m as they fleeced their
victims, the miners. One occasion I shall never forget. It was the
funeral of one of the prominent citizens of Oro Fino. The aforesaid
prominent citizen bore the euphonious cognomen of "Bob-up-the-creek."
Bob, probably at his christening, was given another name answers as well
as another, especially among the aristocracy of which Bob was an honored
member. Bob was a bad actor, too, especially when under the influence of
liquor. One Sunday Bob imbibed quite freely and finally "declared
himself chief." There were none who cared to dispute with Bob his self
assumed title, but he finally ran "up against" an old Frenchman who kept
a pie stand. Bob concluded to take possession of the stand, but his
right to do so was disputed by the Frenchman. To settle the dispute the
Frenchman emptied the contents of a double barreled shot gun into Bob's
head. That settled the dispute and likewise Bob.

Being a citizen of prominence, his friends and admirers determined to
give Bob a respectable send off. Accordingly a neat coffin was purchased
and Bob reverently placed therein. A procession was formed and from
fifty to seventy-five of his friends followed his remains to the newly
made cemetery on the hill. All were in full dress--black pantaloons,
checked flannel shirt with white collar, and with a revolver and knife
swung conveniently to the belt. Now, no self-respecting or prudent
gentleman of the class of which I am speaking, moved abroad in those
days without the ever handy knife and pistol. As the occasion was one of
importance, I followed after the procession. Arriving at the grave, the
coffin was placed upon two poles laid across the vault. The burial
service was then read by one of the mourners, a faro dealer, if my
memory serves me right, a solemn hymn was sung and then all that was
mortal of "Bob-up-the-creek" was consigned to the grave. Four lusty
mourners then began shoveling in the dirt. When the grave was about
two-thirds filled, a repulsive looking vagabond, the town drunk, threw
himself across the grave bellowing like a bull buffalo, and exclaiming
"here is a poor soul gone to eternity and not one tear shed over his
grave." Meanwhile the dirt kept falling--it appeared to me a little
faster, when the old drunk, seeing himself about to be buried alive,
crawled upon his feet, shaking himself very much as a wet dog is wont to
shake himself. This action was greeted with peals of laughter and shouts
from th