A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY

by BRET HARTE




PROLOGUE


There was no mistake this time: he had struck gold at last!

It had lain there before him a moment ago--a misshapen piece of
brown-stained quartz, interspersed with dull yellow metal; yielding
enough to have allowed the points of his pick to penetrate its
honeycombed recesses, yet heavy enough to drop from the point of
his pick as he endeavored to lift it from the red earth.

He was seeing all this plainly, although he found himself, he knew
not why, at some distance from the scene of his discovery, his
heart foolishly beating, his breath impotently hurried. Yet he was
walking slowly and vaguely; conscious of stopping and staring at
the landscape, which no longer looked familiar to him. He was
hoping for some instinct or force of habit to recall him to
himself; yet when he saw a neighbor at work in an adjacent claim,
he hesitated, and then turned his back upon him. Yet only a moment
before he had thought of running to him, saying, "By Jingo! I've
struck it," or "D--n it, old man, I've got it"; but that moment had
passed, and now it seemed to him that he could scarce raise his
voice, or, if he did, the ejaculation would appear forced and