UP THE SACRAMENTO. 239 



heavy and a noonday Calif ornian sun is pretty hot, we 

 concluded we would do a little of the dolce far nienie 

 ourselves. 



We sat down by a rill, and, lying on its bank, watched 

 the smoke from our cigars curl upwards straight as a 

 dart. I took off my shoes and stockings and dangled 

 my feet in the water, for the heat was overpowerinov, 

 while Jake lay on his back, kicking his heels in the air 

 and occasionally remarking that he "felt as spry as a 

 four-year-old singed cat, and as bully as an alligator.-'' 

 What yarns he did tell ! I thought I should have died 

 with laughing. Although I was quite aware that Master 

 Jake was a tough nut, yet I couldn't help being struck 

 with the smartness, goaheadness, and wonderful sense of 

 humour in the man. At last a more than usually loud 

 burst of laughter denoted that he had '' struck '' a more 

 than usual curious recollection. " What's up, Jake ?" 

 "What's up ? Why, I'll be dorgorned if that shanty we 

 passed yesterday don't belong to old Widow Hiram 

 whose geese Joash Bunker teetotally chawed up," and 

 again he went into various fits of laughter. " Who's 

 Joash Bunker, and what did he do?" " Wliat did he 

 do ? Waal, it's Pike Fenton's story, as was along with 

 me at the time, but I expegs Pike won't mind me tellino- 

 it." [A good yarn in California is looked upon as the 

 peculiar property of so-and-so, not to be told by anyone 

 else ; like a song of Sims Reeves or Santley.] We take 

 a fresh cigar, and Jake commences. N.B. — I leave out 

 a variety of strange Californian oaths. 



" It was about this time last year that I and Pike 

 Fenton of Calaveras county took a trip down San 

 Rafael way, to shoot quail and snipe ; after a bit we 

 got peckish, and I says to Pike, Let's go over and see 



