I like trade, myself,' added the miner; 'but some of 'em's too sharp.

That's where Crinkett lives.
He's a swell; ain't he ?' They had walked about half a mile from the town, turning down a lane at the back of the house, and had made their way through yawning pit-holes and heaps of dirt and pools of yellow water,--where everything was disorderly and apparently deserted,--till they came to a cluster of heaps so large as to look like little hills; and here there were signs of mining vitality.

On their way they had not come across a single shred of vegetation, though here and there stood the bare trunks of a few dead and headless trees, the ghosts of the forest which had occupied the place six or seven years previously.

On the tops of these artificial hills there were sundry rickety-looking erections, and around them were troughs and sheds and rude water-works.

These, as the miner explained were the outward and visible signs of the world-famous 'Old Stick-in-the-Mud' claim, which was now giving two ounces of gold to the ton of quartz, and which was at present the exclusive property of Mr.
Crinkett, who had bought out the tribute shareholders and was working the thing altogether on his own bottom.