XVII. 



T now behooves me to 

 state that, between the 

 events of the last chap- 

 ter and this, Nimrod 

 and I heard the hum, 

 the wail, and the 

 shriek that make the song of the 

 Westinghouse brake before we found 

 ourselves deposited at the flourishing 

 mining camp of Red Ridge in the 

 Arizona Rockies, nine thousand feet in 

 the air. 



Did ever a tenderfoot escape from 

 the mountains without at least having 

 a try at making his or her fortune in 



