an nature and in
prospecting native resources. He was not interested in mining not
yet. With a boy named John Kinney he made an excursion to Lake
Bigler--now Tahoe--and located a timber claim, really of great
value. They were supposed to build a fence around it, but they were
too full of the enjoyment of camp-life to complete it. They put in
most of their time wandering through the stately forest or drifting
over the transparent lake in a boat left there by lumbermen. They
built themselves a brush house, but they did not sleep in it. In
'Roughing It' he writes, "It never occurred to us, for one thing;
and, besides, it was built to hold the ground, and that was enough.
We did not wish to strain it."

They were having a glorious time, when their camp-fire got away from
them and burned up their claim. His next letter, of which the
beginning is missing, describes the fire.

Fragment of a letter to Mrs. Jane Clemens and Mrs. Moffett, in St.
Louis:

... The level ranks of flame were relieved at intervals by the
standard-bearers, as we called the tall dead trees, wrapped in fire, and
waving their blazing banners a hundred feet in the air. Then we could
turn from this scene to the Lake, and see every branch, and leaf, and
cataract of flame upon its bank perfectly reflected as in a gleaming,
fiery mirror. The mighty roaring of the conflagration, together with our
solitary and somewhat unsafe position (for there was no one within six
miles of us,) rendered the scene very impressive. Occasionally, one of
us would remove his pipe from his mouth and say, "Superb! magnificent!
Beautiful! but-by the Lord God Almighty, if we attempt to sleep in this
little patch tonight, we'll never live till morning! for if we don't
burn up, we'll certainly suffocate." But he was persuaded to sit up
until we felt pretty safe as far as the fire was concerned, and then we
turned in, with many misgivings. When we got up in the morning, we found
that the fire had burned small pieces of drift wood within six feet of
our boat, and had made its way to within 4 or 5 steps of us on the
South side. We looked like lava men, covered as we were with ashes, and
begrimed with smoke. We were very black in the face, but we soon washed
ourselves white again.

John D. Kinney, a Cincinnati boy, and a first-rate fellow, too, who came
out with judge Turner, was my comrade. We staid at the