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Updated: May 19, 2025
There were few places in Bigbear Gully that would not yield two shillings' worth of gold to the panful, so that in those early days, while the surface soil was still fresh, a man could, by steady work alone without incidental nuggets work out gold-dust to the value of between five and six pounds sterling a day, while, occasionally, he came upon a lump, or nugget, equal, perhaps, to what he could procure by the labour of a week or more.
And being as you are a very grand young woman now, owning English land and income paid in gold instead of greenbacks the same as our nugget seems likely to my ideas it would be wrong if we was so much as to ask you." "Is that what you are full of, then, and what makes you so mysterious? I did think that you knew me better, and I had a right to hope so."
At last the music-machine ceased from troubling, the rival canine concert was ended, and laughter and song were hushed. The stillness of the Arctic night fell upon the Nugget Road House, lying in the somber shadow of the Sawtooth Mountains.
At first Frank thought it was a small fish holding itself stationary in the brook; but that could not be, and he stooped down to see more clearly. With an exclamation, he dashed his hand into the water and drew out a rough, irregular nugget nearly two inches in diameter each way. It was bright yellow in color, and so heavy that there could be no doubt of its nature.
"Seems to me that's enough," retorted Mollie. "It's one thing to think a thing yourself and an entirely different thing to find out somebody else thinks it too." "Don't be an old granddaddy, Allen," Betty said, adding threateningly: "If you don't look out we won't let you have any of that wonderful gold we are going to find not one little tiny nugget."
Nuggets, some large, some small, began to be constantly discovered, and every day news was brought into Ballarat about the turning-up of a thirty-ounce or a twenty-ounce nugget in the Pactolus, when, to crown all, the news came and ran like wildfire through the city that a three hundred ounce nugget had been unearthed.
Meantime in his cups he often had told the mythical tale of the Gros Ventre woman long after California, Idaho, Nevada, Montana were all afire. But one of his halfbreed children very presently had commandeered the tin cup and its contents, so that to this day no man knows whether the child swallowed the nugget or threw it into the Laramie River or the Platte River or the sagebrush.
Randy stared at Clay for an instant and then burst into a laugh. Why this avowal on Nugget's part was received in such a peculiar way will be more clearly understood if a few words be said about that young gentleman himself. Nugget was a New York boy, greatly addicted to cream colored clothes, white vests, patent leather shoes, high collars, gorgeous neckties, kid gloves, and canes.
"We'll wager a dollar to a doughnut that we're the toughest looking specimen that ever drifted down from Coronation Gulf, or any other gulf. A DOUGHNUT! I'd trade a gold nugget as big as my fist for a doughnut or a piece of pie right this minute. Doughnuts an' pie real old pumpkin pie an' cranberry sauce, 'n' POTATOES! Good Lord, and they're only six hundred miles away, carloads of 'em!"
Then the boys shouldered their fishing rods and hurried back to camp, arriving there just as Ned and Randy paddled up the mouth of the stream. Clay's adventure which he related with conscious pride caused somewhat of a sensation. Randy and Nugget wanted to break camp at once, and Clay was more than inclined to side with them. "Nonsense!" exclaimed Ned.
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