line. Burros he kept, one or two according to his pack, for this chief
excellence, that they would eat potato parings and firewood. He had
owned a horse in the foothill country, but when he came to the desert
with no forage but mesquite, he found himself under the necessity of
picking the beans from the briers, a labor that drove him to the use of
pack animals to whom thorns were a relish.

I suppose no man becomes a pocket hunter by first intention. He must be
born with the faculty, and along comes the occasion, like the tap on the
test tube that induces crystallization. My friend had been several
things of no moment until he struck a thousand-dollar pocket in the Lee
District and came into his vocation. A pocket, you must know, is a small
body of rich ore occurring by itself, or in a vein of poorer stuff.
Nearly every mineral ledge contains such, if only one has the luck to
hit upon them without too much labor. The sensible thing for a man to do
who has found a good pocket is to buy himself into business and keep
away from the hills. The logical thing is to set out looking for another
one. My friend the Pocket Hunter had been looking twenty years. His
working outfit was a shovel, a pick, a gold pan which he kept cleaner
than his plate, and a pocket magnifier. When he came to a watercourse he
would pan out the gravel of its bed for "colors," and under the glass
determine if they had come from far or near, and so spying he would work
up the stream until he found where the drift of the gold-bearing outcrop
fanned out into the creek; then up the side of the cañon till he came to
the proper vein. I think he said the best indication of small pockets
was an iron stain, but I could never get the run of miner's talk enough
to feel instructed for pocket hunting. He had another method in the
waterless hills, where he would work in and out of blind gullies and all
windings of the manifold strata that appeared not to have cooled since
they had been heaved up. His itinerary began with the east slope of the