The streets are swarming with constantly arriving new-comers; the stores and saloons are literally crammed at all hours; dance-houses and can-can dens exist; hundreds of eager, expectant, and hopeful miners are working in the mines, and the harvest reaped by them is not at all discouraging. All along the gulch are strung a profusion of cabins, tents and shanties, making Deadwood in reality a town of a dozen miles in length, though some enterprising individual has paired off a couple more infant cities above Deadwood proper, named respectively Elizabeth City and Ten Strike. The quartz formation in these neighborhoods is something extraordinary, and from late reports, under vigorous and earnest development are yielding beyond the most sanguine expectation.
The placer mines west of Camp Crook are being opened to very satisfactory results, and, in fact, from Custer City in the south, to Deadwood in the north, all is the scene of abundant enthusiasm and excitement.
A horseman riding north thr
Chock full of stereotypical Western characters and in no way historically accurate, this book is nevertheless fun to read. The author had never been anywhere near the Black Hills or Deadwood area and probably got his information from equally inaccurate newspaper and magazine accounts of the gold rush of 1876. However, it is impressive that Wheeler wrote these tales when Deadwood was just forming. His descriptions of life out West certainly must have fired the imaginations of future writers of the genre.