A property came to Beckwourth’s attention, one that was within his means and that he thought would suit his needs. On inquiry, he found that the current proprietor was none other than General Ashley. Beckwourth decided it was high time to pay his former boss a visit. He was directed to an imposing home in a quiet neighborhood, far from the bustle of the city. A knock on the door summoned a black servant woman, who informed Beckwourth that the general was not home. Turning to leave, he was stopped by a sweet voice from within.
“Beckwourth, you say? My husband will soon be back,” the lady said, “and he will be doubtless pleased to see you.”
Mrs. Ashley was every bit the angelic presence that the general had described to him, that day in the mountains when the poor man seemed on death’s doo
