In Nevada now you don’t have to apply for state insurance. If you are a miner, you’ve got it, with monthly billing—unless you have filed notice that you do not want it. The Williams girls are both married and live in Las Vegas. Helen is the wife of Vaughn Holt, a barber. When I called at her home in 1941 she had a very sweet little girl not quite a year old. Ruth’s husband, Charles Thomas, is a linotype operator on Frank Garside’s Daily newspaper. He is not the Charley Thomas who grew up in Wetmore and spent many years in Nevada. That Charley was the son of Elwood Thomas and was Frank William’s cousin. And it so happens that Ruth now takes her grandmother Williams’ maiden name—Ruth Thomas. Frank Garside, postmaster at Las Vegas, and publisher of the Daily Review there, formerly lived in Atchison. His aunt, Frances Garside—well known to me at that time — made a record writing “Globe Sights” for Ed Howe’s Daily Globe, back in the “Gay Nineties.” And now the panther. Maybe it was only a wildcat, but its scream was enough to put fear in the “sleepers” out on the tunnel dump. The varmint came yowling down the canyon, fifteen feet away from our bunk, going on down the trail Frank had taken with his bedroll. Frank said the thing had been heard several times before, and he was not sure if it was a panther, or a wildcat. Panthers—called cougars in the west—he said, were very much in evidence down on the Rim; that is, the high bank of the Colorado river. And something very like the cougar in habit had killed a calf in the valley, close by. Myrtle regarded the thing as a threatening menace, and had it not been for that exposed shaft at the entrance of the underground house, she doubtless would have made a break for shelter. And I think that, notwithstanding my black and blue ankle, I should have followed pronto. However, Myrtle was compensated for all this by the fact—vouched for by Frank Williams—that she was the first white woman to set foot on that mountain. By the same line of reasoning, Edith Willams was, I suppose, if we can be sure Frank knows his history, the second, and probably the last, white woman to climb Hunter mountain. Looking across the canyon, and gesturing toward the mountain-side where some work had been done, Myrtle laughingly said to Frank and me, “I suppose you two old grizzled miners think that ‘Thar’s gold in them thar hills’.”