There was a number of young ladies in the train, and they were not long in learning that I was the most bashful person in the crowd, and they commenced trying to interest me in conversation. At that time I only owned two horses, and would have given them both, as free as the water that runs in the brook, if I could only have been away from there at that moment. Seeing that I had long hair, each of them wanted a lock. By this time I had managed to muster courage enough to begin to talk to them. I told them that if they would sing a song, they might have a lock of my hair. A little, fat Missouri girl, spoke up and said: "Will you let any one that sings have a lock of your hair?" I assured her that I would. "And each of us that sing?" interrupted another young lady. I said each one that would sing could have a lock, provided there was enough to go around. I now had the ice broken, and could begin to talk to the ladies and crack a few jokes with them. The little, fat, chubby young lady, that first started the conversation, sang a song entitled "The Californian's Lament," which was as follows: Now pay attention unto me, All you that remain at home, And think upon your friends Who have to California gone; And while in meditation It fills our hearts with pain, That many so near and dear to us We ne'er shall see again. While in this bad condition, With sore and troubled minds, Thinking of our many friends And those we left behind, With our hearts sunk low in trouble Our feelings we cannot tell, Although so far away from you, Again we say, farewell. With patience we submitted Our trials to endure, And on our weary journey The mountains to explore. But the fame of California Has begun to lose its hue-- When the soul and body is parting What good can money do? The fame of California Has passed away and gone; And many a poor miner Will never see his home. They are falling in the mountains high, And in the valleys, too; They are sinking in the briny deep, No more to rise to view. This I thought the prettiest song I had ever heard in my life. Environment so colors things. In other words, "circumstances alter cases." The lady at once demanded a lock of my hair as compensation for services rendered, and I removed the buckskin wrap and told her to take a lock, but cautioned her not to take too large a bunch, for fear there might not be enough to go around. The young lady, seeing that I was very bashful, had considerable trouble in finding a lock that suited her. A number of the young ladies sang together, after which several of them took the scissors and cut a lock of hair from the head of the young trapper.