It is not to be supposed that Tom and his friends knew anything about dead rivers, or troubled themselves as to how the rich deposits had been made, or how long they had been waiting discovery. They were chiefly engaged with more practical considerations. They found a rich harvest in the ravines, and they went to work energetically.
The work was monotonous, and a detailed account of their progress would be tiresome. What we chiefly care about is results, and these may be gathered from a conversation which took place some five months later.
Under a tent, at night-fall, reclined the three friends. They looked contented, and on good terms with the world; but, though prosperous, they certainly did not look it. In fact, they were all three exceedingly, almost disreputably, shabby. They looked more like tramps than respectable gold-miners.
"Tom, you are looking very ragged," said Dick Russell, surveying our hero critically.
"I know it, Dick. I feel as though I had just come out of a rag-bag. I can't say that you look much better, nor Ferguson either."
"This rough work is hard on clothing," said Russell. "I wish there were a ready-made clothing store near by."
"So do I. I would pay a high price for a good suit."
"If our friends at home could see us, what would they think, eh, Tom?"
"That we were candidates for the poor-house."
"That's so. I've been into several poor-houses in the course of my life, but I never saw any of the inmates quite so poorly clad as we are."