Panning Gold on the Klondyke.
Typical summer scene on the junction of the Eldorado and Bonanza Creeks; "color" showing in both pans.
"Now a prospector'll wash any durn dirt he sees, an' O'Riley, while waitin' for some bacon to fry, chucked some o' the yellow an' black sand in a pan an' give it a twirl or two. You can reckon he jumped some when the pan showed color. He yelled to McLaughlin an' the two o' them got busy. Every pan showed color, not big, but enough. The cleanin' up wasn't what you'd call rich but it was steady, an' there was any amount o' pay dirt in sight. The two begin to fill their buckskin bags wi' dust, right smartly.
"Then a low-down, dirty, ornery coyote of a man, Henry Comstock by name, come amblin' along. A shifty critter was Comstock, trapper, fur-trader, gambler, claim-jumper, mine-salter, sneak-thief, an' everything else. He see O'Riley an' McLaughlin cleanin' up the cradle an' guessed they'd struck it rich. Lyin' glibly, like the yaller dog he was, he told the prospectors he was the owner o' the land, an' made 'em give up their claims. They went on workin', but on small shares. The hole got deeper, but by-'n-by got hard to work because this seam o' black rock got wider'n wider as it went down. Riley an' McLaughlin dodged the rock, the best they knew how, findin' gold enough to pay for workin' in the loose dirt on either side.
"One or two other prospectors drifted up that way, though the pickin's was small. One o' them, wonderin' what the black rock might be, an' havin' a hunch it might be lead it was so heavy, put a chunk in the hands of an assayer in Placerville.
"The expert couldn't believe his eyes, at first, an' thought some one was playin' a joke on him. His assay showed a value o' $3,000 per ton in silver an' $800 per ton in gold. He assayed one or two other bits, wi' the same result. Here was millions, jest beggin' to be picked up! Folks got wind of it, right away. That was in November, 1859, too late in the winter to cross the high Sierras into Nevada.
"The rush started a-hummin', early in 1860. 'Frisco was fair frothin' at the mouth. It was a long trail, an' the silver-hungry crowd couldn't wait. Some o' the craziest got away as early as January. They caught it heavy!
"From Sacramento up the old emigrant trail to Placerville weren't no gentle stroll in winter time! From Placerville to the bottom o' Johnson Pass was a trail for timber wolves, not for humans. Snow lay thick. Winds, fit to freeze a b'ar, come a-howlin' down the high Sierras. A few men got through an' froze to death on Mount Davidson, the silver actooally ticklin' the soles o' their feet. Some got caught in slow-slides in the Johnson Pass an' their bodies didn't show up till June. A lot more died o' starvation an' exposure on the way.