hich
in this vicinity is of slate, is said to run through the entire range,
lying, in distance varying from a few feet to eighty or ninety, beneath
the surface of the soil. On Indian Bar the bed-rock falls in almost
perpendicular benches, while at Rich Bar the friction of the river has
formed it into large, deep basins, in which the gold, instead of being
found, as you would naturally suppose, in the bottom of it, lies, for
the most part, just below the rim. A good-natured individual bored
_me_, and tired _himself_, in a hopeless attempt to make me comprehend
that this was only a necessary consequence of the undercurrent of the
water, but with my usual stupidity upon such matters I got but a vague
idea from his scientific explanation, and certainly shall not mystify
_you_ with my confused notions thereupon.

When a company wish to reach the bed-rock as quickly as possible, they
sink a shaft (which is nothing more nor less than digging a well) until
they "strike it." They then commence drifting coyote-holes, as they
call them, in search of crevices, which, as I told you before, often
pay immensely. These coyote-holes sometimes extend hundreds of feet
into the side of the hill. Of course they are obliged to use lights in
working them. They generally proceed until the air is so impure as to
extinguish the lights, when they return to the entrance of the
excavation and commence another, perhaps close to it. When they think
that a coyote-hole has been faithfully worked, they clean it up, which
is done by scraping the surface of the bed-rock with a knife, lest by
chance they have overlooked a crevice, and they are often richly
rewarded for this precaution.

Now I must tell you how those having claims on the hills procure the
water for washing them. The expense of raising it in any way from the
river is too enormous to be thought of for a moment. In most cases it
is brought from ravines in the mountains. A company, to which a friend
of ours belongs, has dug a ditch about a foot in width and depth, and
more than three miles in length, which is fed in this way. I wish that
you could see this ditch. I never beheld a _natural_ streamlet more
exquisitely beautiful. It undulates over the mossy roots and the gray
old rocks like a capricious snake, singing all the time a low song with
the "liquidest murmur," and one might almost fancy it the airy and
coquettish Undine herself. When it reaches the top of the hill, the
sparkling thing