Philip Hardin dares not take that oath
in open court. His pride prevents, but, even were he to offer it,
the mockery would be too patent.
A happy excuse prevents his humiliation. Trustee of the vast
estate of Lagunitas, he has also his own affairs to direct. It is
a dignified retirement.
Another great passion fills his later days. Since the wandering
Comstock and Curry, proverbially unfortunate discoverers, like
Marshall, pointed to hundreds of millions for the "silver kings,"
along Mount Davidson's stony, breast, he gambles daily. The stock
board is his play-room.
The mining stock exchange gives his maturer years the wilder
excitements of the old El Dorado.
Washoe, Nevada Territory, or the State of Nevada, the new "Silverado"
drives all men crazy. A city shines now along the breast of the
Storey County peaks, nine thousand feet above the sea. The dulness
of California's evolution is broken by the rush to Washoe. Already
the hardy prospectors spread out in that great hunt for treasure
which will bring Colorado, Idaho, and Montana, crowned aspirants,
bearing gifts of gold and silver, to the gates of the Union. The
whole West is a land of hidden treasures.
Speculation's mad fever seized on Hardin from the days of 1860.
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