The gold fever of '49 is pictured with vividness. A part of the story is laid in Panama, the route taken by the gold-seekers.
, even with the bare fist, have ever shaken me before or since. Completely dazed, I struck back, but encountered only the empty air. Four or five times, from somewhere, these pile-driver fists descended upon me. Being now prepared, to some extent, I raised my elbows and managed to defend my neck and jaws. The attack was immediately transferred to my body, but I stiffened my muscles thankfully and took the punishment. My river and farm work had so hardened me there that I believe I could have taken the kick of a mule without damage were I expecting it.
The respite enabled my brain to clear. I recovered slowly from the effect of those first two vicious blows. I saw Ward, his eyes narrowed calculatingly, his body swinging forward like a whalebone spring, delivering his attack with nice accuracy. A slow anger glowed through me. He had begun without the least warning: had caught me absolutely unaware. I hit back.
He was so intent on his own assault, so certain of the blinding effect of his first atta
Darn good tale of the '49 gold rush with four friends who do it all, going from rags to riches to rags again, but with a strong hope of future riches. An adult tale but with no silly girls to giggle and carry on.
White was quite an adventure writer, and was quite an adventurer himself in real life.