In the way of clothes I had those I left Los Angeles in⁠—overalls, blue shirt, a stout coat, and a cheap cap.

After bumming a stage ride, beating my way over a jerkwater branch road, and stowing away on a Columbia River boat loaded with dynamite and explosive oil for the mines, I got into one of the prosperous camps with a lone dollar in my pocket. The town was booming; crowded with miners, prospectors, and speculators. Beds were two dollars a night and meals a dollar. This caused me no uneasiness, for I knew it would be easier to get three dollars there than fifteen cents in the big cities where, in those days, a chicken dinner could be had for a dime and a flop on a bare floor for a “jit,” as the Southern negro affectionately calls his nickel.