"I see by the paper that Dan Harris, the owner of land where Fairhaven now stands, is dead," said A. G. Robinson, 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," continued 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 considerable 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."