might and main at
the little church in the distance, we beheld a body of horsemen coming
slowly over the Verdant plains, and soon after they drew bridles, and
dismounted before us. The _cavallada_ of spare horses were driven into
the corral near by, and we were presented in due form to the riders. It
was the most impressive little band I ever beheld; they numbered sixty,
and, without exception, had gaunt bony frames like steel, dressed in
skins, with heavy beards and unshorn faces, with each man his solid
American rifle, and huge knife by the hip. With all their wildness and
ferocious appearance they had quite simple manners, and were perfectly
frank and respectful in bearing. Their language and phraseology were
certainly difficult for a stranger to comprehend, for many of them had
passed the greater portion of their lives as trappers and hunters among
the Rocky Mountains; but there was an air of indomitable courage
hovering about them, with powers to endure any amount of toil or
privation--men who wouldn't stick at scalping an Indian or a dinner of
mule meat;--and you felt assured in regarding them, that with a score of
such staunch fellows at your side you would sleep soundly, even though
the forests were alive with an atmosphere of Camanche yells. They were
the woodsmen of our far west, who on hearing of the disturbances in
California enrolled themselves for service in the Volunteer
Battalion--more by way of recreation, I imagine, than for glory or
patriotism. In truth, the natives had good reason to regard them with
terror.

We soon became quite sociable, and after a hearty supper of fried beef
and biscuit, by some miraculous dispensation a five-gallon keg of
whiskey was uncorked, and, after a thirty days' thirst, our new-found
friends slaked away unremittingly. Many were the marvellous adventures
narrated of huntings, fightings, freezings, snowings, and starvations;
and one stalwart bronzed trapper beside me, finding an attentive
listener, began,--"The last time, Captin, I cleared the Oregon trail,
the Ingens fowt us amazin' hard. Pete," said he, addressing a friend
smoking a clay pipe by the fire, with a half pint of corn-juice in his
hand, which served to moisten his own clay at intervals between every
puff,--"Pete, do you notice how I dropped the red skin who pit the
poisoned arrer in my moccasin! Snakes, Captin, the varmints lay thick as
leaves behind the rocks; and bless ye, the minit I let fall old Ginger
f