Rensselaer Republican, Volume 12, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 January 1880 — Striking It Rick. [ARTICLE]

Striking It Rick.

The day waa hot- at Frisco, Utah, and the three drank beer and talked. -It appeared bom their conversation that they had all had more or less experience in prospecting. One said: “The biggest thing l ever struck was once when me and Newt Bowden was prospectin’. One day we felt the earth kinder tremblin’ an’ saw a smoke on the top of a mountain. We climbed np to the top—’twas a long pull. When we got there we foun' it was a volcano. ’Twm all bilin’ in the crater. One place in the crater was lower than t’other parts, an’ a cliff struck right down from this low place—it went down ’bout 700 feet. Tne earth, kep’ tremblin’, an’ a stream ‘bout twenty feet wide by five deep run outen the crater or gap an’ made a clean jump of 700 feet down.” “ WaterP” interrupted one of the listeners; “pooty hot, wasn’t itP” “ WaterP 'Twas quicksilver!” “ Quicksilver?” k “ jou bet. We went down to the foot of the fall. The stream of quicksilver from the fall run a few hundred yards an’ sunk. It kep’ tremblin’.’' “What made the tremblin’?” “The quicksilver strikin’ below; heavy, you know. Me an’ Newt both got sick; he sicker than me. He kep’ gittin’ worse, an’ died before I could get him to a camp. I got to a camp an’ was sick for months; was salervated. My teeth all came out. I hain’t no teeth now, nor toe-nails, nuther.” “Why didn't you go back to the quicksilver P” t “’Fraid er gittin’ salervated agin. Killed Newt, you know.” Number two said: “Well, the richest discov’ry I ever made was one time when I was by myself. I saw a bluff ’bout three miles off; it had a queer,, look. I went to it; ’twas more’n a thousan’ feet high, an’ nearly every bit of it was solia native silver. You could walk ’long an’ look at it for a mile ’thout seem anything but pure silver. Some places the silver had oozed out while the cliff was hot, an’ made things like big icicles; some of them waskangin’ down 600 feet long. I located ’bout three miles of the ledge, an’ left.”

“ Hew came you so poor?” asked one. “ Well, Pd got back in a day’s ride of camp, and was packin’ up one mornin’ after breakfast; as I come to the filin’ pan my mule had one hin’ foot in ft, an’ I tapped him on the leg to make him step outen it, an’ he up and kicked me on the head.” “But he didn’t break your head?” “No; but I can’t remember directiens since.” The third one began: “ I was by myself, too, when I struck it big. One day I was prospectin’ through an open country; an’ traveled on until after night, trying to find water. At last I roae over a ridge, and noticed that my mule’s shoes kep’ clinkin’ against somethin.’ I had a fine young mule. There was a valley at the bottom of the ridge, and water. I went to sleep, and waked up when day began to break, but rolled oyer an’ slop’ again. Nex’ time I waked the sun was up, but I couldn’t hold my eyes open until I tried a long time, there was such a glitter.” “Mica,” one of the party suggested. “Gold, sir! Gold everywhere! Pd thrown my blanket over a chunk to make a piller; the chunk was gold, solid gold! Tne ridge I’d come over was gold, solid gold! On ’tother side of the valley was mountains of gold risin’ up an’ glitterin’ in the sunshine. One high mountain had snow on the top, but was gold up to the snow. Fellers, that mountain looked like a picter. Pd jest begun to think my bacon-eatin’ days was over when three men came up to me, two young men an’ one ole man. Judgin’ from their actions—l couldn’t understand their talk—the young fellers wanted to kill me, but the old chap persuaded them not ter. They all had gold buttons on their clothes an’ heeltaps an’ tap-soles of gold. The ole man was smokin’ a gold pipe with a long gold stem. They blin’folded me an’ lea me away.” “Well, did they lead you far?” he was asked. “Seems to me-1 listened to the clink of them tajp-soles an’ heels for ten thousand miles.”

“Was they long about it?” “ When I laid down in that gold valley that night, though I say it myself, I was young an’ good lookin’; my beard was as black as a crow an’ hair thick as a dog’s, but when they lef me an’ got out of hearin’ an’ I uncovered my eyes my beard was gray.” “An your head?” “ Like it is now, not a hair on it.” “What became of your fine young mule?”

“The ole man rode it on the trip till it fell dead' of old age.” —Salt Lake Tribune.