He struck his shovel into the ground as he spoke, and lifted a quantity of earth, or “dirt,” into a basin, washed it out, and displayed to the astonished gaze of the “greenhorns,” as newcomers were called, a large quantity of gold-dust, with several small nuggets interspersed.
“Splendid!” exclaimed Frank.
“You’ll make your fortin,” said Joe Graddy.
“It’s made already, I reckon,” said the Yankee, with the air of a man who was overburdened with success. “The truth is, I want to get away before the rainy season comes on, and will part with this here claim for an old song. I’m half inclined to make you a present of it, but I don’t quite see my way to that. However, I’ve no objection to hand it over for, say a hundred dollars.”
“H’m!” ejaculated the Cornish man, “will you take a shovelful from the other end of the claim and wash it out?”
The Yankee smiled, put his finger on the side of his nose, and, wishing them success in whatever line of life they chose to undertake, went on with his work.
The Cornish miner laughed, and, as he walked away, explained to his astonished companions that this was a common dodge.
“The rascals,” he said, “hide a little gold in a claim that is valueless, and, digging it up as you have seen, wash it out in the presence of newcomers, in the hope of taking them in. But here we come to a party who will show you a little of legitimate gold-washing.”
They approached, as he spoke, a bend of the river where several men were busy at work—some with pick and shovel, some with the cradle, and others with tin washing-pans. Here they stood for some time watching the process of gold-washing.
At the time of which we write, only the two simple processes of washing, with the pan and with the cradle, were practised at Bigbear Gully, the more elaborate methods of crushing quartz, etcetera, not having been introduced.