pan and grub; two good legs and wild country to travel; a gold
pan and a pick--these things, to Cash, spelled independence
and the joy of living. The burros and the two horses were
luxuries, he declared. When they once got located on a good claim
they would sell off everything but a couple of burros--Sway
and Ed, most likely. The others would bring enough for a winter
grubstake, and would prolong their freedom and their independence
just that much. That is, supposing they did not strike a good
claim before then. Cash had learned, he said, to hope high but
keep an eye on the grubstake.

Late in August they came upon a mountain village perched
beside a swift stream and walled in on three sided by pine-
covered mountains. A branch railroad linked the place more or
less precariously with civilization, and every day--unless
there was a washout somewhere, or a snowslide, or drifts too deep
--a train passed over the road. One day it would go up-stream,
and the next day it would come back. And the houses stood drawn
up in a row alongside the track to watch for these passings.

Miners came in with burros or with horses, packed flour and
bacon and tea and coffee across their middles, got drunk, perhaps
as a parting ceremony, and went away into the hills. Cash watched
them for a day or so; saw the size of their grubstakes, asked few
questions and listened to a good deal of small-town gossip, and
nodded his head contentedly. There was gold in these hills. Not
enough, perhaps, to start a stampede with--but enough to keep
wise old hermits burrowing after it.

So one day Bud sold the two horses and one of the saddles, and