while he’s carryin’ on his investigations. Then Bing, he starts to climb down. Waal, sirs, he clumb and clumb, did William Bing, and at last he got to the bottom. And then what do you suppose he found out?