The miner owning the mule, was just going to his work; and pointed out the animal to Guinane. It was grazing on the hill-side, about half a mile distant from our tents. In addition to pointing it out, the owner described it to be a brown mule, with rat tail, and hog mane.
He then brought the saddle and bridle out of his tent; and, placing them at Dick’s disposal, went off to his work.
Dick proceeded towards the hill, caught and saddled the mule, and, bidding me good-day, rode off on his journey.
I was expecting him back that evening; but he did not return. I felt no concern on account of his remaining absent all that night. The next day was Sunday; and knowing that he would not be wanted to do any work on the claim, he might, for some purpose that did not concern me, have chosen to stay all night in the town.
Sunday evening came, without Guinane; and, fearing that some accident might have befallen him, I resolved to start next morning for the post-office, should he not return before that time.
The next morning came, without bringing back the absentee; and I set out in search of him.
After going about five miles, I met him returning; and, to my surprise, I saw that he was afoot! I was still more surprised as he drew near, and I obtained a close view of his face and features. Never in my life had I seen such a change in the person of any individual, in so short a time. He seemed at least ten years older, than when he left me at the diggings two days before.
His face was pale and haggard; and there was a wild fiendish expression in his eyes, that was fearful to behold. I could not have believed the eyes of Richard Guinane capable of such an expression. His clothing was torn to rags, bedaubed with dirt, and spotted with dry blood. In short, his whole appearance was that of a man who had been badly abused.
“What has happened?” I asked, mechanically—as soon as my surprise at his appearance permitted me to speak.
“I can’t tell now,” said he, speaking with much difficulty. “I must have water.”