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Water was the reason. He was thirsty. And so, he dug into the earth deeper.
“Richard,” said the elder. “Come look here.”
The young man left his own hole and walked over. His snot nose hovered over the disturbed soil, but he didn’t see anything of substance.
“You ask me ov’r here an’ ain’t say nothin’. Tell me. What I’m look’n’ at?”
“Noth’n’.”
“You show’n’ me your dirt. Meanwhile I got prospects ov’r at my patch.”
“That plot’s got no twist to it, boy.”
They’d been looking for opal in Inyo, smack dab between Lake Manly and old Tecopa (the heart of the Basin), for twelve days and eleven nights. They hadn’t a clue. They’d heard some miners talking at the diner in Cerro Gordo, real or imagined. It grew where the water once was, or so they hoped.
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