go round and keerfully examine the passengers. Them as is dead I
shall let alone; but them as is mutilated I shall finish with the
king-bolt! Dead folks don't sue. They ain't on it."

Thus with anecdote did this driver cheer me up.

4.5. WASHOE.

We reach Carson City about nine o'clock in the morning. It is the
capital of the silver-producing territory of Nevada.

They shoot folks here somewhat, and the law is rather partial than
otherwise to first-class murderers.

I visit the territorial Prison, and the Warden points out the
prominent convicts to me thus:

"This man's crime was horse-stealing. He is here for life."

"This man is in for murder. He is here for three years."

But shooting isn't as popular in Nevada as it once was. A few
years since they used to have a dead man for breakfast every
morning. A reformed desperado told my that he supposed he had
killed men enough to stock a graveyard. "A feeling of remorse,"
he said, "sometimes comes over me! But I'm an altered man now.
I hain't killed a man for over two weeks! What'll yer poison
yourself with?" he added, dealing a resonant blow on the bar.

There used to live near Carson City a notorious desperado, who