"Yes," said he, "I thought so too; at the same time, I thought I would just step into a faro bank and win just enough to pay my passage home so that I would have even money when I got home. But instead of that I lost every dollar I had and I am going back into the mountains again. My readers know the rest."
My friends this is only one of thousands who had the same experience.
In 1868 "the girl I left behind me" went East on a visit of six months, taking with her our two children.
In the fall of that year (1868) I went to White Pine in Nevada. It was a very cold trip for me and I came home in June "thawed out," sold out my grocery business and went into the produce commission business and followed it for ten years.
Martin J. Burke.
Chief of Police Martin J. Burke I knew very well in the early sixties. He was a genial and good natured man, well liked by everybody who knew him. I went to him one time with a curb bit for a bridle which would bring the curb rein into action with only one pair of reins. He was much pleased with it and used one for a long while. George C. Shreve, the jeweler, had one also, as did Charles Kohler, of the firm of Kohler & Frohling, wine men of San Francisco. He offered me $3000 for my right but I refused it. I applied for a patent only to find that another was about twenty years ahead of me.
The Donahue Brothers.
James, Peter and Michael Donahue, the founders of the Union Iron Works on First and Mission streets, were three honorable, upright and just men. Their works have since been removed to the Potrero south of the Third and Townsend streets depot of the Southern Pacific Co., and have of late passed into the hands of the United Steel Corporation. They are the largest of their kind on the Pacific Coast and stand a monument to their founders. James Dunahue built and owned the Occidental Hotel on Montgomery street between Sutter and Bush streets. Peter Donahue had the foundry and machine shop. At one time there was a little misunderstanding understanding between the two and they did not speak to each other for quite a while. During this time Peter started to build an addition of brick on the north side of the foundry, got up one story and stopped. The two brothers met one day opposite the unfinished building and James said, "Peter why don't you go on and finish your building?" Peter replied, "I have not got money enough." "Oh!" said James, "go ahead and finish it up and I will let you have all the money you want." 'From that time on they resumed their brotherly relations. Peter went on in his business. His last venture was to build the Petaluma railroad. Both are now dead. Michael went East early in the '50s and I knew very little of him.
The Take of A Young Bull.
In 1870 I was in the produce commission business in San Francisco and had a consignor in Vacaville by the name of G. N. Platt who had been presented with a fine young bull by Frank M. Pixley, who lived in Sausalito, in the hills about two miles from town. Mr. Platt requested me to go and get the bull and ship him to Vacaville, so I left next morning for Sausalito. Here I sought a man who could throw the lasso. After two hours I found the man I wanted. He had the mustangs and all the necessary equipment. We mounted and left for Mr. Pixley's residence where we were informed that the animal we wanted was somewhere in the hills with the other cattle. This was rather indefinite information, but we had to make the best of it and started out. Our mustangs were well calculated for the occasion and we went over the hills like kites. Finally we saw some cattle about a mile away and we made for them, found what we were in search of and made for him. He had horns about two inches long and was as light on his feet as a deer, and gave us a lively chase for about one hour. When we had him at the end of a rope he was determined to go just the opposite way than we wanted him to, but the man and the mustang at the other end of the rope had their way part of the time, so after about two hours hard fighting we succeeded in getting the little fellow down to the wharf where I found that there would not be another boat until after dark, so I concluded to wait and come over in the morning and ship him. The next thing was to dispose of the bull for the night. I said, "Here is a coal bunker, we will put him in here." So after getting permission we started for it with the bull at one end of the rope and the vaquero at the other. The bull got a little the better of the man and went up the wharf full tilt with the vaquero in tow. The vaquero said, "There is a post on the wharf, the bull will go one side and I will go the other and round him up." But he got rounded up himself and left sprawled out on the wharf. This let the curtain down for the night and the bull went back to the hills with the rope. I returned to San Francisco, went back in the morning, hunted up my man and mustangs, mounted and went into the hills again for my bull. This was a bully ride, I enjoyed it hugely, found our game about noon, picked up the rope with the bull on the end of it. He was still wild and full of resistance. He was the hardest fellow of his size that I ever attempted to handle. We made our way back to the landing, found the boat waiting. I called the boat hands to help put him on board. They came. I put one at his head, one on each side and one behind, and they all had as much as they wanted to keep control of him. Finally he was made fast on the boat. While on our way to San Francisco a lady from the upper deck called down to me, saying, "I will give you one hundred dollars for that bull." I said, "No, madam, you cannot have him, he is going into the country for business."