Our former Wetmore citizen, Green Campbell, did not get in on this—but he located, and his estate still owns the Golden Chariot, adjoining. And one of Green’s associates, William Smith, hurriedly fetched his friend Samuel Godbe over from Pioche, and after one look at the uncovered ledge, the latter played a winning hand in a big game without risking any chips. Mr. Godbe asked for, and received from Mr. Taylor, a thirty day option on one-half interest for $20,000. Mr. Godbe then rushed to San Francisco and sold half of a half-interest to Mr. Perry, a banker acquaintance, for $20,000 cash. A few months later Mr. Perry sold his quarter interest to Mr. Blake, of Denver, for $40,000. And nobody had lost any money — yet. We had driven Sam Yount’s big sorrel mare up Kerby gulch to the Kerby mine, owned by the Campbell estate. From there, we walked maybe a couple of miles—a pretty rough climb—to the Keystone, arriving at about 10 o’clock. The camp cook, the only man above ground, thought the miners were working on the 800-foot level. Frank said he knew his way around—that we would go down in the mine and contact them. He had worked in the Keystone a short while before. Like an addict bucking a slot machine always hoping for the next turn to crack the jackpot, Frank had put his last dollar into the development of our own prospect, and consequently had been compelled to work in other mines to get a stake. And since it was not in the cards for Frank to distinguish himself, as part owner of the Kansas-Nevada mine — and also, in later years, as if finding a good mother for his “kids” while on that political economy excursion into the East was not enough, he cashed in on that outlay by getting himself elected for the fourth time, to the legislature — assembly, it is called in Nevada. Then to Reno as Regent of the University of Nevada. Also, still later, he started a one-man crusade against gambling. But in Nevada—well, it was slow work. And, mind you, we ourselves, Frank and I, were at that very time stuck in a mine gamble which might—and did — keep us feeding the “kitty” for years before we could know whether or not we would ever be able to pull out with a winning. We lighted candles and started down by way of an incline shaft. The Keystone doubtless had a vertical shaft, I believe back on higher ground, straight down to the 1,000 foot level, with safety cage, operated with power. Likely a standard shaft! under state supervision, similar to the one which Frank and I were eased down to the 1100-foot level of the Quartette mine at Searchlight—on a day off from our inspection at Crescent. My cousin, Ella Bristow-Montgom-ery-Walter, lived in Searchlight, and Joe Walter, her husband, had taken time off from his barber business to show us around. Frank had seen the manager of the Quartette, likely through the solicitation of Joe, give me a gold nugget, worth maybe $10.,