"CALL IT THE 'ROSE GIRL'"
"What are you going to do with those things?" asked Winthrop. "Not burn them?"
"Yep; every strap and tie-string," replied Overland, gathering together the dead prospector's few effects. "Cause why? Well, Billy, if this claim ain't filed on,—and I reckon it ain't,—why, we files on her as the original locators. Nobody gets wise to anything and it saves the chance of gettin' jumped. The bunch over there would make it interestin' for us if they knowed we was goin' to file on it. They'd put up a fight by law, and mebby one not by law. Sabe?"
"I think so. Going to burn that little—er—cradle arrangement, too?"
"Yep. Sorry, 'cause it's wood, and wood is wood here. That little rocker is a cradle all right for rockin' them yella babies in and then out. The hand that rocks that cradle hard enough rules the world, as the pote says."
"So this is how gold is mined?" queried Winthrop, examining the crude rocker and the few rusted tools.
"One way. Pan, cradle, or sluice for free gold. They's about four other ways. This here's our way."
"Is it a rich claim?"
"Tolerable. I panned some up the branch. She runs about two dollars a pan."
"Is that all?"