A Millionaire of Rough-and-Ready | Page 3

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A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY
by BRET HARTE

PROLOGUE
There was no mistake this time: he had struck gold at last!
It had lain there before him a moment ago--a misshapen piece of
brown-stained quartz, interspersed with dull yellow metal; yielding
enough to have allowed the points of his pick to penetrate its
honeycombed recesses, yet heavy enough to drop from the point of his
pick as he endeavored to lift it from the red earth.
He was seeing all this plainly, although he found himself, he knew not
why, at some distance from the scene of his discovery, his heart
foolishly beating, his breath impotently hurried. Yet he was walking
slowly and vaguely; conscious of stopping and staring at the landscape,
which no longer looked familiar to him. He was hoping for some
instinct or force of habit to recall him to himself; yet when he saw a
neighbor at work in an adjacent claim, he hesitated, and then turned his
back upon him. Yet only a moment before he had thought of running to
him, saying, "By Jingo! I've struck it," or "D--n it, old man, I've got it";
but that moment had passed, and now it seemed to him that he could
scarce raise his voice, or, if he did, the ejaculation would appear forced

and artificial. Neither could he go over to him coolly and tell his good
fortune; and, partly from this strange shyness, and partly with a hope
that another survey of the treasure might restore him to natural
expression, he walked back to his tunnel.
Yes; it was there! No mere "pocket" or "deposit," but a part of the
actual vein he had been so long seeking. It was there, sure enough,
lying beside the pick and the debris of the "face" of the vein that he had
exposed sufficiently, after the first shock of discovery, to assure
himself of the fact and the permanence of his fortune. It was there, and
with it the refutation of his enemies' sneers, the corroboration of his
friends' belief, the practical demonstration of his own theories, the
reward of his patient labors. It was there, sure enough. But, somehow,
he not only failed to recall the first joy of discovery, but was conscious
of a vague sense of responsibility and unrest. It was, no doubt, an
enormous fortune to a man in his circumstances: perhaps it meant a
couple of hundred thousand dollars, or more, judging from the value of
the old Martin lead, which was not as rich as this, but it required to be
worked constantly and judiciously. It was with a decided sense of
uneasiness that he again sought the open sunlight of the hillside. His
neighbor was still visible on the adjacent claim; but he had apparently
stopped working, and was contemplatively smoking a pipe under a
large pine-tree. For an instant he envied him his apparent contentment.
He had a sudden fierce and inexplicable desire to go over to him and
exasperate his easy poverty by a revelation of his own new-found
treasure. But even that sensation quickly passed, and left him staring
blankly at the landscape again.
As soon as he had made his discovery known, and settled its value, he
would send for his wife and her children in the States. He would build a
fine house on the opposite hillside, if she would consent to it, unless
she preferred, for the children's sake, to live in San Francisco. A sense
of a loss of independence--of a change of circumstances that left him
no longer his own master-- began to perplex him, in the midst of his
brightest projects. Certain other relations with other members of his
family, which had lapsed by absence and his insignificance, must now
be taken up anew. He must do something for his sister Jane, for his
brother William, for his wife's poor connections. It would be unfair to
him to say that he contemplated those things with any other instinct

than that of generosity; yet he was conscious of being already
perplexed