Bradford's antelope ran off unhurt: mine fell dead in its tracks.

Bradford bragged no more about his fine gun and superior marksmanship.
We went back to camp with the little we had killed and soon got ready to start north.

Bennett was to go with his team to Sacramento and wait there until he heard from us.
Four of us, mounted on mules, now started on our journey along the foothills without a road.

We struck the Tuolumne river at a ferry.

The stream was high and rapid and could not be forded, so we had to patronize the ferryman, and give him half an ounce apiece.