MONDAY, OCT. 9. On returning to our camping-tree this afternoon, I found three wild Indians quietly squatted in its shade. They had been attracted there by a red belt, which hung from one of the limbs. They could speak only their native dialect, not a word of which could I understand. We had to make ourselves intelligible by signs. They wanted to purchase the belt, and each laid down a piece of gold, which were worth in the aggregate some two hundred dollars. I took one of the pieces, and gave the Indian to whom it belonged the belt. They made signs for a piece of coin; I offered them an eagle, but it was not what they wanted,—a Spanish mill dollar, but they wanted something smaller,—a fifty-cent piece, and they signified it would do. Taking the coin they fastened it in the end of a stick, so as to expose nearly the entire circle, and set it up about forty yards distant. They then cast lots by a bone, which they threw into the air, for the order in which they should discharge their arrows. The one who had the first shot, drew his long sinewy bow and missed; the second, he missed; the third, and he missed,—though the arrow of each flew so near the coin it would have killed a deer at that distance. The second now shot first and grazed the coin; then the third, who broke his string and shot with the bow of the second, but missed; and now the first took his turn, and struck the coin, whirling it off at a great distance. The other two gave him the belt, which he tied around his head instead of his blanket, and away they started over the hills, full of wild life and glee, leaving the coin, as a thing of no importance, in the bushes where it had been whirled. TUESDAY, OCT. 10. My companions, who have been out on a gold-hunt for several hours, have just returned, bringing with them about an ounce of gold each. They are so thoroughly fatigued they prefer sleep to a dinner, connected with the trouble of preparing it. And there is no other way here; every man is obliged to be his own cook. We have our henchman, it is true, but he is in a ravine some four miles distant, in charge of our horses and mules. If he will keep them from straying, or being stolen by the wild Indians, we shall be content to wait on ourselves. Several of the persons at work in the ravine turned their horses adrift on their arrival, which they might safely do, for the poor things have not got strength enough to climb its steep sides. They subsist on the acorns which they gather, and a few tufts of grass as dry and scorched as the clover over which the flames of Sodom rolled. But what think men of the hunger or thirst of dumb animals, when the gold fever is throwing its circle of fire around the soul.