I am hard up myself, and can’t buy—­and in June they’ll strike the ledge and then “good-bye canary.”  I can’t get it for love or money.  Twenty dollars a foot!  Think of it.  For ground that is proven to be rich.  Twenty dollars, Madam—­and we wouldn’t part with a foot of our 75 for five times the sum.  So it will be in Humboldt next summer.  The boys will get pushed and sell ground for a song that is worth a fortune.  But I am at the helm, now.  I have convinced Orion that he hasn’t business talent enough to carry on a peanut stand, and he has solemnly promised me that he will meddle no more with mining, or other matters not connected with the Secretary’s office.  So, you see, if mines are to be bought or sold, or tunnels run, or shafts sunk, parties have to come to me—­and me only.  I’m the “firm,” you know.

“How long does it take one of those infernal trains to go through?” Well, anywhere between three and five months.

Tell Margaret that if you ever come to live in California, that you can promise her a home for a hundred years, and a bully one—­but she wouldn’t like the country.  Some people are malicious enough to think that if the devil were set at liberty and told to confine himself to Nevada Territory, that he would come here—­and look sadly around, awhile, and then get homesick and go back to hell again.  But I hardly believe it, you know.  I am saying, mind you, that Margaret wouldn’t like the country, perhaps—­nor the devil either, for that matter, or any other man but I like it.  When it rains here, it never lets up till it has done all the raining it has got to do—­and after that, there’s a dry spell, you bet.  Why, I have had my whiskers and moustaches so full of alkali dust that you’d have thought I worked in a starch factory and boarded in a flour barrel.

Since we have been here there has not been a fire—­although the houses are built of wood.  They “holler” fire sometimes, though, but I am always too late to see the smoke before the fire is out, if they ever have any.  Now they raised a yell here in front of the office a moment ago.  I put away my papers, and locked up everything of value, and changed my boots, and pulled off my coat, and went and got a bucket of water, and came back to see what the matter was, remarking to myself, “I guess I’ll be on hand this time, any way.”  But I met a friend on the pavement, and he said, “Where you been?  Fire’s out half an hour ago.”

Ma says Axtele was above “suspition”—­but I have searched through Webster’s Unabridged, and can’t find the word.  However, it’s of no consequence—­I hope he got down safely.  I knew Axtele and his wife as well as I know Dan Haines.  Mrs. A. once tried to embarrass me in the presence of company by asking me to name her baby, when she was well aware that I didn’t know the sex of that Phenomenon.  But I told her to call it Frances, and spell it to suit herself.  That was about nine years ago, and Axtele had no property, and could hardly support his family by his earnings.  He was a pious cuss, though.  Member of Margaret Sexton’s Church.