A most remarkable case of “salting” was that of the “North Ophir.”
It was claimed that this vein was a remote extension” of the original
“Ophir,” a valuable mine on the “Comstock.” For a few days everybody was
talking about the rich developments in the North Ophir. It was said that
it yielded perfectly pure silver in small, solid lumps. I went to the
place with the owners, and found a shaft six or eight feet deep, in the
bottom of which was a badly shattered vein of dull, yellowish,
unpromising rock. One would as soon expect to find silver in a
grindstone. We got out a pan of the rubbish and washed it in a puddle,
and sure enough, among the sediment we found half a dozen black, bullet-
looking pellets of unimpeachable “native” silver. Nobody had ever heard
of such a thing before; science could not account for such a queer
novelty. The stock rose to sixty-five dollars a foot, and at this figure
the world-renowned tragedian, McKean Buchanan, bought a commanding
interest and prepared to quit the stage once more–he was always doing
that. And then it transpired that the mine had been “salted”–and not in
any hackneyed way, either, but in a singularly bold, barefaced and
peculiarly original and outrageous fashion. On one of the lumps of
“native” silver was discovered the minted legend, “TED STATES OF,” and
then it was plainly apparent that the mine had been “salted” with melted
half-dollars! The lumps thus obtained had been blackened till they
resembled native silver, and were then mixed with the shattered rock in
the bottom of the shaft. It is literally true. Of course the price of
the stock at once fell to nothing, and the tragedian was ruined. But for
this calamity we might have lost McKean Buchanan from the stage.
CHAPTER XLV.
The “flush times” held bravely on. Something over two years before, Mr.
Goodman and another journeyman printer, had borrowed forty dollars and
set out from San Francisco to try their fortunes in the new city of
Virginia. They found the Territorial Enterprise, a poverty-stricken
weekly journal, gasping for breath and likely to die. They bought it,
type, fixtures, good-will and all, for a thousand dollars, on long time.
The editorial sanctum, news-room, press-room, publication office, bed-
chamber, parlor, and kitchen were all compressed into one apartment and
it was a small one, too. The editors and printers slept on the floor, a
Chinaman did their cooking, and the “imposing-stone” was the general
dinner table. But now things were changed. The paper was a great daily,
printed by steam; there were five editors and twenty-three compositors;
the subscription price was sixteen dollars a year; the advertising rates
were exorbitant, and the columns crowded. The paper was clearing from
six to ten thousand dollars a month, and the “Enterprise Building” was
finished and ready for occupation–a stately fireproof brick. Every day
from five all the way up to eleven columns of “live” advertisements were
left out or crowded into spasmodic and irregular “supplements.”
The “Gould & Curry” company were erecting a monster hundred-stamp mill at
a cost that ultimately fell little short of a million dollars. Gould &
Curry stock paid heavy dividends–a rare thing, and an experience
confined to the dozen or fifteen claims located on the “main lead,” the
“Comstock.” The Superintendent of the Gould & Curry lived, rent free, in
a fine house built and furnished by the company. He drove a fine pair of
horses which were a present from the company, and his salary was twelve
thousand dollars a year. The superintendent of another of the great
mines traveled in grand state, had a salary of twenty-eight thousand
dollars a year, and in a law suit in after days claimed that he was to
have had one per cent. on the gross yield of the bullion likewise.
Money was wonderfully plenty. The trouble was, not how to get it,–but
how to spend it, how to lavish it, get rid of it, squander it. And so it
was a happy thing that just at this juncture the news came over the wires
that a great United States Sanitary Commission had been formed and money