We found, on starting, that our horses could not carry all the provisions, and at the same time perform a good day’s work.  We, therefore, left some of the more bulky articles under the charge of a man from San Francisco, known to Bradley, and departed.  We made good progress for a mile or two; and, as we crossed the brow of a hill, halted a moment to observe the busy aspect of the washings, as they appeared from a distance.  The country, as we ascended the stream, became hourly more hilly and broken.  Its general aspect was grassy, and the soil appeared fertile.  Here and there deep gullies crossed our path, over which we had great difficulty in urging the horses, heavily loaded as they were.  At one of these ravines, the animal which conveyed the tent-poles lost his footing, and went scrambling down the edge of the descent, bearing with him a whole avalanche of gravel and shingles.  Malcolm and Lacosse went after the brute, and succeeded in forcing it up by a less precipitous path.

At noon we halted and dined.  During the afternoon, we observed a sort of small jackall, of the kind called Koyott, hovering about the line of march.  It only occasionally showed itself amongst the long rank grass and bushes.  Bradley, however, got his rifle ready; but, although he fired several shots, the animal was too nimble or restless for even the practised eye and hand of a Yankee rifleman to be certain of his aim.  In a shot at a young antelope which bounded past, however, Bradley was more successful; and we were rejoiced at the prospect of a supper on tender venison.  In a few minutes he had slung the animal over his horse’s haunches, and we proceeded on our route.

The country became more broken and mountainous as we advanced; and in approaching the location of the saw-mills, the hills appeared to rise nearly one thousand feet above the level of the Sacramento.  They were diversified by groves of gigantic pine and oak trees.  We were looking anxiously about for the saw-mills, when we heard the crack of a rifle; and presently a man in white linen trousers, with his legs defended by buckskin mocassins, wearing a broad Mexican sombrero, and carrying his rifle in his hand, approached us.  This person turned out to be Mr. Marshall.  He received us kindly, and asked the news from the lower washings, and also how matters were looking at Sutter’s when we passed through.  Mr. Marshall had a gang of fifty Indians employed, and Captain Sutter had another party of nearly double that number, on the same bank of the river.

We encamped in a woody bottom, by the side of a small stream, which joined the main torrent here, and where there was good pasture for the horses.  Mr. Marshall’s house was about a mile and a half further up the river.  After a good supper of venison steaks—­thanks to Bradley’s rifle—­we turned in for the night.