The Old Stagedriver’s Yosemite Yarns (1962) by Laurence Degnan and Douglass Hubbard

LEMBERT’S MURDER

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THE OLD DRIVER cut off a plug of tobacco with his penknife and tucked it carefully into one corner of his cheek. “You ever been up to Tuolumne meadows? “Well, one of the landmarks there is called Lembert Dome. Now, John Lembert was what I’d call a real pioneer. He started to homestead those meadows, way up at the top of the Sierra. Built himself a little cabin that’s still standin’, not far from Soda Springs. Used to pass it all the time when I was drivin’ the Great Sierra Wagon Road— that’s what we call the Tioga Road Today.

“I always liked the old boy, though some people were afraid of him because he had long whiskers and a sort of wild look in his eye. Old John tried all sorts of ways of makin’ a living. Herded a flock of those fancy curly-qued sheep—do you call them karakul?—and lost the whole bunch when he didn’t get them down to the foothills in time and got caught in a snowstorm. He was pretty smart, too. The scientific fellers even named a moth after him, cause in his spare time he collected bugs and butterflies and lizards and sold them to colleges.

“But money was his downfall. Word got around that he had $600 in gold cached away in his little winter cabin near El Portal, and someone murdered poor harmless old John for it. They buried him right beside his cabin and the gold may be right there too. Folks say the killers never found it.”

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