by Bret Harte As I opened Hop Sing’s letter, there fluttered to the ground a square strip of yellow paper covered with hieroglyphics, which, at first glance, I innocently took to be the label from a pack of Chinese fire-crackers.…
Bret Harte
Tennessee’s Partner
by Bret Harte
by Bret HarteI do not think that we ever knew his real name. Our ignorance ofit certainly never gave us any social inconvenience, for at SandyBar in 1854 most men were christened anew. Sometimes theseappellatives were derived from some distinctiveness…
Miggles
by Bret Harte
by Bret HarteWe were eight, including the driver. We had not spoken during thepassage of the last six miles, since the jolting of the heavyvehicle over the roughening road had spoiled the Judge’s lastpoetical quotation. The tall man beside the…
The Outcasts of Poker Flat
by Bret Harte
by Bret HarteAs Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street ofPoker Flat on the morning of the twenty-third of November, 1850, hewas conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since thepreceding night. Two or three men, conversing…
The Luck of Roaring Camp
by Bret Harte
by Bret HarteThere was commotion in Roaring Camp. It could not have been a fight,for in 1850 that was not novel enough to have called together theentire settlement. The ditches and claims were not only deserted, but”Tuttle’s grocery” had contributed…
A Lonely Ride
by Bret Harte
As I stepped into the Slumgullion stage I saw that it was a dark night, a lonely road, and that I was the only passenger. Let me assure the reader that I have no ulterior design in making this assertion.…