Exerpt from page 108.

"Tonopah geologists made models of their mines. On thin glass slides, some of which hung vertically in slender grooves while others lay horizontally on tiny cleats, all the workings of the mine were traced to scale in colored inks. When you stood in front of the model and looked into its serried sections, you seemed to be looking into the earth with a magic eye. Here the shaft dropped down from level to level through ore and country rock; here were “ drifts” and “stopes” and “ crosscuts” with every foot of ore blocked out; and here you traced the meandering vein, noted where it petered out or widened into richness unimagined as it continued into regions still unexplored.

They were beautiful things, these glass models, made by skilled craftsmen, often works of art. When I think of Tonopah, the memory is like such a model of a life I was privileged to live, unique and gone: the humble water carrier who brought his precious cargo to my door in a barrel; the old Indian who had been a warrior and carried himself with such dignity; the prospector who picked up a rock to throw at a burro and discovered ore that poured millions into hands he never saw; the men who were made by its magic or were ruined by its power; the cowboy who read philosophy and the gambler who was godfather to a state; the men and women who touched my hand and warmed my heart; and last of all, the view from the top of the world when I rode on a roundup. These things, so full of meaning for me, were a vein of ore whose richness increased with depth." - Marjorie Brown.