As there was a small military post at Visalia, when we neared that town I made a detour on foot and joined Messrs. Byington and Staples to the eastward. We reached Kern without any noteworthy incident. The place was exactly as Mr. Byington described it--a collection of slab shacks to shelter a few men engaged on development work on the mine. This was known as the “Big Blue.” It was an immense ledge of bluish quartz, and was enjoying a boom on the San Francisco stock market. Byington was a type of the Californians of the ’60s, who were ready to go into any mining stock venture, almost to the extent of their fortunes, without knowing anything more about the actual business than so many cottontail rabbits. At his request, I examined the “Big Blue,” and didn’t like the looks of things at all. The superintendent raved about the richness of the ore, showed us fabulous assays, but there, staring us in the face, was a stamp mill that hadn’t turned a wheel for months. I satisfied myself that while there were here and there small bunches of ore, sufficient to furnish seductive looking assays, the general vein matter was far too low to be worked to a profit. As for the outlook, that was another thing. The mine might prove to be rich at a greater depth, but the chances were at least 50 to 1 that it wouldn’t. I advised Byington to unload his stock while he could, which he did to his great advantage. A few months later, “Big Blue” stock certificates weren’t worth picking up in the street. Nevertheless, “Big Blue” was the inspiration for several later mining camp crazes. Among others, Senator J. P. Jones of Nevada dropped a good-sized fortune in it. I became known at Kernville, and as people were traveling to and fro, it was certain that my retreat would soon be common property to my enemies as well as my friends; so I decided to seek solitude and efface myself. With three companions of a roving nature, we struck out for the mountains and for some time enjoyed the delightful, care-free bohemian existence that cannot be found in many places outside of California. I hadn’t forgotten my old mining habits. One day I picked up a number of fragments of quartz, broken by the weather from a ledge that had a likely look. I took these to our camp, crushed them in a primitive way, “panned” the product and stood aghast with astonishment at the result. A long, heavy “tail” of gold in the pan told that the rock must be worth hundreds of dollars a ton.