nature, when and where he could, without grumbling, and at times earned even the praise of his driver by his ability to “rough it.”  Which “roughing it,” by the way, meant the ability of the passengers to accept the incompetency of the Company.  It is true there were times when he regretted that he had not taken the steamer; but then he reflected that he was one of a Vigilance Committee, sworn to hang that admirable man, the late Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt, for certain practices and cruelties done upon the bodies of certain steerage passengers by his line, and for divers irregularities in their transportation.  I mention this fact merely to show how so practical and stout a voyager as Thatcher might have confounded the perplexities attending the administration of a great steamship company with selfish greed and brutality; and that he, with other Californians, may not have known the fact, since recorded by the Commodore’s family clergyman, that the great millionaire was always true to the hymns of his childhood.

Nevertheless, Thatcher found time to be cheerful and helpful to his fellow passengers, and even to be so far interesting to “Yuba Bill,” the driver, as to have the box seat placed at his disposal.  “But,” said Thatcher, in some concern, “the box seat was purchased by that other gentleman in Sacramento.  He paid extra for it, and his name’s on your way-bill!” “That,” said Yuba Bill, scornfully, “don’t fetch me even ef he’d chartered the whole shebang.  Look yar, do you reckon I’m goin’ to spile my temper by setting next to a man with a game eye?  And such an eye!  Gewhillikins!  Why, darn my skin, the other day when we war watering at Webster’s, he got down and passed in front of the off-leader,—­that yer pinto colt that’s bin accustomed to injins, grizzlies, and buffalo, and I’m bless ef, when her eye tackled his, ef she didn’t jist git up and rar round that I reckoned I’d hev to go down and take them blinders off from her eyes and clap on his.”  “But he paid the money, and is entitled to his seat,” persisted Thatcher.  “Mebbe he is—­in the office of the Kempeny,” growled Yuba Bill; “but it’s time some folks knowed that out in the plains I run this yer team myself.”—­A fact which was self-evident to most of the passengers.  “I suppose his authority is as absolute on this dreary waste as a ship captain’s in mid ocean,” exclaimed Thatcher to the baleful-eyed stranger.  Mr. Wiles—­whom the reader has recognized—­assented with the public side of his face, but looked vengeance at Yuba Bill with the other, while Thatcher, innocent of the presence of one of his worst enemies, placated Bill so far as to restore Wiles to his rights.  Wiles thanked him.  “Shall I have the pleasure of your company far?” Wiles asked insinuatingly.  “To Washington,” replied Thatcher frankly.  “Washington is a gay city during the session,” again suggested the stranger.  “I’m going on business,” said Thatcher bluntly.