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Show enormous pit left by the cave-in. But wealth estimated from $2 5 million to $54 million came out of a relatively small cavity in Frisco Mountain. Golcondas north and south served, as I suggested, to give us fables of buried treasure to recite when our farming candle almost blew out. They lent a little luster to the crimson and gold sunsets over Blue Mountain lightening into the "gulf of evening" over Pioche where she lay on her Treasure Hill. Once we heard rumors of "strikes" in the Jarloose District south of Minersville in the dark volcanic hills that made our eastern wall. But nothing more than dreams came of them. One time of relief from desert boredom in the early Twenties after Prohibition set in, I roamed Milford's streets. In the afterglow of the Horn Silver and other mines the town retained remnants of the false front, arcaded walk, raffish air of the old boom town. In quest of adventure I sought out a paintless, decaying, sad bar as probably being subject to current temptations. Inside it was gloomy, dim, but it hinted memories of gaudy 19th century grandeur. In the middle was a two-story ceiling with stairs leading to a gallery from which I could imagine dancehall girls bending to beckon gallants from the bar. When the Moscow and the Old Hickory and the Horn Silver were booming, I can imagine how the miners and the girls made this joint pump at night. I was the sole customer. A flabby bartender, bald, satchel-eyed, mournful, stared scornfully at this callow teen-age visitor. Grumpily he asked me what I wanted. My nerve failed me, my sophisticated quip, my debonair wink. I simply asked for beer, hoping still |