We came upon him often after that, threading the windy passes, or by water-holes in the desert hills, and got to know much of his way of life. He was a small, bowed man, with a face and manner and speech of no character at all, as if he had that faculty4 of small hunted things of taking on the protective color of his surroundings. His clothes were of no fashion that I could remember, except that they bore liberal markings of pot black, and he had a curious fashion of going about with his mouth open, which gave him a vacant look until you came near enough to perceive him busy about an endless hummed, wordless tune5. He traveled far and took a long time to it, but the simplicity6 of his kitchen arrangements was elemental. A pot for beans, a coffee-pot, a frying-pan, a tin to mix bread in—he fed the burros in this when there was need—with these he had been half round our western world and back. He explained to me very early in our acquaintance what was good to take to the hills for food: nothing sticky, for that "dirtied the pots;" nothing with "juice" to it, for that would not pack to advantage; and nothing likely to ferment7. He used no gun, but he would set snares8 by the water-holes for quail9 and doves, and in the trout10 country he carried a line. Burros he kept, one or two according to his pack, for this chief excellence11, that they would eat potato parings and firewood. He had owned a horse in the foothill country, but when he came to the desert with no forage12 but mesquite, he found himself under the necessity of picking the beans from the briers, a labor13 that drove him to the use of pack animals to whom thorns were a relish14.
I suppose no man becomes a pocket hunter by first intention. He must be born with the faculty, and along comes the occasion, like the tap on the test tube that induces crystallization. My friend had been several things of no moment until he struck a thousand-dollar pocket in the Lee District and came into his vocation15. A pocket, you must know, is a small body of rich ore occurring by itself, or in a vein16 of poorer stuff. Nearly every mineral ledge17 contains such, if only one has the luck to hit upon them without too much labor. The sensible thing for a man to do who has found a good pocket is to buy himself into business and keep away from the hills. The logical thing is to set out looking for another one. My friend the Pocket Hunter had been looking twenty years. His working outfit18 was a shovel19, a pick, a gold pan which he kept cleaner than his plate, and a pocket magnifier. When he came to a watercourse he would pan out the gravel20 of its bed for "colors," and under the glass determine if they had come from far or near, and so spying he would work up the stream until he found where the drift of the gold-bearing outcrop fanned out into the creek21; then up the side of the canon till he came to the proper vein. I think he said the best indication of small pockets was an iron stain, but I could never get the run of miner's talk enough to feel instructed for pocket hunting. He had another method in the waterless hills, where he would work in and out of blind gullies and all windings22 of the manifold strata23 that appeared not to have cooled since they had been heaved up. His itinerary24 began with the east slope of the Sierras of the Snows, where that range swings across to meet the coast hills, and all up that slope to the Truckee River country, where the long cold forbade his progress north. Then he worked back down one or another of the nearly parallel ranges that lie out desertward, and so down to the sink of the Mojave River, burrowing25 to oblivion in the sand,—a big mysterious land, a lonely, inhospitable land, beautiful, terrible. But he came to no harm in it; the land tolerated him as it might a gopher or a badger27. Of all its inhabitants it has the least concern for man.
There are many strange sorts of humans bred in a mining country, each sort despising the queernesses of the other, but of them all I found the Pocket Hunter most acceptable for his clean, companionable talk. There was more color to his reminiscences than the faded sandy old miners "kyoteing," that is, tunneling like a coyote (kyote in the vernacular) in the core of a lonesome hill. Such a one has found, perhaps, a body of tolerable ore in a poor lead,—remember that I can never be depended on to get the terms right,—and followed it into the heart of country rock to no profit, hoping, burrowing, and hoping. These men go harmlessly mad in time, believing themselves just behind the wall of fortune—most likable and simple men, for whom it is well to do any kindly29 thing that occurs to you except lend them money. I have known "grub stakers" too, those persuasive30 sinners to whom you make allowances of flour and pork and coffee in consideration of the ledges31 they are about to find; but none of these proved so much worth while as the Pocket Hunter. He wanted nothing of you and maintained a cheerful preference for his own way of life. It was an excellent way if you had the constitution for it. The Pocket Hunter had gotten to that point where he knew no bad weather, and all places were equally happy so long as they were out of doors. I do not know just how long it takes to become saturated32 with the elements so that one takes no account of them. Myself can never get past the glow and exhilaration of a storm, the wrestle33 of long dust-heavy winds, the play of live thunder on the rocks, nor past the keen fret34 of fatigue35 when the storm outlasts36 physical endurance. But prospectors37 and Indians get a kind of a weather shell that remains38 on the body until death.
The Pocket Hunter had seen destruction by the violence of nature and the violence of men, and felt himself in the grip of an All-wisdom that killed men or spared them as seemed for their good; but of death by sickness he knew nothing except that he believed he should never suffer it. He had been in Grape-vine Canon the year of storms that changed the whole front of the mountain. All day he had come down under the wing of the storm, hoping to win past it, but finding it traveling with him until night. It kept on after that, he supposed, a steady downpour, but could not with certainty say, being securely deep in sleep. But the weather instinct does not sleep. In the night the heavens behind the hill dissolved in rain, and the roar of the storm was borne in and mixed with his dreaming, so that it moved him, still asleep, to get up and out of the path of it. What finally woke him was the crash of pine logs as they went down before the unbridled flood, and the swirl39 of foam40 that lashed41 him where he clung in the tangle42 of scrub while the wall of water went by. It went on against the cabin of Bill Gerry and laid Bill stripped and broken on a sand bar at the mouth of the Grape-vine, seven miles away. There, when the sun was up and the wrath43 of the rain spent, the Pocket Hunter found and buried him; but he never laid his own escape at any door but the unintelligible44 favor of the Powers.
The journeyings of the Pocket Hunter led him often into that mysterious country beyond Hot Creek where a hidden force works mischief45, mole-like, under the crust of the earth. Whatever agency is at work in that neighborhood, and it is popularly supposed to be the devil, it changes means and direction without time or season. It creeps up whole hillsides with insidious46 heat, unguessed until one notes the pine woods dying at the top, and having scorched47 out a good block of timber returns to steam and spout48 in caked, forgotten crevices49 of years before. It will break up sometimes blue-hot and bubbling, in the midst of a clear creek, or make a sucking, scalding quicksand at the ford3. These outbreaks had the kind of morbid50 interest for the Pocket Hunter that a house of unsavory reputation has in a respectable neighborhood, but I always found the accounts he brought me more interesting than his explanations, which were compounded of fag ends of miner's talk and superstition51. He was a perfect gossip of the woods, this Pocket Hunter, and when I could get him away from "leads" and "strikes" and "contacts," full of fascinating small talk about the ebb52 and flood of creeks53, the pinon crop on Black Mountain, and the wolves of Mesquite Valley. I suppose he never knew how much he depended for the necessary sense of home and companionship on the beasts and trees, meeting and finding them in their wonted places,—the bear that used to come down Pine Creek in the spring, pawing out trout from the shelters of sod banks, the juniper at Lone26 Tree Spring, and the quail at Paddy Jack's.
There is a place on Waban, south of White Mountain, where flat, wind-tilted cedars54 make low tents and coves56 of shade and shelter, where the wild sheep winter in the snow. Woodcutters and prospectors had brought me word of that, but the Pocket Hunter was accessory to the fact. About the opening of winter, when one looks for sudden big storms, he had attempted a crossing by the nearest path, beginning the ascent57 at noon. It grew cold, the snow came on thick and blinding, and wiped out the trail in a white smudge; the storm drift blew in and cut off landmarks58, the early dark obscured the rising drifts. According to the Pocket Hunter's account, he knew where he was, but couldn't exactly say. Three days before he had been in the west arm of Death Valley on a short water allowance, ankle-deep in shifty sand; now he was on the rise of Waban, knee-deep in sodden59 snow, and in both cases he did the only allowable thing—he walked on. That is the only thing to do in a snowstorm in any case. It might have been the creature instinct, which in his way of life had room to grow, that led him to the cedar55 shelter; at any rate he found it about four hours after dark, and heard the heavy breathing of the flock. He said that if he thought at all at this juncture60 he must have thought that he had stumbled on a storm-belated shepherd with his silly sheep; but in fact he took no note of anything but the warmth of packed fleeces, and snuggled in between them dead with sleep. If the flock stirred in the night he stirred drowsily61 to keep close and let the storm go by. That was all until morning woke him shining on a white world. Then the very soul of him shook to see the wild sheep of God stand up about him, nodding their great horns beneath the cedar roof, looking out on the wonder of the snow. They had moved a little away from him with the coming of the light, but paid him no more heed62. The light broadened and the white pavilions of the snow swam in the heavenly blueness of the sea from which they rose. The cloud drift scattered63 and broke billowing in the canons. The leader stamped lightly on the litter to put the flock in motion, suddenly they took the drifts in those long light leaps that are nearest to flight, down and away on the slopes of Waban. Think of that to happen to a Pocket Hunter! But though he had fallen on many a wished-for hap28, he was curiously64 inapt at getting the truth about beasts in general. He believed in the venom65 of toads66, and charms for snake bites, and—for this I could never forgive him—had all the miner's prejudices against my friend the coyote. Thief, sneak67, and son of a thief were the friendliest words he had for this little gray dog of the wilderness68.
Of course with so much seeking he came occasionally upon pockets of more or less value, otherwise he could not have kept up his way of life; but he had as much luck in missing great ledges as in finding small ones. He had been all over the Tonopah country, and brought away float without happening upon anything that gave promise of what that district was to become in a few years. He claimed to have chipped bits off the very outcrop of the California Rand, without finding it worth while to bring away, but none of these things put him out of countenance69.
It was once in roving weather, when we found him shifting pack on a steep trail, that I observed certain of his belongings70 done up in green canvas bags, the veritable "green bag" of English novels. It seemed so incongruous a reminder71 in this untenanted West that I dropped down beside the trail overlooking the vast dim valley, to hear about the green canvas. He had gotten it, he said, in London years before, and that was the first I had known of his having been abroad. It was after one of his "big strikes" that he had made the Grand Tour, and had brought nothing away from it but the green canvas bags, which he conceived would fit his needs, and an ambition. This last was nothing less than to strike it rich and set himself up among the eminently72 bourgeois73 of London. It seemed that the situation of the wealthy English middle class, with just enough gentility above to aspire74 to, and sufficient smaller fry to bully75 and patronize, appealed to his imagination, though of course he did not put it so crudely as that.
It was no news to me then, two or three years after, to learn that he had taken ten thousand dollars from an abandoned claim, just the sort of luck to have pleased him, and gone to London to spend it. The land seemed not to miss him any more than it had minded him, but I missed him and could not forget the trick of expecting him in least likely situations. Therefore it was with a pricking76 sense of the familiar that I followed a twilight77 trail of smoke, a year or two later, to the swale of a dripping spring, and came upon a man by the fire with a coffee-pot and frying-pan. I was not surprised to find it was the Pocket Hunter. No man can be stronger than his destiny.
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1
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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5
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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itinerary
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| n.行程表，旅行路线；旅行计划 | |
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burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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hap
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| n.运气；v.偶然发生 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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outlasts
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| v.比…长久，比…活得长( outlast的第三人称单数 ) | |
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prospectors
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| n.勘探者，探矿者( prospector的名词复数 ) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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41
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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42
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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43
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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44
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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45
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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46
insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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47
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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48
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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49
crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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50
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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51
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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52
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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53
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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54
cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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57
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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58
landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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59
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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60
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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61
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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62
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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63
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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66
toads
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆( toad的名词复数 ) | |
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67
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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68
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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69
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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70
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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71
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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72
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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73
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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74
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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75
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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76
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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77
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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