“Tear an’ ages! it’s a gintleman, I do belave,” cried Larry, turning to his companions with a look of surprise.
The miner laughed at the remark, and, leaping out of the hole, did his best to answer the many questions that were put to him in a somewhat excited tone by the party.
“Where’s the gold?” inquired Jones, gravely, going down on his knees at the side of the excavation, and peering into it. “I don’t see none, wotsomediver.”
“The dust is very fine here,” answered the miner, “and not easily detected until washed. Occasionally we come upon nuggets and pockets in the dry parts of the river’s bed, and the cañons of the hills, but I find it most profitable to work steadily down here where the whole earth, below the surface, is impregnated with fine particles of gold. Many of the diggers waste their time in prospecting, which word, I suppose you know, means looking out for new diggings; but, according to the proverb of my country, I prefer to remain ‘contented wi’ little, and cantie wi’ mair.’”
“Are we far-distant from the other miners in this creek?” inquired Ned.
“No; you are quite close. You will come upon the colony after passing that bluff of trees ahead of you,” answered the Scotchman; “but come, I will shew you the way; it is not far from nooning-time, when I usually cease work for a couple of hours.”
So saying, the miner threw his pick-axe and shovel into the hole, and led the way towards the colony of Little Creek.
“Ain’t you afraid some of the bad-looking scoundrels in these parts may take a fancy to your pick and shovel?” inquired the captain, as they rode along at a foot pace.
“Not in the least. Time was when I would have feared to leave them; for at one time neither life nor property was safe here, where so many ruffians congregated from all parts of the world; but the evil wrought its own cure at last. Murders and robberies became so numerous, that the miners took to Lynch law for mutual protection. Murderers and thieves were hanged, or whipped almost to death, with such promptitude, that it struck terror into the hearts of evil-doers; and the consequence is, that we of this valley are now living in a state of perfect peace and security, while in other districts, where the laws of Judge Lynch are not so well administered, murders and thefts are occasionally heard of. Here, if a man takes a fancy to go prospecting for a time, he has only to throw his pick and shovel into his claim, or upon his heap of dirt, (see note 1) and he will be sure to find them there untouched on his return, even though he should be absent several weeks. Our tents, too, are left unwatched, and our doors unfastened, with perfect safety, though it is well-known that hundreds and thousands of dollars in gold-dust lie within. I do not mean to assert that we have attained to absolute perfection—a murder and a theft do occasionally occur, but such are the exceptions, security is the rule.”
“Truly,” said Ned Sinton, “you seem to live in a golden age in all respects.”