which was more money than he ever had before, or could ever expect to
have again, which meant that he would bet that amount for whatever sum
the dealer could show to meet it on the turn of one card. He lost, and
the dealer showed $1,800 in the bank and took all his money. Monte is
the great National gambling game of Mexico, and his idea of Paradise is
to be able to break a Monte bank.

Mr. B. from Kentucky, whom I took for so rich a nabob, referred to among
the passengers when out of New York. I saw him take out his gold watch,
a valuable one, and bet it behind the queen, on the game of Faro, for
$100. He was evidently about broke. It won. Then he went the $200, and
it won again. Then he went it the third time, and it won. In about
twenty minutes he had his watch back and $700, then he left. Some one
asked me a few months after that if I knew that he was worth $80,000? He
had been very lucky, and that he was to run for sheriff of San Francisco
county on the Democratic ticket, and that the Whigs had nominated Jack
Hayes, the celebrated Texan ranger. Hayes had been in the Mexican war.
It was told of him that when the American and Mexican armies were
encamped opposite each other, that a Mexican officer, splendidly
equipped, came forward on horseback, and challenged any American to meet
him in single combat between the two forces. Jack Hayes volunteered to
go, and he killed him. He took his horse, gold watch and personal
effects. He afterward learned who he was, and that he left a widow. He
sent all his personal effects to her as a present. Of course, we were
interested warmly on his side, and he was elected. They say Colonel B.
spent all his $80,000 on his side and was defeated. No reputable citizen
of San Francisco or business man would allow himself to be seen betting
at any of the public gambling tables. He would feel that he was losing
character. I am trying to portray the scenes of those days exactly as
they occurred, and if I left the gambling scenes out it would not be a
true history.

At first public offices went a begging; nobody wanted them. Fine
clothes were at a discount. He was looked upon as a tender-foot who knew
nothing about the gold regions. But a flannel-shirted, roughly-dressed
miner was the lion. He could tell something about the gold regions. The
governor appointed a loafer fellow, in the early days, Port Warden.
Nobody wanted it, and he was indorsed by one firm. As the city grew very
rapidly the off