Explore "No Crime in the Mountains" by Raymond Chandler on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
We reached the far edge of the thicket in a few minutes. Beyond that the ground was level and open. There was a spidery something against the sky, a few low piles of waste dirt, a set of sluice boxes built one on top of the other like a miniature cooling tower, an endless belt going towards it from a cut. Barron put his mouth against my ear.
"Ain't been worked for a couple of years," he said. "Ain't worth it. Day's hard work for two men might get you a pennyweight of gold. This country was worked to death sixty years ago. That low hut over yonder's a old refrigerator car. She's thick and damn near bullet-proof. I don't see no car, but maybe it's behind. Or hidden. Most like hidden. You ready to go?"