Adam ran the boat ashore. Lifting his pack, he climbed a narrow bench of the bank and walked down to a point opposite the fisherman. Adam greeted him and inquired if this place was Picacho.
“Mornin’, stranger,” came the reply. “Yes, this here’s the gold diggin’s, an’ she’s hummin’ these days.”
“Catching any fish?” Adam inquired, with interest.
“Yep; I ketched one day before yestiddy,” replied the man, complacently.
“What kind?” went on Adam.
“I’ll be doggoned if I know, but he was good to eat,” answered the angler, with a grin. “Where you hail from, stranger?”
“Back East.”
“So I reckoned. No Westerner would tackle the Colorado when she was in flood. I opine you hit the river at Ehrenberg. Wal, you’re lucky. Goin’ to prospect for gold?”
“No, I’d rather work. Can I get a job here?”
“Son, if you’re as straight as you look you can get a good job. But a husky lad like you, if he stayed sober, could strike it rich in the diggin’s.”