Comstock Lode (Nev.) -- Fiction; Miners -- Fiction; Virginia City (Nev.) -- Fiction
Back in Massachusetts, Brewster had met with a whole train of
misfortunes; his property had become involved; his wife had died--his
voice lowered and grew husky when mentioning this--he had two little
girls, Mable and Mildred. He had kept his children at school and paid
their way despite the iron fortune that had hedged him about, and he was
working to shield them from all the sorrows possible, without the aid of
the Saint who had gone to heaven. The Club was silent for a moment, when
the strong man added, solemnly, and as if to himself: "Who knows that
she does not help us still?"
In his youth, Brewster acquired the trade of an engineer. At this time,
as we learned before, he was running a power drill in the Bullion. He
was a great reader and was thorough on many subjects.
Wright had his eyes on a stock range in California, where the land was
cheap, the pasturage fine, the water abundant, and where, with the land
and a few head of stock for a beginning, a man would in a few years be
too rich to count his money. He had been accustomed to stock, when a
boy, in Missouri, and was sure that there was more fun in chasing a wild
steer with a good mustang, than finding the biggest silver mine in
America.
Ashley had gained some new ideas since coming West. He believed he knew
a cheap farm back in Pennsylvania, that, with thorough cultivation,
would yield bountifully. There were coal and iron mines there also,
which he could open in a way to make old fogies in that country open
their eyes. He knew, too, of a district there, where a man, if he
behaved himself, might be elected to Congress. It was plain, from his
talk, that he had some ambitious plans maturing in his mind.
Corrigan had an old mother in New York. He was going to have a few acres
of land after awhile in California, where grapes and apricots would
grow, and chickens and pigs would thrive and be happy. He was going to
fix the place to his own notion, then was going to send for his mother,
and when she came, every day thereafter he was going to look into the
happiest old lady's eyes between the seas.
So they talked, and did not note how swiftly the night was speeding,
until the deep whistle of the Norcross hoisting engine sounded for the
eleven o'clock shift, and in an instant was followed by all the whistles
up and down the great lode.
Then the good nights were said, and in ten minutes the lights were
extinguished and the mantles of night and silence were wrapped around
the house.
CHAPTER III.
An early breakfast was prepared by the whole Club, as the supper of the
previous evening had been. The miners had to be at the mines, where they
worked, promptly at 7 o'clock, to take the places of the men who had
worked since eleven o'clock the previous night.
While at breakfast the door of the house was softly opened and a
Chinaman showed his face. He explained that he was a "belly good cook,"
and would like to work for ten dollars a week.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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