It
was
somewhere
in
the
neighborhood
of
Mono
Lake
that
the
marvellous Whiteman
cement
mine
was
supposed
to
lie.
Every
now
and
then
it
would
be
reported
that
Mr. W. had
passed
stealthily
through
Esmeralda
at
dead
of
night,
in
disguise,
and
then
we
would
have
a wild excitement—because
he
must
be
steering
for
his
secret
mine,
and
now
was
the
time
to
follow
him.
In
less
than
three
hours
after
daylight
all
the
horses
and
mules
and
donkeys
in
the
vicinity
would
be
bought,
hired
or
stolen,
and
half
the
community
would
be
off
for
the
mountains,
following
in
the
wake
of
Whiteman.
But
W.
would
drift
about
through
the
mountain
gorges
for
days
together,
in
a purposeless
sort
of
way,
until
the
provisions
of
the
miners
ran
out,
and
they
would
have
to
go
back
home. I
have
known
it
reported
at
eleven
at
night,
in
a
large
mining camp,
that
Whiteman had
just
passed
through,
and
in
two
hours
the
streets,
so
quiet
before,
would
be
swarming
with
men
and
animals.
Every
individual
would
be
trying
to
be
very
secret,
but
yet
venturing
to
whisper
to
just
one
neighbor
that
W. had
passed
through.
And
long
before
daylight—this
in
the
dead
of
Winter—the stampede
would
be
complete,
the
camp
deserted,
and
the
whole
population
gone
chasing
after
W.
The
tradition
was
that
in
the
early
immigration,
more
than
twenty
years
ago,
three
young
Germans, brothers,
who
had
survived
an
Indian
massacre
on
the
Plains,
wandered
on
foot
through
the
deserts,
avoiding
all
trails
and
roads,
and
simply holding a
westerly
direction
and
hoping
to
find
California
before
they
starved,
or
died
of
fatigue.
And
in
a
gorge
in
the
mountains
they
sat
down
to
rest
one
day,
when
one
of
them
noticed a
curious
vein
of
cement
running
along
the
ground,
shot
full
of
lumps
of
dull
yellow
metal.
They
saw
that
it
was
gold,
and
that
here
was
a
fortune
to
be
acquired
in
a single day.
The
vein
was
about
as
wide
as
a curbstone,
and
fully
two
thirds
of
it
was
pure
gold.
Every
pound
of
the
wonderful
cement
was
worth
well-nigh
$200.
Each
of
the
brothers
loaded
himself
with
about
twenty-five
pounds
of
it,
and
then
they
covered
up
all
traces
of
the
vein,
made
a
rude
drawing
of
the
locality
and
the
principal
landmarks
in
the
vicinity,
and
started
westward
again.
But
troubles
thickened
about
them.
In
their
wanderings
one
brother
fell
and
broke
his
leg,
and
the
others
were
obliged
to
go
on
and
leave
him
to
die
in
the
wilderness. Another,
worn
out
and
starving, gave
up
by
and
by,
and
laid
down
to
die,
but
after
two
or
three
weeks
of
incredible
hardships,
the
third
reached
the
settlements
of
California
exhausted, sick,
and
his
mind
deranged
by
his
sufferings.
He
had thrown
away
all
his
cement
but
a
few
fragments,
but
these
were
sufficient
to
set
everybody wild
with
excitement. However,
he
had had
enough
of
the
cement
country,
and
nothing
could
induce
him
to
lead a
party
thither.
He
was
entirely
content
to
work
on
a
farm
for
wages.
But
he
gave Whiteman
his
map,
and
described
the
cement
region
as
well
as
he
could
and
thus
transferred
the
curse
to
that
gentleman—for
when
I had my
one
accidental
glimpse
of
Mr. W.
in
Esmeralda
he
had been
hunting
for
the
lost mine,
in
hunger
and
thirst,
poverty
and
sickness,
for
twelve
or
thirteen
years.
Some
people
believed
he
had found it,
but
most
people
believed
he
had not. I
saw
a
piece
of
cement
as
large
as
my
fist
which
was
said
to
have
been
given
to
Whiteman
by
the
young
German,
and
it
was
of
a
seductive
nature. Lumps
of
virgin
gold
were
as
thick
in
it
as
raisins
in
a
slice
of
fruit
cake.
The
privilege
of
working
such
a
mine
one
week
would
be
sufficient
for
a
man
of
reasonable
desires. A
new
partner
of
ours, a Mr. Higbie,
knew
Whiteman
well
by
sight,
and
a
friend
of
ours, a Mr. Van Dorn,
was
well
acquainted
with
him,
and
not
only
that,
but
had Whiteman's
promise
that
he
should
have
a
private
hint
in
time
to
enable
him
to
join
the
next
cement
expedition. Van Dorn had
promised
to
extend
the
hint
to
us.
One
evening
Higbie came
in
greatly
excited,
and
said
he
felt
certain
he
had
recognized
Whiteman,
up
town, disguised
and
in
a pretended
state
of
intoxication.
In
a
little
while
Van Dorn
arrived
and
confirmed
the
news;
and
so
we
gathered
in
our
cabin
and
with
heads
close
together
arranged
our
plans
in
impressive whispers.
We
were
to
leave
town
quietly,
after
midnight,
in
two
or
three
small parties,
so
as
not
to
attract
attention,
and
meet
at
dawn
on
the
"divide"
overlooking
Mono Lake,
eight
or
nine
miles
distant.
We
were
to
make
no
noise
after
starting,
and
not
speak
above
a whisper
under
any
circumstances.
It
was
believed
that
for
once
Whiteman's
presence
was
unknown
in
the
town
and
his
expedition
unsuspected.
Our
conclave
broke
up
at
nine
o'clock,
and
we
set
about
our
preparation
diligently
and
with
profound
secrecy.
At
eleven
o'clock
we
saddled
our
horses, hitched
them
with
their
long
riatas
(or lassos),
and
then
brought
out
a
side
of
bacon, a sack
of
beans, a small sack
of
coffee,
some
sugar, a
hundred
pounds
of
flour
in
sacks,
some
tin
cups
and
a
coffee
pot,
frying
pan
and
some
few
other
necessary
articles.
All
these
things
were
"packed"
on
the
back
of
a led horse—and
whoever
has
not
been taught,
by
a
Spanish
adept,
to
pack
an
animal,
let
him
never
hope
to
do
the
thing
by
natural
smartness.
That
is
impossible. Higbie had had
some
experience,
but
was
not
perfect.
He
put
on
the
pack
saddle
(a
thing
like
a saw-buck),
piled
the
property
on
it
and
then
wound
a rope
all
over
and
about
it
and
under
it, "every
which
way,"
taking
a hitch
in
it
every
now
and
then,
and
occasionally
surging
back
on
it
till
the
horse's
sides
sunk
in
and
he
gasped
for
breath—but
every
time
the
lashings
grew
tight
in
one
place
they
loosened
in
another.
We
never
did
get
the
load
tight
all
over,
but
we
got
it
so
that
it
would
do,
after
a fashion,
and
then
we
started,
in
single file, close order,
and
without
a word.
It
was
a dark night.
We
kept
the
middle
of
the
road,
and
proceeded
in
a
slow
walk past
the
rows
of
cabins,
and
whenever a
miner
came
to
his
door
I
trembled
for
fear
the
light
would
shine
on
us
an
excite
curiosity.
But
nothing
happened.
We
began
the
long
winding
ascent
of
the
canyon,
toward
the
"divide,"
and
presently
the
cabins
began
to
grow infrequent,
and
the
intervals
between
them
wider
and
wider,
and
then
I began
to
breathe
tolerably
freely
and
feel
less
like
a
thief
and
a murderer. I
was
in
the
rear, leading
the
pack
horse.
As
the
ascent
grew
steeper
he
grew
proportionately
less
satisfied
with
his
cargo,
and
began
to
pull
back
on
his
riata
occasionally
and
delay
progress. My
comrades
were
passing
out
of
sight
in
the
gloom. I
was
getting
anxious. I coaxed
and
bullied
the
pack
horse
till
I presently got
him
into
a trot,
and
then
the
tin
cups
and
pans
strung
about
his
person
frightened
him
and
he
ran.
His
riata
was
wound
around
the
pummel
of
my saddle,
and
so,
as
he
went
by
he
dragged
me
from
my
horse
and
the
two
animals traveled
briskly
on
without
me.
But
I
was
not
alone—the loosened
cargo
tumbled
overboard
from
the
pack
horse
and
fell
close
to
me.
It
was
abreast
of
almost
the
last
cabin. A
miner
came
out
and
said: "Hello!" I
was
thirty
steps
from
him,
and
knew
he
could
not
see
me,
it
was
so
very
dark
in
the
shadow
of
the
mountain.
So
I
lay
still.
Another
head
appeared
in
the
light
of
the
cabin
door,
and
presently
the
two
men walked
toward
me.
They
stopped
within
ten
steps
of
me,
and
one
said: "Sh! Listen." I
could
not
have
been
in
a
more
distressed
state
if
I had been
escaping
justice
with
a
price
on
my head.
Then
the
miners
appeared
to
sit
down
on
a boulder,
though
I
could
not
see
them
distinctly
enough
to
be
very
sure
what
they
did.
One
said: "I
heard
a noise,
as
plain
as
I
ever
heard
anything.
It
seemed
to
be
about
there—" A
stone
whizzed
by
my head. I flattened
myself
out
in
the
dust
like
a postage stamp,
and
thought
to
myself
if
he
mended
his
aim
ever
so
little
he
would
probably
hear
another
noise.
In
my heart, now, I
execrated
secret
expeditions. I
promised
myself
that
this
should
be
my last,
though
the
Sierras
were
ribbed
with
cement
veins.
Then
one
of
the
men said: "I'll
tell
you
what!
Welch
knew
what
he
was
talking
about
when
he
said
he
saw
Whiteman to-day. I
heard
horses—that
was
the
noise. I
am
going
down
to
Welch's,
right
away."
They
left
and
I
was
glad. I
did
not
care
whither
they
went,
so
they
went. I
was
willing
they
should
visit
Welch,
and
the
sooner
the
better.
As
soon
as
they
closed
their
cabin
door
my
comrades
emerged
from
the
gloom;
they
had
caught
the
horses
and
were
waiting
for
a clear
coast
again.
We
remounted
the
cargo
on
the
pack
horse
and
got
under
way,
and
as
day
broke
we
reached
the
"divide"
and
joined
Van Dorn.
Then
we
journeyed
down
into
the
valley
of
the
Lake,
and
feeling secure,
we
halted
to
cook breakfast,
for
we
were
tired
and
sleepy
and
hungry.
Three
hours
later
the
rest
of
the
population
filed
over
the
"divide"
in
a
long
procession,
and
drifted
off
out
of
sight
around
the
borders
of
the
Lake!
Whether
or
not
my
accident
had produced
this
result
we
never
knew,
but
at
least
one
thing
was
certain—the
secret
was
out
and
Whiteman
would
not
enter
upon
a
search
for
the
cement
mine
this
time.
We
were
filled
with
chagrin.
We
held
a
council
and
decided
to
make
the
best
of
our
misfortune
and
enjoy
a week's
holiday
on
the
borders
of
the
curious
Lake. Mono,
it
is
sometimes called,
and
sometimes
the
"Dead
Sea
of
California."
It
is
one
of
the
strangest
freaks
of
Nature
to
be
found
in
any
land,
but
it
is
hardly
ever
mentioned
in
print
and
very
seldom
visited,
because
it
lies
away
off
the
usual
routes
of
travel
and
besides
is
so
difficult
to
get
at
that
only
men
content
to
endure
the
roughest
life
will
consent
to
take
upon
themselves
the
discomforts
of
such
a trip.
On
the
morning
of
our
second
day,
we
traveled
around
to
a
remote
and
particularly wild
spot
on
the
borders
of
the
Lake,
where
a
stream
of
fresh,
ice-cold
water
entered
it
from
the
mountain
side,
and
then
we
went regularly
into
camp.
We
hired
a
large
boat
and
two
shot-guns
from
a lonely ranchman
who
lived
some
ten
miles
further
on,
and
made
ready
for
comfort
and
recreation.
We
soon
got
thoroughly
acquainted
with
the
Lake
and
all
its
peculiarities.