Miss Allene S. Kelley,
Allene Dearest:- I'd a whole lot rather be where I could talk to you tonight than be writing cause I'm pretty much sore at my old partner, Dr. Moore of Elko. But then I should worry about such a thing;-we dissolved partnership last June and I've only seen him one or twice since. I have his signature, properly witnessed, to a little piece of paper which he isn't very proud of and he's foolish enough to try and buck in soft sand. My lawyer says he's trying to welch [not keep his end of the contract-ed.] and while he has not a chinaman's chance still it peeves me. Maybe I'll have to go back to Elko before I really want to.
Well dearest I got two dandy letters from you tonight to pay for the one I didn't write yesterday. I want to confess right now dear, the facilities for writing here are not. I don't think there's a writing desk in the camp, at least there isn't any that I've seen, and right now I'm up here in my room at the only hotel (?) using the wash stand as a desk and very nearly freezing. The only fire in the "joint" I guess is in the down stairs, rear, and I'm in the up stairs, front,--but I'd rather stand a little cold now than the burning I'd expect,--and probably get,--from you dear, if I missed a mail.
I'm a little afraid the movies have given you a sort of an exaggerated idea of a mining camp. Some of the very prosperous, booming camps have all those things, dance halls, etc. but this is not a prosperous camp dear--not now anyhow and besides I don't like beer at four bits [25 cents-ed.] a drink and you never can drink alone in a dance hall. I'm not a millionare [sic]--why I already have told you I was a fortune hunter. So dear you may go to bed and have a good sound sleep when I've finished talking to you.
You want to know what I do for recreation when on these trips. Well dear I work, and eat, and sleep from ten to twelve hours every night and that's all I do.
Hope you enjoyed yourself at the card party Wednesday night and did "Kitty" prove to be a nice little "girl." Sometimes a fellow gets fooled with those nice little "girls." I suppose you'd feel terrible if you did slip and call him Kitty to his face.
Do you know what I'm going to do now, dear, well I'll say good night and let you guess.
Midas, February 11th, 1916