A Hundred Years of Rip and Roarin Rough and Ready By Andy Rogers (1952)(Hathitrust) (117 pages)

were the results. Her southern fried chicken, her light bread, her biscuits, her corn pone, would melt in your mouth. Nancy, with the help of Rastus, attended to the laundry and the tables.Ponto helped William and Thomas; I had time to read after caring for beds and decorating the rooms. Mother was happy and sat in a throne, a big chair built for her, she would be the chatelaine of the house, and have no worries. A spring of cold water was found on the place, and a spring house was built of round boulders, the walls three feet thick, cemented. Miss Marguerite Vineyard's grandfather, Robert C. Bourne, who was buried on the ranch; her mother, Mary Catherine, the first Place owned was the Hartung's ranch, across the road of the Vineyard and Bourne Ranch. Miss Vineyard became school teacher of the Indian Springs school. Mr. Bourne was an eerly builder of hugh barns, timbers dowled together with wooden pegs. Of date 1950, there is a large Oak Tree with a hugh limb growing straight out, with a chain imbedded deep into the limb, showing of many years of being attached to the limb. Three feet of chain hangs down, which a hangsman's noose was attached to and dangled for a@ long time. Three Indians were hung on this tree. Indian called Monkey Charlie was to be hanged, he was so heavy, the rope was adjusted around his neck and thrown around the limb, but being so heavy, his feet touchead the ground, the rope was pulled up further, but the rope broke and Monkey Charlie fled, running for his life with the noose around his neck. Men commenced to shoot at him, but all missed, and he was never seen again. There is a hugh rock on the ranch, about sixteen feet high and about thirty feet at its base, called the Pilot Rock. Indians beads were found on the place in recent years. Hugh rocks all around with Indians holes, in which they used for grinding acorns, grass hoppers, flour dough mixed. On July 10th, 1949, at the age of 76, Miss Marguerite on a visit to Rough and Ready, passed away. eonmme THE EVOLUTION g MARTHA MARGARET YQE(unfinished Story) A story that she started, just before she passed away. She wrote this Compiler that she would have a story of teaching school in Rough and Ready. Martha Margaret got her education the hard way. It began when she lacked three months of being five years of age. Martie said her mother,would you like to go to school? ‘What school, mother, what is school?" replied Martie. “That's where your mother learned to read and write. “The way you do when you won't tell me a story, or even answer me?" said Martie. "Yes, my dear." "Then I shall like to go, I will not enswer you, mother, when I am reading and writing." The next Monday Martie's mother took her small hand in hers, and they walked the two miles to the little red school house, only this was not red. It was white, fairly good size, and surrounded by beautiful large oak trees. The teacher, Miss Perkins, welcomed Martie, whose brown eyes shone with «delight. Her mother departed and the busGoogle 63 iness of Martie's education began. For a month, Martie stooped on a bench and printed letters and then words, which meant nothing to her. She did learn something by listening to other classes. One evening she amazed her mother by saying, "Mother, I can spell Chicken, 'HEN.' Martie's mother then visited the school, and told Miss Perkins she thought Martie could learn to read. Miss Perkins thought Martie was too young, but she would try. In a few weeks Martie was reading in the first reader, having gone through the primer, two weeks. Her interest was keen, she sat at a small desk near the teacher and prepared lesson after lesson for the teacher to hear. "I earned my first recompense as a teacher, teaching Indians to read, write and do sums. My pay was a large sewing basket, in the flying geese design, which I much admire.* Unfortunately, story uncompleted. PADDY CAMPBELL AND HIS WONDER HORSE SELIL: A memoir of hydrauling days. The first time Patrick (Paddy) Campbell's name came to my attention was as a child, when cousin Jeff, who lived with us on our ranch, near the little berg of Smartville, came home chuckling with amusement, to tell mother or father to sing a tune of “Wearing of the Green.” “Oh, Paddy dear, three hundred miners striking in Smartville town?" "Yes," said Jeff, they carried out their threat ta strike on him. I exclaimed in horror, “Did they kill him?" Mother and Jeff went into glees of laughter, much to my embarrassment. They tried to explain to me what a strike was. Doubtless, they explained well, but I was puzzled and haunted by that word "strike" for years. It was much later that I developed understanding and grasped the real meaning of a strike. Paddy's miners like the modern employer, he was.a generous hearted Irishman. After keeping his boys, as he called them, tender hooks for two or three days, he gave them everything they asked for, which was more than they expected or needed. Finally, after a compromise was affected, no one ever again heard of a strike of Paddy's miners. This happened before hydraulic mining reached its height, and became a menace to the land, long before the giant monitor washed away entire hillsides, and sent their great loads of debris to the Valley below. The next time I heard Paddy's name mentioned, was years after, when I was teaching at Indian Springs. Friend Will and I were riding by Paddy's old ranch, and Will said, "Do you know what an old Indian told me today?® He said, "that on moonlight nights there is a vague gray-shaped horse and men passing swiftly, jumping fences and disappearing into the dense woods beyond. A noise as many monitors at work, and countless soft voices saying, ‘Paddy Campbell rides again.'* All Indians hear strange things. These simple souls, near nature's heart, may know and hear things which our sophistication keeps us from doing. To return to Paddy's story shortly after hydraulic mining reached its peak, my grand uncle, Colonel John Brophy, was foreed to leave his show place of about 600 acres on Yuba River, five miles or so east of ‘lerysville. His place was everything that a beautiful home and surroundings should be. On his land were fruit, blooded

were the results. Her southern fried chicken, her light bread, her biscuits, her corn pone, would melt in your mouth. Nancy, with the help of Rastus, attended to the laundry and the tables.Ponto helped William and Thomas; I had time to read after caring for beds and decorating the rooms.. Mother was happy and sat in a throne, a big chair built for her, she would be the chatelaine of the house, and have no worries. A spring of cold water was found on the place, and a spring house was built of round boulders, the walls three feet thick, cemented. Miss Marguerite Vineyard's grandfather, Robert C. Bourne, who was buried on the ranch; her mother, Mary Catherine, the first Place owned was the Hartung's ranch, across the road of the Vineyard and Bourne Ranch. Miss Vineyard became school teacher of the Indian Springs school. Mr. Bourne was an eerly builder of hugh barns, timbers dowled together with wooden pegs. Of date 1950, there is a large Oak Tree with a hugh limb growing straight out, with a chain imbedded deep into the limb, showing of many years of being attached to the limb. Three feet of chain hangs down, which a hangsman's noose was attached to and dangled for a@ long time. Three Indians were hung on this tree. Indian called Monkey Charlie was to be hanged, he was so heavy, the rope was adjusted around his neck and thrown around the limb, but being so heavy, his feet touchead the ground, the rope was pulled up further, but the rope broke and Monkey Charlie fled, running for his life with the noose around his neck. Men commenced to shoot at him, but all missed, and he was never seen again. There is a hugh rock on the ranch, about sixteen feet high and about thirty feet at its base, called the Pilot Rock. Indians beads were found on the place in recent years. Hugh rocks all around with Indians holes, in which they used for grinding acorns, grass hoppers, flour dough mixed. On July 10th, 1949, at the age of 76, Miss Marguerite on a visit to Rough and Ready, passed away. eonmme THE EVOLUTION g MARTHA MARGARET YQE(unfinished Story) A story that she started, just before she passed away. She wrote this Compiler that she would have a story of teaching school in Rough and Ready. Martha Margaret got her education the hard way. It began when she lacked three months of being five years of age. Martie said her mother,would you like to go to school? ‘What school, mother, what is school?" replied Martie. “That's where your mother learned to read and write. “The way you do when you won't tell me a story, or even answer me?" said Martie. "Yes, my dear." "Then I shall like to go, I will not enswer you, mother, when I am reading and writing." The next Monday Martie's mother took her small hand in hers, and they walked the two miles to the little red school house, only this was not red. It was white, fairly good size, and surrounded by beautiful large oak trees. The teacher, Miss Perkins, welcomed Martie, whose brown eyes shone with

«delight. Her mother departed and the busGoogle 63 iness of Martie's education began. For a month, Martie stooped on a bench and printed letters and then words, which meant nothing to her. She did learn something by listening to other classes. One evening she amazed her mother by saying, "Mother, I can spell Chicken, 'HEN.' Martie's mother then visited the school, and told Miss Perkins she thought Martie could learn to read. Miss Perkins thought Martie was too young, but she would try. In a few weeks Martie was reading in the first reader, having gone through the primer, two weeks. Her interest was keen, she sat at a small desk near the teacher and prepared lesson after lesson for the teacher to hear. "I earned my first recompense as a teacher, teaching Indians to read, write and do sums. My pay was a large sewing basket, in the flying geese design, which I much admire.* Unfortunately, story uncompleted. PADDY CAMPBELL AND HIS WONDER HORSE SELIL: A memoir of hydrauling days. The first time Patrick (Paddy) Campbell's name came to my attention was as a child, when cousin Jeff, who lived with us on our ranch, near the little berg of Smartville, came home chuckling with amusement, to tell mother or father to sing a tune of “Wearing of the Green.” “Oh, Paddy dear, three hundred miners striking in Smartville town?" "Yes," said Jeff, they carried out their threat ta strike on him. I exclaimed in horror, “Did they kill him?" Mother and Jeff went into glees of laughter, much to my embarrassment. They tried to explain to me what a strike was. Doubtless, they explained well, but I was puzzled and haunted by that word "strike" for years. It was much later that I developed understanding and grasped the real meaning of a strike. Paddy's miners like the modern employer, he was.a generous hearted Irishman. After keeping his boys, as he called them, tender hooks for two or three days, he gave them everything they asked for, which was more than they expected or needed. Finally, after a compromise was affected, no one ever again heard of a strike of Paddy's miners. This happened before hydraulic mining reached its height, and became a menace to the land, long before the giant monitor washed away entire hillsides, and sent their great loads of debris to the Valley below. The next time I heard Paddy's name mentioned, was years after, when I was teaching at Indian Springs. Friend Will and I were riding by Paddy's old ranch, and Will said, "Do you know what an old Indian told me today?® He said, "that on moonlight nights there is a vague gray-shaped horse and men passing swiftly, jumping fences and disappearing into the dense woods beyond. A noise as many monitors at work, and countless soft voices saying, ‘Paddy Campbell rides again.'* All Indians hear strange things. These simple souls, near nature's heart, may know and hear things which our sophistication keeps us from doing. To return to Paddy's story shortly after hydraulic mining reached its peak, my grand uncle, Colonel John Brophy, was foreed to leave his show place of about 600 acres on Yuba River, five miles or so east of ‘lerysville. His place was everything that a beautiful home and surroundings should be. On his land were fruit, blooded