Couldn't you ever cure him of it ?" "Cure him! No! When Tom Quartz was sot once, he was always sot--and you might a blowed him up as much as three million times 'n' you'd never a broken him of his cussed prejudice agin quartz mining." The affection and the pride that lit up Baker's face when he delivered this tribute to the firmness of his humble friend of other days, will always be a vivid memory with me.
At the end of two months we had never "struck" a pocket.

We had panned up and down the hillsides till they looked plowed like a field; we could have put in a crop of grain, then, but there would have been no way to get it to market.

We got many good "prospects," but when the gold gave out in the pan and we dug down, hoping and longing, we found only emptiness--the pocket that should have been there was as barren as our own .-- At last we shouldered our pans and shovels and struck out over the hills to try new localities.

We prospected around Angel's Camp, in Calaveras county, during three weeks, but had no success.

Then we wandered on foot among the mountains, sleeping under the trees at night, for the weather was mild, but still we remained as centless as the last rose of summer.