Chance,
knowing well how best and quickest to let savagery loose upon the
land, plucked a handful of gold from the breast of Nature, held it
aloft that all the world might be made mad by the gleam of it, and
raised the hunting call.
Chance also it was that took the trails of two adventurous young
fellows whose ears had caught her cry of "Good hunting" and set their
faces westward from the plains of Texas; but here her jest was kindly.
The young fellows took the trail together and were content. Together
they heard the hunting call and went seeking the gold that was luring
thousands across the deserts; together they dug for it, found it,
shared it when all was done. Together they heeded the warning
of falling leaf and chilling night winds, and with buckskin bags
comfortably heavy went down the mountain trail to San Francisco, that
ugly, moiling center of the savagery, to idle through the winter.
Here, because of certain traits which led each man to seek the thing
that pleased him best, the trail forked for a time. One was caught in
the turgid whirlpool which was the sporting element of the town, and
would not leave it. Him the games and the women and the fighting drew
irresistibly. The other sickened of the place, and one day when all
the grassy hillsides shone with the golden glow of poppies to prove
that spring was near, almost emptied a bag of gold because he had
seen and fancied a white horse which a drunken Spaniard from the San
Joaquin was riding up and down the narrow strip of sand which was a
street, showing off alike his horsemanship and his drunkenness.
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