We leave Grand Junction a new party, but with the same outfit, except a new horse. We arrange our work practically the same way as before, Mr. Bradley, or “Brad” as he is dubbed for convenience, doing the cooking, Norman (Bradley) and Norman (Harris), dubbed “Pete” for identification purposes, doing the packing, dishwashing, and scouting. The horses fell to my lot as usual, as well as the driving, in which Brad sometimes took a hand.

Our first objective point was Delta, about forty-five miles up the Gunnison River, along which the Denver & Rio Grande narrow gauge runs. Our road, however, was several miles away from the river and railroad, and through a deserted country. We did not leave Grand Junction until the afternoon of July sixth, and we drove about sixteen miles before making camp, just beyond Kannah Creek, beside an irrigation ditch. Our new horse Cyclone was a bit fast and flighty, but so far not harmful, and we took special pains to see that he did not break loose and go back home. The boys had to try out their small calibre rifles on the prairie dogs and doves near camp. They had better success hitting doves than dogs, so we had some doves for breakfast.

Our first night out we slept on the ground, although as there were only four of us we could have slept in the wagon, which we did afterward to be sure not to be rained on and also to avoid rocks, which were usually too numerous for comfort, and it was too much of a task to clear a large enough space for sleeping quarters.

The next morning we had everything working smoothly. Brad was an old camper and good cook and had no trouble in holding up his end, so that we were off at seven o’clock. At least we started to start, but Cyclone, when the wagon did not start easy on account of a big boulder under the wheel, decided to go backward. I got into an argument with him at once, but concluded it policy to agree with him, so we went backward. He soon tired of that way of going and we resumed our onward way.

Our road had about five miles of rocks and two bad hills, but we stayed right side up. By 2 P. M. we had come about twenty-five miles and, having reached the Gunnison River, we decided to stop for the day. We had been without water since morning, and our route had been a dry and dusty one, so we hailed the river and grass with delight.

The boys went fishing while Brad and I sewed a flap on the wagon sheet. They came back with a sucker and a bullhead, or rather they brought back only two fish, one sucker and one bullhead, both caught by Norman.

This camp with running water, shade, and grass was the best we had had since starting from California. I expect now that we are getting close to the mountains we will have plenty of wood and water and some very beautiful places to camp.

We were troubled some with mosquitoes for the first time, so got out our mosquito netting. We did not have much need for it afterward except occasionally when camping by a stream in the woods.

Next morning, Friday, July eight, we drove into Delta. This is quite a prosperous town and the country immediately surrounding it is well irrigated, and the farmers along the river look as though they were all doing well. We spent the best part of the day here. We had tires set on two wheels and besides making a few purchases, we lightened our load by sending home the tent and cots we had taken on again at Grand Junction; also a box of clothes.

We intended to get our lunch at the hotel, but when we went over there about noontime the proprietor, a woman, was evidently quite alarmed for the safety of her guests and told us she was sorry, but we could not register. We probably did look like desperate characters and so, being refused admittance to the hotel, we went on down the street and found a lunch counter where we got what we wanted. The boys were quite elated to think that we had been refused admittance to the hotel because we looked so much like desperadoes, but Brad and I concluded the woman was a tenderfoot and her real reason for being fussed was that we had no coats.

Our wagon was not to be ready until later, so we had time to look the town over, and then came back and helped the blacksmith set the tires. We were all ready at four-thirty, so started for the next place, a town called Hotchkiss, where I had a letter to Mr. Simonds, president of the North Fork Bank, and I expected to interview him regarding the roads.

Leaving Delta we found the roads were good for eight or nine miles, or as far as we went that afternoon. We crossed the Gunnison River again just before we made camp. The river from here up apparently has no banks, but runs through a canyon, with perpendicular walls in places, which several miles farther up is several thousand feet deep. It is called the “Black Canyon of the Gunnison,” and while we got several glimpses of the river a few days later, it was nearly a week before we got down to it again.

Our camp near the river was disagreeable on account of mosquitoes and dead cattle, the latter being in evidence near all water holes. The season has been so dry, and the water so scarce, and what there was so bad, that I presume more cattle died this summer than usual.

We left early the next morning and by eleven-fourteen were at Hotchkiss, sixteen miles, and up grade all the way. Here at the north fork of the Gunnison we camped and I saw Mr. Simonds. He told us about the road and I found we would have to travel seventy-five miles before getting down to the river level again. We would go through Crawford and Crystal Creek and up over the Black Mesa and then down again to Sapinero, which was on the river and also the railroad. He thought we could make the trip through O. K., although it was not easy, but when I asked him if there was any easier way he laughed and said, “Not unless you can fly”; and we often wished we could before we got to Sapinero.

We reached Crawford, about fourteen miles from Hotchkiss, at 5 P. M. It lies in a pretty valley and, while it is an old town, the inhabitants were evidently quite prosperous, as they were mostly putting up new houses or adding to the old ones. We stopped just outside the town by a brook, and had a good camp. We had come thirty miles that day and felt we were making good progress.

The next morning we drove twelve miles to Crystal Creek, reaching there at ten-thirty. There was no town here--just the creek and a ranch house and the remains of a sawmill. The telephone company is putting a line through here and hauling poles down from the mountains. We met some of the teamsters who told us about the road over the Black Mesa, and as we had a good place to camp, we concluded to stay here the balance of the day and rest up the team. We caught enough trout here for supper, the first we had had, but the creek was so small, and the brush so thick, it was nearly impossible to fish at all, although there were plenty of fish. We did not turn in until 9 P. M. on account of the mosquitoes, but by that time it had turned so cold they disappeared, and we were left in peace.

The next morning we got an early start. Our road led straight up onto the mesa, a five-mile climb, and here it was that our new horse showed his poor qualities to advantage, or rather, our old horses showed their good ones. We had climbed about four miles, most of the way nearly straight up, when on a particularly steep turn Cyclone gave up. I couldn’t induce him to try again, and not being in a place where I could take any chance of getting backed off the road down the mountain side, I took him out and told Pete to let me have Dixie. The boys thought that if Cyclone couldn’t pull the wagon up with Bess’s help, poor little Dixie surely couldn’t, but they didn’t know Dixie and I did, and was not disappointed. She and Bess pulled that wagon up to the top, much to the delight of the boys, who amused themselves by making slighting remarks about Cyclone. We reached the top at ten o’clock and there we put Cyclone back into the harness, and that was the last time we ever had any real trouble with him.

Starting on we had a splendid drive for five miles through the most wonderful of Nature’s parks; immense pines, a profusion of flowers of all colors with the Indian Paint Brush scattered here and there among them. One could imagine some landscape gardener had laid out the grounds, except for the immensity of it. Snow-capped mountains in the distance completed the scene, and when we camped at noon we felt we would like to spend several days here. The grass was knee-high in the little parks and our horses had not had such good feed since starting. It certainly was worth climbing up just to be here, and we lingered longer than usual for lunch, and then drove only five miles farther before camping for the night on a little creek that runs down a canyon into the Gunnison River below.

We dished one of our hind wheels again coming down a steep rocky piece of road, and had to take it off and put it on the other side after dishing it back; but we are getting used to little things like this, and bad roads, so take them philosophically. We fished some in this creek where we camped, but, while we saw a few trout, could not induce any to bite. That night we had a fine camp fire and the horses a good rest and good feed.

This is the Gunnison Forest Reserve and we were surprised to find several hundred cattle up here, but later ascertained that the Government allows a certain number to be pastured up here at twenty cents per head a month for cattle, and thirty cents for horses. There are no sheep up here; the cattle men killed them off, and while there was quite a row over it, probably no one will try sheep for a while. They can only pasture them here for three months, July, August, and September. There is no grazing before July and too much snow after September, so it makes a very short season.

We start Tuesday morning for Sapinero which we expect to find a town where we can buy some grain for the horses and make a few other purchases. We were disappointed in this, however. All we found was a hotel and postoffice and two saloons. Couldn’t get much of anything, and no feed. On our way down this morning the trail skirted the side of the canyon and we could catch a glimpse now and then of the river, looking like a tiny brook, far down below. We could look across to the mesa on the other side, called “Blue Mesa,” and up and down the canyon, so that we had some fine views. The land, however, was bare and rocky and as we got lower down the vegetation assumed more of the character of the desert. When we finally arrived at the river level and left Sapinero, the road followed the river first along the bank, and then back in the hills. The road along the bank would be green and shady, but a hundred yards away behind a hill you could easily imagine you were in the desert.

Finding a good camping spot near the river, we stopped at 3 P. M. for the balance of the day and tried to catch some trout in the river, but with poor success. Norman Bradley caught two, I believe, but for some reason the Gunnison River did not yield us much fish, and we met several fishing parties, all of them complaining about the fishing. As the Gunnison is supposed to be a good trout stream I presume we, as well as the other kickers, were poor fishermen.

The next morning we drove to Iola, fourteen miles, and here on the banks of the Gunnison I found Mr. Stevens and his ranch of a thousand acres. I had a letter to him from Mr. Adams and he let us camp on his land and fish all we wanted to. Right here seems to be the trout fisherman’s Mecca and we were supposed to catch rainbow trout galore, but didn’t. The boys had more fun with a town of prairie dogs back of camp then they did fishing. As the fish didn’t bite, they turned their attention to the dogs and carried on a regular campaign against them, but the casualties were not heavy. We were also entertained by a bull fight right by our wagon, but as the bulls had been dehorned it was not bloody, just exciting and noisy.

Mr. Stevens has a fine ranch here, plenty of water, nice buildings, and all the conveniences. He is one of Colorado’s best-known cattle men, being a member of the State Commission. We said good-bye to him the next morning and started for the Cochetopa Pass over the Continental Divide. Mr. Stevens had told us that was about the only way a wagon could get over.

It was twelve miles to Gunnison and the road followed the river closely. It was a beautiful morning and we enjoyed this stretch of road very much. We passed many campers’ cabins, all fishermen; also hotels and tents. All the fishermen we interviewed said the fish were not biting, so we felt better. One always feels less dissatisfied with his own failures if other people are likewise unfortunate.

At ten-thirty we reached the town of Gunnison. Here we had a wagon wheel set, one of the horses shod, and bought a few provisions, and on making inquiry were told we would have to cross the Continental Divide via Cochetopa Pass to Salida. We figured this to be seventy-five miles farther than Marshall or Monarch Pass, but were advised not to try Monarch as it was impassable for a wagon. So having had plenty of experience with bad roads we promised to go via Cochetopa, and started out again, leaving Gunnison at 3 P. M. We drove only about six miles when we found a good place to camp and a brook that looked as though there might be trout in it, so we stopped right there.

We were at the “parting of the ways.” To go south over Cochetopa was our intention, but Brad thought we were not living up to the record we had made up to date unless we went straight east over Monarch. He thought we would not know whether we had been told the truth or not, unless we tried to get over; and that seventy-five miles looked a long distance out of the way to me, so we were glad of a chance to stop at the “parting of the ways” to consider.

About this time a “schooner” came down the road from the direction of Monarch, and we could not resist the temptation to hail them and inquire if they had come over Monarch Pass, and were delighted to find that they had come over that way from Salida. They had travelled from Oklahoma and were going to Delta, one of the towns we had come through, to take up some fruit land. We could not tell them much about Delta, but they told us all we wanted to know about Monarch Pass. They had come over, and that was enough for us. We could do anything anybody else did, or we thought so. However, I did ask how the trail was and if they thought we could get over. Claudie (as his wife called him) said: “Well, we got over, and I only tipped the old lady and kids over once, but I imagine it is harder getting up from this side.” The “old lady,” a buxom young woman of about twenty-four, laughed and said they were not hurt any and she thought we could get over if we had come from California without a smashup.

So we settled it right there that we would go over the Continental Divide at Monarch Pass, or break something, and so while the boys fished we got supper. They came back without a fish, but after supper caught three, two rainbow and one brook trout, about half a pound each.

The next morning we started for Sargent, a little town at the foot of Marshall Pass and just south of the trail over Monarch Pass. The roads were good, and, although we were climbing up all day, we made about twenty-four miles and camped one mile from Sargent. On the way the boys tried to catch some fish in a brook, but without success.

We find the deer flies bother the horses a good deal during the day and at night the mosquitoes are a pest, but by 9 P. M. the cold drives them away. We have beautiful warm days, but up here in the mountains the nights are cold.

The next morning, Saturday, the sixteenth of July, we were at Sargent at seven, and following this same brook up we reached the forest ranger’s house by ten, seven miles from Sargent and six miles from the top. I went in to interview the ranger and he said we had better rest our team until afternoon before going any farther, as the trail went straight up for six miles from here and the farther up we got the worse it was. We concluded we would keep on going, but take it easy and give the team short pulls and frequent breathing spells. Before going any farther, however, we took everything out of the wagon that we could pack on the saddle horses, and Brad walked ahead and made road, and the boys walked behind and led their horses with the packs. This took out quite a good many pounds and I felt we could get up if Cyclone would stick.

We started on this last lap at about ten-thirty and made about two miles by noon. Then we had to change sides with our hind wheels on account of the slope of the trail, and also soaked them in water to keep them from dishing. With our high covered top and springs under the box, we had to drive very carefully to keep from tipping over. Starting up again I had to humor Cyclone occasionally, but we got up finally at 5 P. M., but I am unable now to tell how.

Brad worked all the afternoon throwing rocks out of the trail and filling up holes, and going ahead around a bend to tell me what condition the trail was in so I could prepare the team for it. Finding no suitable spot or water at the top, which was at an elevation of 11,500 feet, we went on down the other side to a park, about a mile and a half, over a trail that was all a wagon like ours could stand and not go to pieces; in fact, that mile and a half was the worst piece of the whole 2400 miles I drove, and we all went into camp that night at six-thirty tired and sore.

The next day, Sunday, we had a chance to study our surroundings, as we did not move camp until afternoon. We were in a park by the side of a small mountain stream, surrounded by pine and spruce trees, about a thousand feet below the pass and snowdrifts. It was an ideal location for a camp, and in looking about we saw that the surveyors we had met on the other side, near the top, had their camp here, and below us were two tents and a wagon with a team of mules and a saddle horse. On inquiry we found the surveyors were working for the Bell Telephone Company. The other folks were just out on a trip and had expected to go over the Divide, but had got this far and did not dare try the last mile and a half. They were sensible, as there were two ladies in the party, one not very well, and they could not have walked or ridden in the wagon up that trail without danger of heart disease, if nothing else.

Having such a nice brook in front of our door, so to speak, Brad and I had a house-cleaning while the boys went fishing. We also did up the washing, so that our camp was quite a conspicuous object with all the blankets, etc., hanging up around us. I took a picture here of the Continental Divide, showing our camp as well. It was a beautiful spot and we hated to leave it, but as we were not camping, but going somewhere, we started on down toward Salida about 2 P. M.

We passed through a deserted mining camp. There was nothing left to show there had been a camp here except the graveyard, and a few stone fireplaces. The graveyard up there in the mountains, away from all habitation, had a fascination for me, and I had to look it over and soliloquize before proceeding. When we did start on again the trail dropped down fast, although it was fairly good, and we soon passed through Monarch, a typical mining town, and two other small places, and by evening made camp within ten miles of Salida. The weather had been threatening all day, but it did not rain.

We had been following the same stream down all the afternoon and while the road was good “considering where it was,” as Brad said, we met several buggies and wagons that had to be hung up on the scenery until we could get past. The stream was on our right hand, and usually when we met any one we had no place to turn out, and the other chap had to climb up the side of the mountain. Brad had a lot of fun with these fellows. They usually seemed helpless when they saw us in the road and Brad would get out and tell them what to do, and half the time would have to lead their horses up into the brush and rocks and lift the buggy over a boulder or two, and then we would go on leaving them to get back into the road the best way they could.

Our camp this evening was alongside the road, near a brook, where there was some grass, and we got eggs from an old man who lived nearby. It looked very much like rain and blew quite hard about bedtime, but it did not rain enough to lay the dust.

The next morning on inquiry we found it was twelve miles to Salida and that we were two miles off in our calculations, but as the road was good and down grade we didn’t mind that. We reached town at ten-thirty, “provisioned” up, bought two hats for the boys in place of the old “strawstacks” they were wearing, and, after getting feed and mailing our letters and postal cards, we pulled out for Denver. We decided to go via Nathrop and Fairplay and through South Park, instead of via Colorado Springs, and so started up the Arkansas River, past the smelters, going about four miles before stopping for lunch.

In the afternoon we drove about eight miles farther through a heavy shower, but over a fine road, although up a heavy grade, and camped on a mesa near a spring out in the open. We prepared for another shower that night, but didn’t get it. We passed numerous ranches along the road, well irrigated, where they raise grass, alfalfa and oats, and some cattle. We also passed a camping party from Ponca Springs, Oklahoma, a man and his wife and three girls. The woman had tuberculosis, I think. They had intended going over the Divide into the dry country on the other side, but had not been able to get over, and were going back. I did not inquire how near the top they had been before giving it up--probably about where we had camped the day we crossed.

The next morning it was quite cold, but warmed up later in the day. We drove on up the river, past Nathrop, and then at a brick school house, as directed, we left the main road and the Arkansas Valley to drive over the mountains into the Platte River Valley. The road was a good one, but for ten miles it was a stiff pull and we met no one. After we had climbed about a mile we got a good view of Buena Vista and the Arkansas Valley. The scenery was rough and the country dry. As we neared the top we had some more fine views, but aside from a few birds the country seemed deserted. We found a good spring at noon and while here the boys shot a few doves. We have doves and young rabbits occasionally to eat, as we have had fish, but not so often that we get tired of them.

After lunch we drove on over the Divide and down to a siding of the railroad near a brook, through a thunder shower, mixed with hail, that scared Cyclone into fits. He had evidently not been used to thunder showers and up here in the mountains, if you are not struck, you very often think you are, and when a bolt would seem to strike right at us, he would jump and kick, while the other horses did not seem to mind anything but the wetting.

The boys left their horses and brought their saddles inside to keep dry, and when we got down we found Kate and Dixie had loitered behind at a patch of grass, so Norman went back and brought them down. We figure we are about thirty miles from Salida and the same distance from Fairplay.

Wednesday morning, July 19, we have a fine road down hill past the salt works, and over by Buffalo Springs. We drive through another shower and camp about sixteen miles from our starting point. The boys had quite a time shooting prairie dogs as they rode along this morning. They can shoot from the saddle and many a dog never reached his hole.

This afternoon we just miss another heavy shower by driving into a rancher’s hay barn. There were showers all around. This is a low valley with salt marshes and some alkali. The south branch of the Platte starts above here.

Going up a mountain grade we had a chance to see how near being a good horse Cyclone was. We were close to the railroad track (Colorado Central), the grade was very heavy, and there were three engines pulling the train, and he “stood for it,” passing within fifty feet. He has quit balking; we shoot out of the wagon; he doesn’t mind autos; and now a triple-header within fifty feet of him doesn’t cause him to climb a tree, so we consider him a good horse from now on. He certainly is a powerful brute and, if he had been properly handled when he was broke, would have been a very valuable horse.

We camped at what might be called the Four Corners. We had come up from Salida on the south; the left-hand road was the old freight road west to Leadville; the north fork led to Denver; and the east fork to Hartzel. We found a party of fishermen from Cripple Creek camped here. The boys fished a short time and then, as it looked like rain, we made things tight for the night. Some of the fishing party were old freighters who had been over the road between Denver and Leadville many times before the railroad was put through, and they told us about the road to Denver. We will soon be in South Park.

It is mostly a hay country through here and they are not going to have as much of a crop as usual. This is July twentieth, and the showers they usually have around July first are just beginning now. It would seem that they are trying to make up for lost time, but by the looks of the hay crop it is evidently too late.

Pete saw a coyote about fifty feet from camp just at dark, but it was so foggy there was no use trying to get a shot at him, as a run of a few feet would take him out of sight.

The next morning we drove to Fairplay and in spite of the rain the roads are fine. They are apparently made of crushed granite and are the finest roads imaginable. Autoists would enjoy driving a car over them, if they could but get in here. We went on to Como and camped three miles beyond, making about twenty-three miles to-day. This doesn’t seem so far considering the good roads, but the grades were always with us and we were either going up or down, at neither of which we could make very fast time.

We all took a turn at the prairie dogs to-day and I guess if we claimed a bounty on each one, we would have made enough to pay for our ammunition, as we certainly killed a lot of them. The ranchers were glad to have us try to kill them, but evidently were surprised that we did, because ordinarily one gets tired shooting before he actually kills one that he can go and pick up.

All along here the elevation is about ten thousand feet. The mosquitoes did not bother us so much as the deer flies did the horses during the middle of the day. Sometimes we all had to get out and actually drive them away with switches, and, although we had nets over the horses’ faces, they could not shake them fast enough to do any good.

The next morning we drove over the Divide out of South Park through Webster, and camped within two miles of Grant and about seventy miles from Denver. Coming over the pass the deer flies nearly drove Cyclone crazy, and we all had to fight them until we got up on top and into a breeze. From that point down there did not seem to be any, and we were exceedingly glad of it.

Our camp we called “Good Luck Camp” because when we had unhitched we found a horseshoe under the wagon. It was rusty and full of nails, so we hung it on behind. Here we had shade, grass for the horses, and a fine brook from which we expected to catch some fish, so we stayed all the afternoon and night, but caught only a few trout. The boys improved their marksmanship by shooting at swinging stones and all sorts of moving objects they had swinging from strings, and made some remarkable shots.

The next morning we started late and drove down nearly to Bailey and camped on the north branch of the Platte. The roads were fine and we began to see signs of civilization, summer cottages, parasols, “boiled shirts,” etc. We saw an occasional robin, but the magpies, ravens, and dickey birds we seem to have left behind.

This afternoon we expect to stop at Bailey for some provisions and horse feed, and then make camp as near Denver as possible, so as to be sure to reach there by Monday night. Bailey is at the foot of a mountain by the same name, and we pulled in there about 2 P. M. After stopping only a few minutes, we left the river and started up over Bailey’s Mountain, going, as it seemed on paper, across lots to Denver, but in reality across mountains. We found no water; all the streams were dried up. We passed a number of summer “shacks,” all vacant, and met no one for miles. Evidently the lack of water has kept the people out this summer.

We camped for the night near a vacant summer house, that had a spring in a log house by the road. It was getting late and we had been looking for water, and probably would have missed this place but for a lone horseman who came along and told us about it. He said he had driven this road many times and this was the dryest time of all, and we had no reason to doubt his word. Every little mountain stream we had passed since leaving Bailey was dry as a bone. We made twenty-seven miles to-day with a late start, and some long climbs, so we think we are pretty sure to reach Denver Monday night. We were busy until bedtime with the horses and supper, besides shooting a few rabbits and doves.

The last thing we did was to take one of our hind wheels off, block up the wagon, dish the wheel and take it down to a water hole we had found, tie a rope to it and throw it in to soak all night.

We left in the morning, Sunday, at eight-thirty, drove through Shaffer’s Crossing, on over another pass and down to Conover, about ten miles. Here we found an old-fashioned well with two buckets, in the middle of the road in front of a country hotel, where we watered the horses. The office of the hotel contained a store and long distance telephone exchange. The people here asked us a number of questions regarding the rainfall back in the mountains. Every one is talking about the drought. There has been no rain on this side of the range and very little snow last Winter.

Leaving here we pass a number of empty houses, large roomy affairs, formerly used as hostelries when the road was used by freighters from Denver to Leadville. It is thirty-two miles, they tell us, to Denver, and we drove on about three miles farther before stopping for lunch.

We made what we call a dry camp near a ranch house. We stopped our wagon under a big tree beside the road. There was a splendid breeze, but no water in sight. The boys took a pail and went over to the house for water, but were gone so long we began to worry about them. When they finally returned they said the well at the ranch was dry, and they had gone about half a mile to a spring where the family had to go since the brook went dry.

All the vehicles we have met so far to-day are three autos and two teams. The other road along the North Platte, which we left at Bailey, has the water, and the summer resorts, they tell us.

We are still twenty-five miles from Denver, and starting late we plan to drive to Morrison, but are told we can save two miles and get a good camping place by going down on a creek and leaving Morrison to the north. This we did and got into camp at seven-thirty, just three and a half hours after leaving our noon camp.

This three-and-a-half-hour drive was very interesting; in fact, probably as picturesque a drive as we had anywhere. We began going down grade rapidly and finally the road, which was especially good, turned abruptly down into a canyon and turned and twisted among the trees and bushes in a marvellous manner. We sent the boys on ahead to warn any one coming up to pick out a place to pass, as in spots we could see only a few yards ahead. The walls of the canyon towered up nearly perpendicular on each side and, although the sun was still three hours high, it was twilight where we were.

At last we arrived at the mouth of the canyon, or the gateway into the mountains, and before us lay one-half of the world, so it seemed, stretching away as level as a floor and as far as we could see. It was really not so flat as it seemed, but coming out of the mountains where we had been for weeks, it seemed absolutely level. Stretches of green here and patches of grain there, the soil red, and the sun, dropping behind the mountains back of us, reflected on the glass and roofs of Denver, which lay about twenty miles away. I unconsciously pulled up the team, and we all feasted our eyes on the scene. It seemed like an enchanted land, more like a mirage, and we made several more stops before we were reminded to hurry up and get to a place to camp before dark.

THE OUTFIT COMING INTO DENVER