of May, 1866, when a party of four, including the writer, went on board the Oakland ferry steamer "Washoe," at San Francisco, bound for Mount Diablo. The swift steamer in half an hour landed us at the Oakland railroad wharf, and we started off for the ride across the country. Two of the party, Dr. James Murphy and Dr. James D. Whitney, Jr., eminent men in their profession in San Francisco, rode in a light carriage, with a span of fast-trotting horses; while R. H. Lloyd, Esq., a prominent young lawyer, and myself were on horseback. Lloyd rode a beautiful, spirited, and very fleet-footed California horse, of a pale gold color, and with a mane and tail like spun silver—"Silvertail" they' called him; while I was mounted on my pet, "Juanita," a bright bay California mare, with great brown eyes, widely distended nostrils and clean limbs, which could carry her over the ground as fast as any mortal man would care to ride.
Poor Juanita! How bitterly do I remember springing to my feet, after a troubled sleep, one glorious moonlight night a year later, in the Great Colorado Valley, and at a glance discovering that she had been stolen from beside me as I slept! I ran out into the open ground and called aloud, "Juanita! Juanita!" but there came no answer. Half frantic, I searched all around for tracks, and soon found the prints of her dainty hoofs in the soft soil. Alas! a long-pointed moccassin track was beside them, and a little farther on I discovered where the accursed Chimahuevis thief had mounted, her and ridden off at a gallop across the
