He was an immensely powerful, good-looking fellow, and paused in his work to reply to Frank’s question with a hearty air.
“Have you to dig very deep?” inquired Frank.
“Not very,” he replied; “the depth varies in different parts of the diggings. Here it is seldom necessary to go deeper than four feet. Indeed, a white rock usually lays about the depth of two feet under the soil. It is difficult to cut through, and does not pay for the trouble.”
“Do you find gold on the surface?” continued Frank.
“Almost none. Being weighty, it sinks downwards through the loose earth, and settles on the rock. I see, gentlemen, that you are strangers, and, if I mistake not, Englishmen. I am a countryman, hailing from Cornwall, and, if you have no objection, will accompany you in your inspection of the diggings. My experience may be of service to you, perhaps, and I can at all events guard you from the scoundrels who make a livelihood by deceiving and cheating newcomers.”
Frank thanked the Cornish miner for his kind offer, and accompanied by this new and intelligent friend, he and Joe continued their ramble.
One of the first men whom they addressed happened to be one of the sharpers referred to. He was a Yankee, and although the Yankees were by no means the only scoundrels there, for there was no lack of such—English, Scotch, Irish, German, and Chinese—they were unquestionably the “’cutest!”
This man was very busy when they approached, and appeared to be quite indifferent to them. Observing, however, that they were about to pass by, he looked up, and, wiping his brow, said, “Good-evening.”
“Good-evening,” said Frank, “What luck?”
“Luck enough,” replied the man, “I’m tired of luck; the fact is, I have made my pile, and want to make tracks for home, but this is such a splendid claim that I can’t tear myself away from it. See here.”