"I see by the paper that Dan Harris,
the owner of land where Fairhaven
now stands, is dead," said A. G. Robin-
son, an old pioneer of San Juan county,
the other day, as he looked from the
deck of the Eastern Oregon upon the
erstwhile home of old Dan Harris.
"Old Dan and I were up at Cariboo
during the mining excitement," con-
tinued Mr. Robinson, "and I thought a
good deal of him. But he was a shrewd
one. When I first knew him he was
packing into a camp about twelve miles
from where I was running a little store.
We had run short on nails, and I had by
good fortune just received several kegs.
Dan wanted to buy my nails, and when
we had struck a trade at $3 a pound and
cleared $1,000 on the transaction, I
thought Dan had lost money on the
goods. But I did not know hem then.
He took the nails twelve miles and sold
them for $5 a pound.
I have known Dan from that day on,
and although his appearances for many
years while on the Bay looked as if he
was not possessed of more money than
would be required to buy most men a
square meal, I know that he was of a
saving disposition and always had con-
siderable sums of money. I asked him
one day what he did with his wealth,
and he picked up an old shoe that laid
in the corner and appeared to be worn
out.
"See," said he, "I just cut the stuffing
out of these soles and pack in a few
twenties when I have any to spare, and
just toss them into the corner, so," and
he threw it back with several other old
pairs. "No one would think to look in
the bottom of an old shoe for wealth,
you know, and besides no one thinks
'Old Dan' has money."
"So he is dead, I am sorry, for Dan
with all his peculiarities was a good
companion and a friend to many an old
timer like myself."