A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 



cott, and spent a week, most of the 24 hours each 

 day, as the shifts were out, trying to locate my man. 

 Most of them dropped into Demer & Hicky's sa- 

 loon, and I spent most of my time there playing 

 whist with some of the good fellows who would point 

 out some of my 52 varieties as they came in, but 

 always the wrong man. Finally I got down to five, 

 and located them in certain mines. I was doing a 

 land office business selling carloads, but they were 

 needing the goods and punching me up for shipment, 

 which we did not dare make until my man was found. 

 The central body had its monthly meeting the 

 next night. I went out to one of the mines where 

 one of my five men worked. It really was not a mine 

 but a hole in the ground about 500 feet deep, with 

 a bucket instead of a cage in which to bring the ore 

 up, and the bucket, by the way, was a whisky barrel, 

 with a steel-pointed bottom. My man was there, 

 but down below. The engineer was a fine fellow, but 

 he evidently wanted to have some fun, so he said, 

 "You can go down and see him." I asked if the 

 man could not come up for a few minutes, and said 

 that I would pay his wages for the day. The 

 engineer said, "You are not afraid to go down, are 

 you?" I replied, "No," but I lied, and could feel 

 myself slipping off the barrel, yet I knew that I 

 must have the miner's respect. He gave me some 

 slicker clothes and delegated one of his helpers to 

 accompany me. 



[14] 



