us. One man showed us four hundred ounces of pure gold dust which he
had washed from the dirt in a tin pan, and which he valued at fourteen
dollars an ounce.

As may be imagined, the whole scene was one well calculated to take a
strong hold upon the imagination. The eminences, rising gradually from
the river's banks, were dotted with white canvas tents, mingled with
the more sombre-looking huts, constructed with once green but now
withered branches. A few hundred yards from the river lay a large heap
of planks and framings, which I was told were intended for constructing
a store; the owner of which, a sallow Yankee, with a large pluffy
cigaretto in his mouth, was labouring away in his shirt sleeves.

Bewildered and excited by the novelty of the scene, we were in haste to
pitch our camp, and soon fixed upon a location. This was by the side of
a dried-up water-course, through which, in the wet season, a small
rivulet joined the larger stream; we did not, however, immediately set
to work to make the necessary arrangements for the night. Our fingers
were positively itching for the gold, and in less than half an hour
after our arrival, the pack-horse which carried the shovels, scoops,
and pans, had been released of his burden, and all our party were as
busily employed as the rest. As for myself, armed with a large scoop or
trowel, and a shallow tin pail, I leapt into the bed of the rivulet, at
a spot where I perceived no trace of the gravel and earth having been
artificially disturbed. Near me was a small clear pool, which served
for washing the gold. Some of our party set to work within a short
distance of me, while others tried their fortune along the banks of the
Americanos, digging up the shingle which lay at the very brink of the
stream. I shall not soon forget the feeling with which I first plunged
my scoop into the soil beneath me. Half filling my tin pail with the