The “wars” mentioned in the opening paragraph of this letter were incident to the trouble concerning the boundary line between California and Nevada.  The trouble continued for some time, with occasional bloodshed.  The next letter is an exultant one.  There were few enough of this sort.  We cannot pretend to keep track of the multiplicity of mines and shares which lure the gold-hunters, pecking away at the flinty ledges, usually in the snow.  It has been necessary to abbreviate this letter, for much of it has lost all importance with the years, and is merely confusing.  Hope is still high in the writer’s heart, and confidence in his associates still unshaken.  Later he was to lose faith in “Raish,” whether with justice or not we cannot know now.

To Orion Clowns, in Carson City: 

Esmeralda, May 11, 1862.  My Dear Bro.,—­To use a French expression I have “got my d—­d satisfy” at last.  Two years’ time will make us capitalists, in spite of anything.  Therefore, we need fret and fume, and worry and doubt no more, but just lie still and put up with privations for six months.  Perhaps three months will “let us out.”  Then, if Government refuses to pay the rent on your new office we can do it ourselves.  We have got to wait six weeks, anyhow, for a dividend, maybe longer—­but that it will come there is no shadow of a doubt, I have got the thing sifted down to a dead moral certainty.  I own one-eighth of the new “Monitor Ledge, Clemens Company,” and money can’t buy a foot of it; because I know it to contain our fortune.  The ledge is six feet wide, and one needs no glass to see gold and silver in it.  Phillips and I own one half of a segregated claim in the “Flyaway” discovery, and good interests in two extensions on it.  We put men to work on our part of the discovery yesterday, and last night they brought us some fine specimens.  Rock taken from ten feet below the surface on the other part of the discovery, has yielded $150.00 to the ton in the mill and we are at work 300 feet from their shaft.

May 12—­Yours by the mail received last night.  “Eighteen hundred feet in the C. T. Rice’s Company!” Well, I am glad you did not accept of the 200 feet.  Tell Rice to give it to some poor man.

But hereafter, when anybody holds up a glittering prospect before you, just argue in this wise, viz:  That, if all spare change be devoted to working the “Monitor” and “Flyaway,” 12 months, or 24 at furthest, will find all our earthly wishes satisfied, so far as money is concerned—­and the more “feet” we have, the more anxiety we must bear—­therefore, why not say “No—­d—–­n your ‘prospects,’ I wait on a sure thing—­and a man is less than a man, if he can’t wait 2 years for a fortune?” When you and I came out here, we did not expect ’63 or ’64 to find us rich men —­and if that proposition had been made, we would have accepted it gladly.  Now, it is made.