Everywhere around the hills and gulches you could see prospectors, with their gads and little picks, fooling around like life did n't mean anything in the world to 'em, except to grub around in those rocks.

That was the idea, you see, to fool around until they 'd found a bit of ore or float, as they called it, and then follow it up the gorge until they came to rock or indications that 'd give 'em reason to think that the vein was around there somewhere.
Then they 'd start to make their tunnel--to drift in on the vein.

I 'm telling you all this, so you 'll understand." Fairchild was listening eagerly.

A moment's pause and the old lodging-house keeper went on.
"Your father was one of these men.

'Squint' Rodaine was another--they called him that because at some time in his life he 'd tried to shoot faster than the other fellow--and did n't do it.