"Great heavens, what a sight!" exclaimed Hinchley.
"It's like going down into purgatory," muttered the domestic. "Shall we have to spend the night here, Mr. Hinchley?"
"You can't do no better," interrupted the guide; "it's the same thing clear to Wilson's ranche. You'll do well enough at Phil Yates's; he promised you rooms and beds to yourselves—you'd best come on."
The guide looked eagerly about as he spoke, his savage nature in a state of pleasurable excitement, and anxious to join the desperate crowds that were scattered through the valley.
"I wish we had stopped at the diggings," Hinchley said.
The guide had stepped away from them, and they conversed for a few seconds in private.
"Luckily, nobody knows we've got the money and dust with us," said the man.
"That is true. I dare say we are quite as safe in this crowd as we should be alone with the people that live at Wilson's house. You must keep a good look-out all night, Martin; I will see that our rooms are close together. If we are assailed we must do our best."
There was no time for further conversation; the guide summoned them impatiently, and they rode on toward the ranche, passing several camp-fires about which were grouped evil-looking men drinking and gambling, some upon the ground, some upon the newly-made stumps from which the forest-trees had been cut.
Nobody paid much attention to them, and they passed on up to the house, where Yates received them with a rough courtesy which was in a measure reassuring, compared with the appearance of the crowds they had seen.