Ronalds. I only knew him through the
extraordinarily distorting medium of local gossip, now as a
momentous jobber; now as a dupe to point an adage; and again, and
much more probably, as an ordinary Christian gentleman like you or
me, who had opened a mine and worked it for a while with better and
worse fortune. So, through a defective window-pane, you may see
the passer-by shoot up into a hunchbacked giant or dwindle into a
potbellied dwarf.
To Ronalds, at least, the mine belonged; but the notice by which he
held it would ran out upon the 30th of June--or rather, as I
suppose, it had run out already, and the month of grace would
expire upon that day, after which any American citizen might post a
notice of his own, and make Silverado his. This, with a sort of
quiet slyness, Rufe told me at an early period of our acquaintance.
There was no silver, of course; the mine "wasn't worth nothing, Mr.
Stevens," but there was a deal of old iron and wood around, and to
gain possession of this old wood and iron, and get a right to the
water, Rufe proposed, if I had no objections, to "jump the claim."
Of course, I had no objection. But I was filled with wonder. If
all he wanted was the wood and iron, what, in the name of fortune,
was to prevent him taking them? "His right there was none to
dispute." He might lay hands on all to-morrow, as the wild cats
had laid hands upon our knives and hatchet.
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