We now abandoned the idea of travelling forward on horseback, for we were assured by several persons who had just arrived from Cariboo that it would be impossible to take horses into William’s Creek on account of the snow, which had begun to fall before they left the mines. We therefore took our places in the “stage” running from Lilloet to Soda Creek on the Fraser, 175 miles distant. A steamer plies between the Creek and the Mouth of Quesnelle, a distance of sixty miles, and from thence a pack trail runs to Richfield, in William’s Creek, the centre of the Cariboo mines. The “stage” was a light open wagon, and besides ourselves and one other passenger, carried nearly a ton of freight. But we started with a team of five horses, two wheelers and three leaders, and for the first day went along famously. “Johnny,” the driver, was a capital whip, and quite a character. He was a regular Yankee, and his Californian hat of hard felt, with a low steeple crown, and immensely broad brim, gave him a ludicrous appearance in our eyes. He was like all his race, a most unquiet spirit, always engaged in talking to us or the horses, chewing, spitting, smoking, and drinking, and at the last he was especially great; not a house did he pass without two or three drinks with all comers. But in justice to Johnny, who was a very good fellow in his way, it must be stated that he assured us that he was generally a “total abstainer,” but occasionally drank for a change, and then “went in for liquor bald-headed.” He was in the latter phase during our brief acquaintance.