CHAPTER XII 
DUTCH FLAT—A RETROSPECT 
N my way East from San Francisco late 
in this pleasant month of June, my 
route takes me for the first time in many 
years over what was once the ‘Central 
Pacific.” It has suggested itself that for the 
sake of old times a stop should be made at 
one station or another in the Sierra. Having 
once counted the ties on this very road, fished 
many a stream, and tramped over manya trail, 
I am prepared to defend a proprietary interest 
in these mountains against any tenderfoot 
who has a passing acquaintance with the 
Sierra camps only in their senile decrepitude 
—I who as a small lad already desirous of 
escaping from the trammels of civilisation 
and the rigour of the schoolroom, was duly 
presented to the mountains by my elders 
about the year 1874. 
In an annual escape thenceforth into the 
Sierra, that delectable region came to mean, 
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