in multiple directions.”
Clemens laughed aloud. “You’re not a geologist, then?”
“Closest thing to it. But even professors of geology or mining engineers have no way of knowing. Not even a man with a degree in geology could have the expertise to know whether it’s one ledge or many, since the whole thing is buried hundreds of feet in the earth and protrudes through the surface only here and there. When I was here in Eighteen Sixty, when this place had just started to boom, I drew a map of what I thought the ledges looked like and where they ran. It resembled ahandful of straw somebody’d thrown down on a board and varnished in place. But some fools took it for gospel, instead of my educated guess. Regardless of what I may think, personally I’m a multiple-ledges man in public.” He pushed back his chair and crossed his legs, as the waiter arrived to take their order. They settled on the special—pork and beans, onions, cabbage, bacon, and sourdough bread.
“The multiple-ledges theory is what keeps legions of lawyers in business,” Clemens continued. “Nearly everybody on the Comstock is at dagger points in some kind of litigation over intersecting claims, and which ones have the right to follow which veins, and so on and on.”
Ross nodded. “The lawyers are apparently the ones making all the real money in this town.”
“The lawyers and the outlaws,” Clemens added. “Or did I just repeat myself?”
“Are the legal judgments fair?”
“When a learned decision is handed down against a claimant, that’s usually not the end of it. The case is then settled out of court as often as not. The loser shoots the winner.”
“Then why don’t they eliminate the middle man and go to gun play right off?”
“The territory would never become a state if its citizens ignored the law.”
“So the judges’ rulings are basically fair, but not respected?”
“We’ve got the most upright judges in the country down at Carson City. They’re only considered corrupt if they take bribes from both sides at the same time.”
“Couldn’t ask for anything fairer than that,” Ross said, suppressing a grin. “Are you working on a story today?”
“Sure am. Nothing big, but at least I don’t have to invent something. A widow woman who lives a half mile from our cabin knocked the bottom out of her well.”
“Sounds like the beginning of a tall tale.”
“For once it’s not. I walked over there to check it myself. Her well’s about thirty feet deep. She went out and dropped a wooden bucket down to get some water. Bucket hit the water, and it was like somebody pulled a plug. The next minute, she had a bucket dangling on a rope with nothing below it. Turns out the Mexican Hat Mine workers, without knowing it, had tunneled right under her well. The water had gradually soaked through the thin layer of soil separating them. When she dropped the bucket, the concussion of it hitting the water broke right through into the tunnel.”
“Only on the Comstock…”
“I expect the whole town to collapse and slide down into the mines in the next few years.”
“The robbers will have the place cleaned out by then,” Ross said. “Does Virginia City have a police force?”
“The territorial government provides for one. But, as you can see, a handful of policemen have all the chance of chipmunks in a forest fire. Reckon that’s why every man in town carries a gun to settle his own disputes.” He frowned. “In my case, that may not be such a good idea.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m the one mainly responsible for Martin Scrivener’s getting into it with Frank Fossett, editor of The Gold Hill Clarion. ”
“You?”
Clemens nodded. “I wrote two or three pieces about Fossett and repeated some rumors I’d heard about his low-down shenanigans of salting mines, and adultery,and possibly being the brains behind some stage hold-ups. Thought it’d be fun to hear him howl and call us a few names in print.
Clemens laughed aloud. “You’re not a geologist, then?”
“Closest thing to it. But even professors of geology or mining engineers have no way of knowing. Not even a man with a degree in geology could have the expertise to know whether it’s one ledge or many, since the whole thing is buried hundreds of feet in the earth and protrudes through the surface only here and there. When I was here in Eighteen Sixty, when this place had just started to boom, I drew a map of what I thought the ledges looked like and where they ran. It resembled ahandful of straw somebody’d thrown down on a board and varnished in place. But some fools took it for gospel, instead of my educated guess. Regardless of what I may think, personally I’m a multiple-ledges man in public.” He pushed back his chair and crossed his legs, as the waiter arrived to take their order. They settled on the special—pork and beans, onions, cabbage, bacon, and sourdough bread.
“The multiple-ledges theory is what keeps legions of lawyers in business,” Clemens continued. “Nearly everybody on the Comstock is at dagger points in some kind of litigation over intersecting claims, and which ones have the right to follow which veins, and so on and on.”
Ross nodded. “The lawyers are apparently the ones making all the real money in this town.”
“The lawyers and the outlaws,” Clemens added. “Or did I just repeat myself?”
“Are the legal judgments fair?”
“When a learned decision is handed down against a claimant, that’s usually not the end of it. The case is then settled out of court as often as not. The loser shoots the winner.”
“Then why don’t they eliminate the middle man and go to gun play right off?”
“The territory would never become a state if its citizens ignored the law.”
“So the judges’ rulings are basically fair, but not respected?”
“We’ve got the most upright judges in the country down at Carson City. They’re only considered corrupt if they take bribes from both sides at the same time.”
“Couldn’t ask for anything fairer than that,” Ross said, suppressing a grin. “Are you working on a story today?”
“Sure am. Nothing big, but at least I don’t have to invent something. A widow woman who lives a half mile from our cabin knocked the bottom out of her well.”
“Sounds like the beginning of a tall tale.”
“For once it’s not. I walked over there to check it myself. Her well’s about thirty feet deep. She went out and dropped a wooden bucket down to get some water. Bucket hit the water, and it was like somebody pulled a plug. The next minute, she had a bucket dangling on a rope with nothing below it. Turns out the Mexican Hat Mine workers, without knowing it, had tunneled right under her well. The water had gradually soaked through the thin layer of soil separating them. When she dropped the bucket, the concussion of it hitting the water broke right through into the tunnel.”
“Only on the Comstock…”
“I expect the whole town to collapse and slide down into the mines in the next few years.”
“The robbers will have the place cleaned out by then,” Ross said. “Does Virginia City have a police force?”
“The territorial government provides for one. But, as you can see, a handful of policemen have all the chance of chipmunks in a forest fire. Reckon that’s why every man in town carries a gun to settle his own disputes.” He frowned. “In my case, that may not be such a good idea.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m the one mainly responsible for Martin Scrivener’s getting into it with Frank Fossett, editor of The Gold Hill Clarion. ”
“You?”
Clemens nodded. “I wrote two or three pieces about Fossett and repeated some rumors I’d heard about his low-down shenanigans of salting mines, and adultery,and possibly being the brains behind some stage hold-ups. Thought it’d be fun to hear him howl and call us a few names in print.
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