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Updated: May 19, 2025
The fluent profanity of the mule-driver, the shrill laugh of the dance-hall; the prolonged rattle and final roar of the ore-chute, the steady pick of the laborer at the prospect-hole; each played its part to burden and stain the pure, high air that had seemed so like the air of Heaven itself. Amberley stayed on in his lonely lean-to, or roamed over his desecrated acres, bewildered and aggrieved.
Wild Water took one glance and saw the trail black with men clear to the far Dawson bank, down which the same unbroken string of men was pouring. "Well, I'm goin' to get a look-in at that prospect-hole before they get here," he said, turning and starting swiftly up the ravine. But the cabin door opened, and the two occupants stepped out. "Hey!" Smoke called. "Where are you going?"
As Wild Water talked, his eyes wandered up the snow-covered ravine until they were halted by something that brought a whistle to his lips. "Just cast your eyes up there, Bill. See where I'm pointing? If that ain't a prospect-hole! An' follow it out to both sides you can see where they tramped in the snow. If it ain't rim-rock on both sides I don't know what rim-rock is.
The Basin was a most glorious valley, bowl-shaped, green with grass and groves of aspen and fir, and flooded with a cataract of sunshine. All about it ran a rim of lofty summits, purple in shadow, garnet and gold and green in the sun. Here and there a prospect-hole showed like a scar, or a gray, dismantled stamp-mill stood like a disintegrating bowlder beside its yellow-gray dump of useless ore.
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