Explore "The Furnace of Gold" by Philip Verrill Mighels on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Now Nevada, though robed in gray and white -- the gray of sagebrush and the white of snowy summits -- had never yet been accounted a nun when once again the early summer aroused the passions of her being and the wild peach burst into bloom.
It was out in Nauwish valley, at the desert-edge, where gold has been stored in the hungry-looking rock to lure man away from fairer pastures. There were mountains everywhere -- huge, rugged mountains, erected in the igneous fury of world-making, long since calmed. Above them all the sky was almost incredibly blue -- an intense ultramarine of extraordinary clearness and profundity.