There don't very many care to try an' get to it. It's over on the
other side of Death Valley. It's called Gold Mountain, an' there's only
one mine been located there, an' it's paying like a nitrate bed. There
ain't many people in that country, because it's all hell to get into.
First place, you got to cross Death Valley and strike the Armagosa Range
fur off to the south. Well, no one ain't stuck on crossing the Valley,
not if they can help it. But we could work down the Panamint some
hundred or so miles, maybe two hundred, an' fetch around by the Armagosa
River, way to the south'erd. We could prospect on the way. But I guess
the Armagosa'd be dried up at this season. Anyhow," he concluded, "we'll
move camp to the south to-morrow. We got to get new feed an' water
for the horses. We'll see if we can knock over a couple of antelope
to-morrow, and then we'll scoot."
"I ain't got a gun," said the dentist; "not even a revolver. I--"
"Wait a second," said Cribbens, pausing in his scramble down the side
of one of the smaller gulches. "Here's some slate here; I ain't seen no
slate around here yet. Let's see where it goes to."
McTeague followed him along the side of the gulch.
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