replied the man. "I hear
the _California_ fetched about 25,000 pieces, in all languages from
American to Chinese. The postmaster and two assistants have been
working all night and they'll probably work all day and another night."

"Well, we don't expect anything this time; do you, Grigsby?"

The Fremonter shook his head.

"Nor do I," volunteered the strange man. "But I've a partner up there
who's been expecting a letter for six months. See those lines of
hopefuls? By noon they'll be extended two blocks. The first in line
must have got there as soon as the ship was sighted, last evening.
I've known men to wait in line for a week, and have their meals brought
to them. And then as like as not they didn't get their letter."

"I was thinking that we'd get what few supplies we need," said Mr.
Adams, as they resumed their way, "and start out for the diggin's in
the morning. There'll be some way of getting up there, I suppose."

"Yes, by boat, horse or foot," answered the Fremonter. "I don't reckon
we want to buy any horses, and it's a long trail afoot. I'll see about
a boat if you'll lay in what supplies you think we'll need."

"All right. Sugar, salt, flour, bacon and potatoes will be enough,
won't it?"

"Plenty. I'll meet you at the hotel at noon. Adios."

"Adios," replied Mr. Adams and Charley; and the tall Fremonter strode
away.

The throng at the post-office seemed to have no effect on the rest of
the down-town, for the streets were as crowded as before with hurrying
people, mostly men. New Yorkers, Arkansans, Illinoisans, Britishers,
Germans, Frenchmen, Swedes, Mexicans, Malays with long curved knives,
the queer Chinamen, and some swarthy persons, in brown ponchos (or
cloaks with a hole in the middle for the head), who his father said
were Peruvians and Chilians--all these passed hither-thither, only
pausing to bargain with each other or at the shops, until Charley's
brain whirled at the many odd sights. There were a few women, but none
who looked to him anything like his mother.

Across the plaza his father espied a new sign, in front of a shop built
of boxes. It said: "Potatoes for Sale. Just Received."

"That's what we want, Charley," he spoke; and for the place they made.
The potatoes were in open sacks, just inside the door--and that was the
shop's whole stock of goods.

"How much are your potatoes, my man?" asked Mr. Adams. "They look
pretty good."

"One dollar and a half. Yes, si