green brush of a ravine.

It was early in the evening, with the sun not yet out of sight
behind a lofty ridge that topped the valley slope. High grass,
bleached white, shone brightly on the summit. Soon several columns
of blue smoke curled lazily aloft until, catching the wind high up,
they were swept away. Meanwhile the men talked at their tasks.

"Say, pard, did you come along this here Laramie Trail goin' West?"
asked one.

"Nope. I hit the Santa Fe Trail," was the reply.

"How about you, Jones?"

"Same fer me."

"Wal," said another, "I went round to California by ship, an' I'd
hev been lucky to drown."

"An' now we're all goin' back poorer than when we started," remarked
a third.

"Pard, you've said somethin'."

"Wal, I seen a heap of gold, if I didn't find any."

"Jones, has this here Bill Horn any gold with him?"

"He acts like it," answered Jones. "An' I heerd he struck it rich