noon
It flashed a moment dazzlingly as it caught the declining sun , and then went out , even obliterating the little figure behind it . Mr. Jack Fleming was indeed `` not much of a miner . '' He and his partners -- both as young , hopeful , and inefficient as himself -- had for three months worked a claim in a mountain mining settlement which yielded them a certain amount of healthy exercise , good-humored grumbling , and exalted independence . To dig for three or four hours in the morning , smoke their pipes under a redwood-tree for an hour at noon , take up their labors again until sunset , when they `` washed up '' and gathered sufficient gold to pay for their daily wants , was , without their seeking it , or even knowing it , the realization of a charming socialistic ideal which better men than themselves had only dreamed of . Fleming fell back into this refined barbarism , giving little thought to his woodland experience , and no revelation of it to his partners . He had transacted their business at the mining town . His deviations en route were nothing to them , and small account to himself .