ion, and, when the
friends of a lot of condemned outlaws were threatening an attack with
general massacre, sent the famous message to Governor Nye: "All quiet
in Aurora. Five men will be hung in an hour." And it was quiet, and
the programme was carried out. But this is a digression and somewhat
premature.

Orion Clemens, anxious for laurels, established himself in the meager
fashion which he thought the government would approve; and his brother,
finding neither duties nor salary attached to his secondary position,
devoted himself mainly to the study of human nature as exhibited under
frontier conditions. Sometimes, when the nights were cool, he would
build a fire in the office stove, and, with Bob Howland and a few other
choice members of the "Brigade" gathered around, would tell river yarns
in that inimitable fashion which would win him devoted audiences all his
days. His river life had increased his natural languor of habit, and his
slow speech heightened the lazy impression which he was never unwilling
to convey. His hearers generally regarded him as an easygoing, indolent
good fellow with a love of humor--with talent, perhaps--but as one not
likely ever to set the world afire. They did not happen to think that
the same inclination which made them crowd about to listen and applaud
would one day win for him the attention of all mankind.

Within a brief time Sam Clemens (he was never known as otherwise than
"Sam" among those pioneers) was about the most conspicuous figure on
the Carson streets. His great bushy head of auburn hair, his piercing,
twinkling eyes, his loose, lounging walk, his careless disorder of
dress, drew the immediate attention even of strangers; made them turn to
look a second time and then inquire as to his identity.

He had quickly adapted himself to the frontier mode. Lately a river
sovereign and dandy, in fancy percales and patent leathers, he had
become the roughest of rough-clad pioneers, in rusty slouch hat, flannel
shirt, coarse trousers slopping half in and half out of the heavy
cowskin boots Always something of a barbarian in love with the loose
habit of unconvention, he went even further than others and became a
sort of paragon of disarray. The more energetic citizens of Carson did
not prophesy much for his future among them. Orion Clemens, with the
stir and bustle of the official new broom, earned their quick respect;
but his brother--well, they often saw him leaning for an hour or more