A fraction of the crowd, as we entered the precincts of the town, were engaged in a lawsuit relative to a question of title. The arguments used on both sides were empty whisky-bottles, after the fashion of the _Basilinum_, or club law, which, according to Addison, prevailed in the colleges of learned men in former times. Several of the disputants had already been knocked down and convinced, and various others were freely shedding their blood in the cause of justice. Even the bull-terriers took an active part--or, at least, a very prominent part. The difficulty was about the ownership of a lot, which had been staked out by one party and “jumped” by another. Some two or three hundred disinterested observers stood by, enjoying the spectacle, several of them with their hands on their revolvers, to be ready in case of any serious issue; but these dangerous weapons are only used on great occasions--a refusal to drink, or some illegitimate trick at monte. Upon fairly reaching what might be considered the centre of the town, it was interesting to observe the manners and customs of the place. Groups of keen speculators were huddled around the corners, in earnest consultation about the rise and fall of stocks; rough customers, with red and blue flannel shirts, were straggling in from the Flowery Diggings, the Desert, and other rich points, with specimens of croppings in their hands, or offering bargains in the “Rogers,” the “Lady Bryant,” the “Mammoth,” the “Woolly Horse,” and Heaven knows how many other valuable _leads_, at prices varying from ten to seventy-five dollars a foot. Small knots of the knowing ones were in confidential interchange of thought on the subject of every other man’s business; here and there a loose man was caught by the button, and led aside behind a shanty to be “stuffed”; everybody had some grand secret, which nobody else could find out; and the game of “dodge” and “pump” was universally played. Jew clothing-men were setting out their goods and chattels in front of wretched-looking tenements; monte-dealers, gamblers, thieves, cut-throats, and murderers were mingling miscellaneously in the dense crowds gathered around the bars of the drinking saloons. Now and then a half-starved Pah-Ute or Washoe Indian came tottering along under a heavy press of fagots and whisky. On the main street, where the mass of the population were gathered, a jaunty fellow who had “made a good thing of it” dashed through the crowds on horseback, accoutred in genuine Mexican style, swinging his _reata_ over his head, and yelling like a devil let loose. All this time the wind blew in terrific gusts from the four quarters of the compass, tearing away signs, capsizing tents, scattering the grit from the gravel-banks with blinding force in everybody’s eyes, and sweeping furiously around every crook and corner in search of some sinner to smite. Never was such a wind as this--so scathing, so searching, so