were in a small, one-seated spring wagon. While driving through a lane,
moved on by the spirit of deviltry, one of us whipped Jake into a run,
and the other one threw the reins over a fence post. The result was as
could have been expected by any sane-minded individual. The horse
stopped so suddenly that he sat down on the singletree, and broke both
the shafts of the wagon. We were hurled out with great force, and got
sundry bruises and abrasions. We wired up the shafts and got home as
best we could, and, I am sorry to say, we lied right manfully as to the
cause of the accident. We told a story of a drunken Mexican on horseback
who chased us a considerable distance, and finally lassoed the horse,
bringing him to so sudden a stop as to cause the damage. Instead of
being punished, as we should have been, we were lauded as heroes of an
attempted kidnapping.

One of my uncles made for us a four-wheeled wagon, the hub, spokes and
axles being made out of California oak--such a wagon as you can buy in
any store today, only a little larger. We made a kite of large
dimensions, and covered the frame with cotton from a couple of flour
sacks. At certain times of the year, the wind across the Marysville
plains blew with great velocity. This kite, in a strong wind, had great
pulling capacity. We would go out into the plain, put up the kite, and
fasten the string to the tongue of the wagon, three or four of us pile
on, and let her go. The speed that we would travel before the wind by
this means was marvelous, but we tried the kite trick once too often. We
got to going so fast we could not slow down nor successfully guide the
wagon. It ran over an old stump, spilled us all out, and kite and wagon
sailed away clear across Feather River into Sutter County and we never
saw either of them again.

The boys of the present age have no such opportunities for out-of-door