It is more like a Cornish mining village than anything else; but of course the engine-houses, chimneys, and mine-sheds, built by Cornishmen in true Cornish fashion, go a long way towards making up the resemblance.

The village is built on the awkwardest bit of ground possible, up and down on the side of a steep ravine, one house apparently standing on the roof of another; and it takes half a mile of real hard climbing to get from the bottom of the town to the top.
We put up our horses at a neat little inn kept by an old Englishwoman, and walked or climbed up to the Company's house.

We made several new acquaintances at the Real, though we left within a few hours, intending to see the place thoroughly on our return.
One peculiarity of the Casa Grande--the great house of the Company--was the warlike appearance of everybody in it.

The clerks were posting up the ledgers with loaded revolvers on the desk before them; the manager's room was a small arsenal, and the gentlemen rode out for exercise, morning and evening, armed to the teeth.

Not that there is anything to be apprehended from robbers--indeed I should like to see any of the Mexican ladrones interfering with the Cornish miners, who would soon teach them better manners.