le purpose of screening myself from view and quenching my thirst,
which was becoming almost unbearable. Sick and hungry, I started in
quest of Bear Creek; and after traveling about an hour, I realized the
fact that I had become lost in the fog. Previous to this discovery, I
had passed within sight of several houses, but not knowing all the
inhuman wretches who were hunting me down, I durst not apply within
for food, and shelter from the cold, chilling fog, for fear of
encountering some one in sympathy with the mob, if not one of the
actual participants. Upon finding that I was lost, I began to blame
myself for not going boldly into one of the several farm houses,
making myself known, requesting food and a conveyance to Fresno or
Modesto, to deliver myself up to a sheriff who was not an actual
participant in the mob, much less in sympathy with the same.

But I kept up my courage, and tried to discover my bearings. I thought
I must be somewhere near Mariposa Creek; so trudging along for about
two hours longer, I found that I had guessed rightly, and I struck the
above mentioned creek about a mile or two north of the railroad
crossing, and knew my whereabouts to a certainty. I clambered down its
steep banks on one side and up on the other, when I espied a man about
one hundred yards distant, armed with a rifle. Although the fog still
continued to hang over the valley, I was fearful lest he had seen me.
Immediately upon sighting him, I couched down in the tall grass, which
grew quite rank on the banks of the creek at this particular spot, and
cautiously raised my head to see if I had been discovered; as I did
so, I perceived he had seen me. He was about sixty or eighty yards
off, was standing with his face toward me, and had just made a
movement to approach my hiding place, when with a sudden impulse I
seized a long shovel handle (which I had picked up early in the
morning, for use as a walking stick), and lying flat on my stomach,
brought it to bear on the man. My ruse was successful. He evidently
took the harmless weapon for a rifle, and immediately disappeared in
the fog, going up the creek.

This man, whoever he was, no doubt, thinks to this day, that some one
took him for Granice, and that he ran a narrow risk of being
shot--with a shovel handle. As I said before, he took up the creek,
and I proceeded down, and about four o'clock I struck the railroad
crossing seven or eight miles from Merced. Still keeping on the nor