him shook to see the
wild sheep of God stand up about him, nodding their great horns beneath
the cedar roof, looking out on the wonder of the snow. They had moved a
little away from him with the coming of the light, but paid him no more
heed. The light broadened and the white pavilions of the snow swam in
the heavenly blueness of the sea from which they rose. The cloud drift
scattered and broke billowing in the canons. The leader stamped lightly
on the litter to put the flock in motion, suddenly they took the drifts
in those long light leaps that are nearest to flight, down and away on
the slopes of Waban. Think of that to happen to a Pocket Hunter! But
though he had fallen on many a wished-for hap, he was curiously inapt at
getting the truth about beasts in general. He believed in the venom of
toads, and charms for snake bites, and--for this I could never forgive
him--had all the miner's prejudices against my friend the coyote. Thief,
sneak, and son of a thief were the friendliest words he had for this
little gray dog of the wilderness.

Of course with so much seeking he came occasionally upon pockets of more
or less value, otherwise he could not have kept up his way of life; but
he had as much luck in missing great ledges as in finding small ones.
He had been all over the Tonopah country, and brought away float without
happening upon anything that gave promise of what that district was
to become in a few years. He claimed to have chipped bits off the very
outcrop of the California Rand, without finding it worth while to bring
away, but none of these things put him out of countenance.

It was once in roving weather, when we found him shifting pack on a
steep trail, that I observed certain of his belongings done up in green
canvas bags, the veritable "green bag" of English novels. It seemed
so incongruous a reminder in this untenanted West that I dropped down
beside the trail overlooking the vast dim valley, to hear about the
green canvas. He had gotten it, he said, in London years before, and
that was the first I had known of his having been abroad. It was after
one of his "big strikes" that he had made the Grand Tour, and had
brought nothing away from it but the green canvas bags, which he
conceived would fit his needs, and an ambition. This last was nothing
less than to strike it rich and set himself up among the eminently
bourgeois of London. It seemed that the situation of the wealthy
English middle class, with ju