Among my miscellaneous occupations was the pasturage of mules about to start on the return trip to the mines.  We had a farm and logging-claim on the outskirts of town which afforded a good farewell bite of grass, and at night I would turn loose twenty to forty mules and their beloved bell-mare to feed and fight mosquitoes.  Early the next morning I would saddle my charger and go and bring them to the packing corral.  Never shall I forget a surprise given me one morning.  I had a tall, awkward mare, and was loping over the field looking for my charges.  An innocent little rabbit scuttled across Kate’s path and she stopped in her tracks as her feet landed.  I was gazing for the mule train and I did not stop.  I sailed over her head, still grasping the bridle reins, which, attached to the bit, I also had to overleap, so that the next moment I found myself standing erect with the reins between my legs, holding on to a horse behind me still standing in her arrested tracks.  Remounting, I soon found the frisky mules and started them toward misery.  Driven into the corral where their freight had been divided into packs of from one hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds, they were one by one saddled, cinched, and packed.  A small mule would seem to be unequal to carrying two side-packs, each consisting of three fifty-pound sacks of flour, and perhaps a case of boots for a top-pack.  But protests of groans and grunts would be unavailing.  Two swarthy Mexicans, by dint of cleverly thrown ropes and the “diamond hitch,” would soon have in place all that the traffic would bear, and the small Indian boy on the mother of the train, bearing a tinkling bell, would lead them on their way to Salmon River or to Orleans Bar.

Another frequent duty was the preparation of the hall for some public function.  It might be a dance, a political meeting, or some theatrical performance.  Different treatment would be required, but all would include cleaning and lighting.  At a dance it was floor-scrubbing, filling the camphene lamps, and making up beds for the babies to be later deposited by their dancing mothers.  Very likely I would tend door and later join in the dance, which commonly continued until morning.

Politics interested me.  In the Fremont campaign of 1856 my father was one of four Republicans in the county, and was by no means popular.  He lived to see Humboldt County record a six hundred majority for the Republican ticket.  Some of our local legislative candidates surprised and inspired me by their eloquence and unexpected knowledge and ability.  It was good to find that men read and thought, even when they lived in the woods and had little encouragement.

Occasionally we had quite good theatrical performances.  Very early I recall a thespian named Thoman, who was supported by a Julia Pelby.  They vastly pleased an uncritical audience.  I was doorkeeper, notwithstanding that Thoman doubted if I was “hefty” enough.  “Little Lotta” Crabtree was charming.  Her mother traveled with her.  Between performances she played with her dolls.  She danced gracefully and sang fascinatingly such songs as “I’m the covey what sings.”  Another prime favorite was Joe Murphy, Irish comedian and violinist, pleasing in both roles.  I remember a singing comedian who bewailed his sad estate: