The lower room had been the assayer’s office. The floor was thick with debris⁠—part human, from the former occupants; part natural, sifted in by mountain winds. In a sea of red dust there swam or floated sticks, boards, hay, straw, stones, and paper; ancient newspapers, above all⁠—for the newspaper, especially when torn, soon becomes an antiquity⁠—and bills of the Silverado boardinghouse, some dated Silverado, some Calistoga Mine. Here is one, verbatim; and if anyone can calculate the scale of charges, he has my envious admiration.