“Now,” said Yank firmly, “it’s about time we took stock. We been here now five days; we ain’t had a decent meal of vittles in that time; we ain’t fixed up our camp a mite; we ain’t been to town to see the sights; we don’t even know the looks of the man that’s camped down below us. We’ve been too danged busy to be decent. Now we’re goin’ to call a halt. I should jedge we have a pound of gold, or tharabouts. How much is that worth, Johnny? You can figger in yore head.”
“Along about two hundred and fifty dollars,” said Johnny after a moment.
“Well, keep on figgerin’. How much does that come to apiece?”
“About eighty dollars, of course.”
“And dividin’ eighty by five?” persisted Yank.
“Sixteen.”
172“Well,” drawled Yank, his steely blue eye softening to a twinkle, “sixteen dollars a day is fair wages, to be sure; but nothin’ to get wildly excited over.” He surveyed the two of us with some humour. “Hadn’t thought of it that way, had you?” he asked. “Nuther had I until last night. I was so dog tired I couldn’t sleep, and I got to figgerin’ a little on my own hook.”
“Why, I can do better than that in San Francisco–with half the work!” I cried.
“Maybe for a while,” said Yank, “but here we got a chance to make a big strike most any time; and in the meantime to make good wages. But we ain’t going to do it any quicker by killin’ ourselves. Now to-day is Sunday. I ain’t no religious man; but Sunday is a good day to quit. I propose we go back to camp peaceable, make a decent place to stay, cook ourselves up a squar’ meal, wash out our clothes, visit the next camp, take a look at town, and enjoy ourselves.”
Thus vanished the first and most wonderful romance of the gold. Reduced to wages it was somehow no longer so marvellous. The element of uncertainty was always there, to be sure; and an inexplicable fascination; but no longer had we any desire to dig up the whole place immediately. I suppose we moved nearly as much earth, but the fibres of our minds were relaxed, and we did it more easily and with less nervous wear and tear.