It was a mystery at the time to me how Halkett knew of the serpent's vicinity; for although I looked eagerly around me, I saw no trace of one. "I vow he's a-sarchin' for the Coppernose," said a Yankee, as he laughed heartily at my ignorance. "Do you see that bird there upon the bough of the cedar-tree?" said Halkett. "That's the 'Choyero;' and wherever he's found, the Coppernose is never far off." The mystery was soon explained in this wise: the "Choyero" is in the habit of enveloping himself in the leaves of a certain prickly cactus called "Choya," with which armor he attacks the largest of these green serpents, and always successfully,--the strong, thorny spines of the plant invariably inflicting death-wounds upon the snake. Some asserted that the bird only attacked the snake during his season of torpor, but others stoutly averred that the Choyero was a match for any Coppernose in his perfect vigor. The approach of the long-sought-for "Placer" was celebrated by an extra allowance of rum, and the party conversed till a late hour of the night, with a degree of animation they had not exhibited for a long time previous. Stories of the "washings" resumed their sway,--strange, wild narratives, the chief interest in which, however striking at the time, lay in the manner of those who related them, and were themselves the actors. They nearly all turned upon some incident of gambling, and were strong illustrations of how completely the love of gain can co-exist with a temperament utterly wasteful and reckless, while both can render a man totally indifferent to every feeling of friendship. There was mention, by chance, of a certain Narvasque, who had been the comrade of many of the party. "He is dead," cried one. "Caramba!" cried another, "that is scarcely true; they told me he was at the Austin fair this fall." "You may rely on it he's dead," said the first, "for I know it; he died on the Sacramento, and in this wise. We had had a two months' run of luck at the Crestones of Bacuachez,--such fortune as I only hope we may soon see again; none of your filthy wash and sieve work, nor any splintering of a steel barreta on a flint-rock, but light digging along the stream, and turning up such masses of the real shining metal as would make your heart leap to look at,--lumps of thirty,--thirty-five,--ay, forty pounds." "There, there, Harispe!" said an old fellow, with a long pipe of sugar-cane, "if we are to swallow what's a-comin', don't choke us just now." "What does an old trapper know of the diggin's?" said Harispe, contemptuously. "'T is a bee-huntin' and a birds'-nestin' you ought to be. Smash my ribs! if he ever saw goold, except on the breast of a gooldfinch." Having silenced his adversary, he resumed:--