We made a memorandum of the direction, and soon after retired to sleep. In the morning we broke camp, and continued our journey, keeping the cache constantly in mind. When we reached the spot indicated, we opened the grave, and found the sack of flour, as our friends of a night had told us we should find it. The soil where it lay was quite dry, and the flour might have been left there for months without serious injury, beyond growing a little musty.
A grave is regarded with respect by nearly all white men and by most savages. Consequently a cache is frequently made in the form of a grave. A head-board bearing the name, residence, and age of a fictitious dead man, serves to complete the deception, and is likewise useful in describing the cache so that it can be found. All sorts of articles can be placed in the grave, provided they are not of a character to attract wild animals and cause them to dig. In certain localities, the animals, when hungry, will dig into a real grave, and exhume the body to devour it. Thus it happens that the fact that a mound has not been disturbed by beasts sometimes reveals its character to a keen-eyed observer, and tells him that it is a cache, containing something else than the remains of a luckless traveller.
DECEIVING A DRUNKARD.
In a journey from Denver to New Mexico, in the autumn of 1860, our party contained one man whose appetite for whiskey was of the keenest and most insatiable. In making up our outfit, we had left a portion of the purchases to him, and he had bought about six times as much fire-water as we really needed. On the first and second day he managed to get as drunk as a Tammany repeater at election time, and was neither ornamental nor useful. On the second night, while he was sleeping, and possibly dreaming of a paradise where there were rivers of pure Bourbon, and no charge to bathers and drinkers, we arranged a plan to bring him to grief. We took a keg of whiskey from our wagon, and cached it a little way from camp. We threw the dirt into the creek, and built a fire over the place of concealment, so that there was no trace of what we had done. In the morning we kept him away from the wagon until we were several miles on the road, and as he had a bottle at his command he did not discover the loss until night.
But when he did discover it, there was trouble in the camp. We dared not tell the truth, for fear he would insist upon returning to recover the treasure. So we feigned ignorance, thought it must have been lost on the road, or left in Denver, or, possibly, the driver had stolen it. We were all certain that it had not been left at the camp, as we had followed the universal custom of emigrants on the plains, and carefully examined the ground after the wagon had started.
To console himself, he went into a condition of blind drunkenness, and remained in it till morning. At this camp we cached a couple of bottles of whiskey, and then solemnly averred, next morning, that he had swallowed them. To all his denials we were incredulous, and we narrated, with great minuteness, how he drank one bottle after another, filling a pint cup at a time, and draining it at a gulp. He finally began to believe that we were right, and for the rest of the journey he kept comparatively sober.
TWO-BOTTLE CAMP.
On our return, two weeks later, we had a long day’s journey before us to reach “Two-Bottle Camp,” as we had named it. In the morning we made a general confession to the old fellow, and owned up to the theft and concealment of the bottles. His rage at the deception practised upon him was great, but it was not equal to his joy at knowing there was happiness ahead. Never on the whole journey did he exert himself more than on that day to keep the wagon in motion, and enable us to reach the whiskey-hunting ground by sunset. To him the camp of the Two Bottles was like a harbor for which the storm-tossed mariner hopes and prays when the gale is upon him, and his ship is lying at the mercy of the wind; and as soon as we reached it, he made a rapid break for the cache, and opened it before the wagon was fairly halted.
He forgave us everything, and for that evening we had a millennium on a small scale. We compelled him to retain one bottle for the festivities of the next evening, as we wanted him to go to town sober, and consequently determined to exhume the keg, and put it in the wagon without his knowledge. Everything was lovely; the keg was secured, and when we reached Denver, we pretended to discover it in the office whence we had started.