Connecticut to California in 1851, he
soon made a small fortune in mining, buying and selling gold-dust, and
providing the diggers with ice and water for their work. He rode over
the country in those lawless times selling the precious dust disguised
as a poverty-stricken good-for-naught, with trusty revolver always in
his right hand on the pommel of the saddle--the handsome green saddle
covered with an old potato sack. In this way he evaded the very men who
had been on his track for weeks. Once he came near capture. He passed a
bad-looking lot of horsemen, one of whom had a deep red scar the whole
length of his cheek. He got by safely, but one, looking round,
exclaimed, "My God! That's Horton! I see the green saddle." And back
they dashed to kill him and gain his treasure, but he escaped into a
canon, and they lost their one chance.

At another time he had $3500 in gold in his belt, and at a tavern of
poor repute he could hear through cracks in the floor of his bedroom the
gamblers below laughing about the old greenhorn above who had his supper
of mush and milk and had asked for a lock on his door.

Returning East _via_ Panama in 1856, he proved himself a hero and a
soldier during the terrible riot there. The natives, angry because they
had lost the money they used to make in transporting passengers,
attacked the foreigners, killing and plundering all who came in their
way, the police turning traitors and aiding them. The hotel was
attacked, and among all the passengers only three were armed. Mr. Horton
and these two young men stood at the top of the stairs and shot all who
tried to get nearer. When they fell back eight rioters were dead and
others wounded. Then Mr. Horton formed the two hundred passengers in
order and marched them off to a lighter, and put them aboard the
steamer. About half this number wanted to go on to San Francisco, but
had lost all their money and baggage. Mr. Ralston and Mr. Horton helped
many to pay their passage, but not one person was ever heard of again,
not one cent was returned, not even one word of gratitude or good
intentions.

Up to the period which is known as the boom of 1870-71, the history of
San Diego was so interwoven and closely connected with the life of Mr.
Horton that the story of one is inseparable from that of the other.

When Mr. Horton came from San Francisco to see the wonderful harbor
described by friends, there was nothing there but two old buildings, the
barren hill