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                             HUNTED DOWN:

                                  OR

                        FIVE DAYS IN THE FOG.


                        A Thrilling Narrative

                                OF THE

                       ESCAPE OF YOUNG GRANICE

                                FROM A

                       DRUNKEN, INFURIATED MOB.


         _Written by himself while in jail, and respectfully
             dedicated to Mr. Nicholas Breen._




                            SAN FRANCISCO:

              WOMAN'S PUBLISHING CO., 605 WASHINGTON ST.

                                1875.

       *       *       *       *       *




PREFACE.


I write this narrative while confined in the Modesto jail awaiting my
trial for the shooting of the defamer of my mother's name on the 7th
of December, 1874. It will be seen by reading the following statement,
that I gave myself up to the sheriff to be held to await the decision
of the law. I will here explain why it was necessary for me to be
taken to the Modesto jail. There was no safe jail at Merced, and it
had been the custom for several months to take Merced prisoners to
Modesto, a town in the adjoining county, and a distance of about forty
miles. The cars passed through Merced about noon on the day of the
shooting, five hours after the affair happened, and direct to Modesto.
Why did not the sheriff improve this opportunity of taking me to a
place of safety? Failing in that, a good span of horses could have
conveyed us to Modesto during the afternoon. He knew the jail was not
safe, and instead of doing what every sensible man would conceive to
be a sheriff's duty, he chose rather to send me out handcuffed, with
two men, on a public highway, to a lone wayside inn, seven miles from
Merced, and ten from Snellings. It seems from my brother's and several
other gentlemen's statement, that every horse was engaged at the
livery stable in Merced before eight o'clock on that night.

There is another question which will naturally arise in the thinking
mind: Where did the sheriff go, and what was he doing that night while
the mob was getting ready? The mystery may be solved some day.

I wish to show in this simple statement that I did not flee
coward-like from justice, but that I was making my escape from a
drunken infuriated mob, after being duly liberated by the deputy
sheriff. I understand that the mob, or a portion of