The Christmas Tree by Maud Van Buren

_Mary Austin_

Eastward from the Sierras rises a strong red hill known as Pine / Mountain, though the Indians call it The Hill of Summer Snow. At its / foot stands a town of a hundred board houses, given over wholly to the / business of mining. The noise of it goes on by day and night, -- the / creak of the windlasses, the growl of the stamps in the mill, the clank / of the cars running down to the dump, and from the open doors of the / drinking saloons, great gusts of laughter and the sound of singing. / Billows of smoke roll up from the tall stacks and by night are lit / ruddily by the smelter fires all going at a roaring blast.[10]