California -- Fiction; Gold mines and mining -- Fiction; Western stories
We passed many people, all very intent on getting along safely. From the
security of the shed stores the proprietors and an assorted lot of
loafers watched proceedings with interest. The task of crossing the
street from one side to the other, especially, was one not lightly to be
undertaken! A man had to balance, to leap, to poise; and at last
probably, to teeter back and forth trying to keep his balance like a
small boy on a fence rail, until, with an oath of disgust, he stepped
off into the slime.
When we had gained the dry ground near the head of the street we threw
down our burdens for a rest.
"I'll give you ten dollars for those pineapples!" offered a passerby,
stopping short.
Our companion quickly closed the bargain.
"What do you think of that?" he demanded of us wide-eyed, and in the
hearing of the purchaser.
The latter grinned a little, and hailed a man across the street.
"Charley!" he yelled. "Come over here!"
The individual addressed offered some demur, but finally picked his way
across to us.
"How do you like these?" demanded the pineapple purchaser, showing his
fruit.
"Jerusalem!" cried Charley admiringly, "where did you get them? Want to
sell 'em?"
"I want some myself, but I'll sell you three of them."
"How much?"
"Fifteen dollars."
"Give 'em to me."
The first purchaser grinned openly at our companion.
The latter followed into the nearest store to get his share of the dust
weighed out. His face wore a very thoughtful expression.
We came shortly to the Plaza, since called Portsmouth Square. At that
time it was a wind-swept, grass-grown, scrubby enough plot of ground. On
all sides were permanent buildings. The most important of these were a
low picturesque house of the sun-dried bricks known as adobes, in which,
as it proved, the customs were levied; a frame two-story structure known
as the Parker House, and a similar building labelled "City Hotel." The
spaces between these larger edifices was occupied by a dozen or so of
smaller shacks. Next door to the Parker House stood a huge flapping
tent. The words _El Dorado_ were painted on its side.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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