I could scarcely credit this, if it were not that a friend of mine, who visited Reese River last summer, related some experiences of a corroborative character. Unable to secure lodgings elsewhere, he undertook to find accommodations in a vacant sheep corral. The proprietor happening to come home about midnight found him spread out under the lee of the fence. “Look-a-here, stranger!” said he gruffly “that’s all well enough, but I gen’rally collect in advance. Just fork over four bits or mizzle!” My friend indignantly mizzled. Cursing the progressive spirit of the age, he walked some distance out of town, and was about to finish the night under the lee of a big quartz boulder, when a fierce-looking speculator, with a six-shooter in his hand, suddenly appeared from a cavity in the rock, saying, “No yer don’t! Take a fool’s advice now, and git! When you go a prospectin’ around ov nights agin, jest steer ov this boulder ef you please!” In vain my friend attempted to explain. The rising wrath of the squatter was not to be appeased by soft words, and the click of the trigger, as he raised his pistol and drew a bead, warned the trespasser that it was time to be off. He found lodgings that night on the public highway to Virginia City and San Francisco. ALDER GULCH NATHANIEL P. LANGFORD 1863 From “Vigilante Days and Ways.” Reprinted by permission of the publishers, A. C. McClurg and Company, Chicago.[21] In May, 1863, a company of miners, while returning from an unsuccessful exploring expedition, discovered the remarkable placer afterwards known as Alder Gulch. They gave the name of one of their number, Fairweather, to the district. Several of the company went immediately to Bannack, communicated the intelligence, and returned with supplies to their friends. The effect of the news was electrical. Hundreds started at once to the new placer, each striving to outstrip the other, in order to secure a claim. In the hurry of departure, among many minor accidents, a man whose body, partially concealed by the willows, was mistaken for a beaver, was shot by Mr. Arnold. Discovering the fatal mistake, Arnold gave up the chase and bestowed his entire attention upon the unfortunate victim until his death, a few days afterwards. The great stampede with its numerous pack-animals, penetrated the dense alder thicket which filled the gulch, a distance of eight miles, to the site selected for building a town. An accidental fire occurring, swept away the alders for the entire distance in a single night. In less than a week from the date of the first arrival, hundreds of tents, brush wakiups, and rude log cabins, extemporized for immediate occupancy, were scattered at random over the spot, now for the first time trodden by white men. For a distance of twelve miles from the mouth of the gulch to its source in Bald Mountain, claims were staked and occupied by the men fortunate enough first to assert an ownership. Laws were