George W. Romspert

We Start for the Mountains—Las Animas—Pueblo—Colorado Springs—Manitou—Mineral Springs—We Ascend Pike’s Peak—Balancing Rock—Garden of the Gods—Devil’s Hole—Return to Manitou.

At two o’clock P.M. of June 5th, 1879, everything being in readiness, our little party of three bid farewell to our Granada friends and the pleasant old tramping-ground and steered our course westward, expecting to traverse the beautiful snow-capped mountains and to gratify our long-cherished desires. There could not have been a more jolly outfit than ours as we wound up the pretty green valley of the Arkansas, waving our hats and flirting farewell to our acquaintances who stood in the narrow doors of their little adobe homes. To me it appeared like leaving home; and, though cheered by pleasant anticipations, I have no doubt that there was more solemnity in the occasion for me than for the rest of the party, who rejoiced while thinking of the scenery that yet lay before us.

We were now traveling upon what is known in Fremont’s travels as the “Great American Desert;” yet the description given of this country by General Fremont nearly half a century ago fails to compare with the reality of to-day. Though I shall not stop here to question the credibility of our able explorer, yet permit me to say, by way of explanation, that great physical changes often take place, and more especially in new countries; and notwithstanding Mr. Fremont’s description of this part of Colorado is not correct as of the present, it may have been nearer so when he, with his daring followers, faced the dangers of the savage land and matched strength with the red warrior. As said before, this is now the home of the stock-raiser; and thousands of cattle may be constantly seen grazing on this so-called American desert. Here they remain during the twelve months of the year, without shelter or any unnatural protection, and are compelled to “root, hog, or die.” If the winter is severe, many of them fall victims to the freezing blasts. But this being in the month of June, the cattle were in fine condition; and while passing along our attention was often attracted by their fine appearance, which drew forth many suggestions and some interesting remarks concerning the subject of stock-raising, of which the following is an example: “See that fine cow yonder; and look what a fine calf she has. That cow and calf would be worth seventy-five dollars in Dayton, Ohio. What do you think, Will?” “Well,” said Will, who was always jealous over his native state, “we have lots of finer cows than that in Nebraska; and there are calves where I came from that are but six weeks old which beat those all to pieces.”

Thus passed away the first day of our journey; and when the faint beams of the sinking sun were playing upon the tops of the river cotton-woods we halted for the night on the green banks of the Arkansas. After watering the horses and picketing them in the most favorable spot for grazing, the new party took its first supper in its own camp.

Our facilities for cooking were somewhat limited to those inexperienced in camp-life; so, of course, the duty of getting supper devolved on me. Though the boys felt a little adverse to a rough hunter’s hands going into the dough, the little cloud was soon lifted from their delicacies by the sight of an ovenful of large, light, brown-topped biscuits, which Will said looked as though a Nebraska baker had made them. Our fare, in addition to this, consisted of roast potatoes with the hides on,—as cow-boys say,—meat, and sirup. The boys ate with a relish; and after washing the dishes,—consisting of a tin-pan and a knife apiece,—and considerable boasting as to who had eaten the most supper, and remarks as to how well it tasted, the blankets were stretched beneath the green-spreading foliage of a little cotton-wood tree, and the little party, with but a single blanket between them and the earth and a similar covering, lay down to dream of the peculiarities of western life. There we lay, gazing at the bright, twinkling stars and listening to the music of the purple waters of the Arkansas as they rolled over a rocky riffle just above, until slumber closed our eyes and shut our thoughts from the fields of nature.

We awoke at the first note of the curious little songster among the branches above us; and after the boys had related their dreams, we all went down to the river. The boys said it was the first time they had ever used an Arkansas wash-basin. Biscuits were then made without any objection on the part of the boys. Breakfast being ready, we all eat heartily; and it was not long before we were ready to roll up the valley to the west.

But, lo! one of our horses, which had already become tired of the trip, refused to go with us any farther; and this caused the necessity of drafting a few resolutions, among which was the following: “Resolved, That no Colorado pony can stop three boys bound for the Rocky Mountains.” This resolution was at length unanimously adopted by us; and the pony being in the minority, the force of the resolution was brought to bear upon the only adverse party in the shape of a cotton-wood sapling; and after a short debate we once more pushed forward.

We had not gone far, however, before we came to a prairie-dog town; and the little animals, seeing us trespassing within their corporate limits, set up such a howling as to attract our attention. The little animals would run from one burrow to another, stand erect upon their hind feet, shake themselves, and dart into a hole in the earth, only to return and repeat the same performance. We had just bought several new six-shooters, and Doc.—a name given to my brother—thought that here would be a fine place to try them. I advised the boys that I thought they could not be hit, as I had often seen it tried, and never saw one killed; and after several fruitless attempts Doc. concluded they were too quick for powder. Turning to Will,—who sat upon the wagon during the skirmish, like a Roman senator at an amphitheater,—and resolved to save his credit as a marksman, he said: “Well, Will, what do you think about this?” “Oh,” said he, “I have shot lots of them in Nebraska.”

As noon was nearing and the sun shining with unveiled splendor upon the sandy plain, the heat was intense; and seeing a small adobe house in the distance we at once determined to go there, that we might procure some cool, fresh water, and stop for dinner.

The road was smooth and the team fresh, and we glided merrily along and came to the little town of Las Animas just as the sun was tinging with gold the western horizon. There is a government fort here called Fort Lyon; and after conversing awhile with the soldiers we entered the town and at once proceeded to the post-office, expecting letters from our homes and eastern friends. But unfortunately the mail had not yet arrived, and we were compelled to stay the next day for the expected news. As this little town, consisting of about five hundred inhabitants, proved to be quite a lively place, we had no trouble in passing away the time. During the day we conversed with various citizens; and the boys were anxious to hear everything that could be learned about the country and inhabitants. These conversations proved to be very interesting and instructive. We were told that we were in Bent County, and that forty years ago Mr. Bent lived here alone among the little trees upon the river-bank, surrounded by wild beasts and savages. They told us of some of his daring exploits with the Indians, and pointed to the place where once stood his lonely hut, which is now mingled with the dust at the side of his grave. As he was the first white man there the county took his name.

The latter days of Kit Carson were spent here; and his remains are buried near the river-bank, about five miles east of Las Animas. We went to see the spot, and stood at the grave of him who was perhaps more than a peer—in boldness and endurance—of any other who ever reaped his livelihood in a wild, savage land. His little hut has almost returned to dust, and a little mound of debris among the trees tells where the daring hunter lived. His grave is near by, and naught but a rude, rough rock marks the spot where the gallant hero lies.

Here lives John Prowers, one of the wealthiest stock-men in the state. Upon inquiry as to his great financial success, we were informed that he came to Colorado a poor man; that he married the daughter of an Indian chief; that at the birth of his first issue he received a donation of five thousand dollars from his father-in-law, and continues to receive this singular gift whenever a new member is added to his family. Mr. Prowers has at present thirteen children. He says he believes in large families and generous fathers-in-law. I might here remark that two of his children are at present attending college; and it is said that they are apt scholars, and intelligent and promising young ladies, notwithstanding their Indian mother (who is so wretchedly stupid and homely that nothing but the most glittering prospects for a large family at five thousand dollars apiece could induce a man with the least taste to love). It is said that when she and Mr. Prowers were first married, she used to leave his home and be gone among the wild Indians for some weeks at a time before returning.

Well, the day was an interesting one for us, and as the darkness gathered we sought our camp and retired for the night.

The next day the mail arrived and brought the expected news. We at once read our letters; and after some comment as to what our eastern friends would think could they see us in camp, and what they would do under like circumstances, etc., etc., we left Las Animas to take care of itself, and resumed our journey. Nothing deserving of comment occurred during the day. Suffice it to say that our team had a good rest, and we glided along over the plain at a good speed, occupying the time by singing songs and telling stories.

The next day three antelopes appeared at the distance of half a mile, and we aimed our big rifles at them. The distance was so great, however, that it could not be judged by the eye; and before we could get the range by experiment (watching where the balls struck in the sand), the animals dashed away. Will did not try his skill, but said that he had killed antelopes at more than a mile distant in Nebraska.

We were now in sight of the long looked-for mountains; and although yet nearly one hundred miles distant, their beautiful snow-caps shone plainly in the bright sunlight. As this was in the heat of June, and the scorching sun was beating heavily upon us, we felt delighted to see snow, and imagined how cool and splendid it would be to sit upon the mountain-top, and what fun it would be to snow-ball in the month of June.

A few days later and we came into the city of Pueblo. This is a place of about three thousand inhabitants, and situated at the western terminus of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway. We found out that there was to be a good theater at the hall that night; so we made haste to get supper, after which we changed our suits and at once repaired to the scene of action. The play was “Ten Nights in a Bar Room.” I tell you it was a real play, too,—there was no fiction about it,—for the hall was a perfect bar room; and I am sure the actors had been there at least ten nights, and not long absent in the day-time. Well, I had seen so much of this that it was to me an old thing; but to the boys it was rather exciting. This place is situated among the hills and low mountains; and while it is not large, and does not promise to be so, it is very enterprising, and everything is lively. And there are some very good citizens living here. Of course everything is high; though a very good meal can be had for fifty cents. It is a wholesale place for many mining-camps and stock-firms, as well as a supply-camp for the many emigrants who are constantly going into the mountains. In the winter season, when the mines are blocked with snow, many of the miners come down here to board until the season comes round again. They usually have considerable money; and though a great deal of it is gambled away, the hotel men do very well,—for they are the gamblers,—and there are several fine houses here.

To stand upon a high bluff north of town just before sunrise on a clear, bright morning in the summer-season, when the breath of the town is warm, and look out in the distance upon Pike’s Peak, which rears its snow-summit among the little cumuli, looking like the crowned king of the greenhorns with his white mantle upon him, and see the long range extending far to the north and south upon either side, with a trail of snow upon its crest, the beauty of mountain scenery appears in all its perfection. When the wind comes from that direction, the breeze brings with it the mountain breath; and oh, how lovely! Persons taking their first view of the mountains from this place are, without exception, greatly struck with the grandeur, and are anxious to rove among the snow-limbed pines. We were not exceptions, either; and after supplying ourselves with the necessaries, we pushed off toward the beautiful and attractive scenery. We were told before leaving Pueblo that the distance to the peak was sixty-five miles; but before we had completed our first day’s journey we concluded that we were misinformed. The distance appeared very short; and we fully expected that at an early hour the next day we could be ascending the mountain-side. The next morning we arose early, and casting our eyes westward we beheld the towering, silver-tipped mount in such grandeur as to far surpass our first view; and we saw the power and beauty of nature in a single scene. We then for the first time fully realized that to view mountain scenery in its superlative aspect, it must be done from the eastern side, and just before sunrise. We all began to estimate as to how far we had to travel before reaching the object of our attraction. I—though used to the prairie—thought the distance about five miles, Will about ten, while Doc. offered to bet any amount that it was not over three miles, and that he could walk over there in an hour. Soon after we journeyed on, each feeling confident that a few hours’ travel would prove his judgment as to distance. Presently, however, a man came riding by; and each of us being eager to know who had guessed the nearest to the distance, I inquired of the rider, whom we expected would know the distance to a certainty. To our great disappointment and surprise, he responded, “Just forty-five miles.” Certainly this appeared very unreasonable; for nothing was plainer than that the peak was just by our very side; and we could plainly see the little pines and cedars upon its side. We were asked to not believe our own eyes. We found, however, that we were rightly informed. Such is the deception which the inexperienced are often bound to meet in this strange country. This deception arises partly from the immensity of the object, but more especially from the atmosphere, which in this country is very dry and clear; for the less dense the atmosphere, the greater the distance of vision.

The next day we came into the beautiful little town of Colorado Springs. The reader would naturally infer that from the name given to the place we were now really at the springs so often mentioned by the tourist; but really they are situated five miles west of here, and I shall have occasion to speak of them hereafter.

It was now the Sabbath-day, and we concluded to remain here until the morrow. After selecting a suitable spot upon which to camp, we changed our suits and were soon wending our way through the streets toward the little Presbyterian church. Here, although entire strangers, we were at once directed to the most comfortable seats, and were regarded with so much respect by the citizens that we again made a similar visit in the evening.

We were now within five miles of the base of the mountain already referred to; and as morning came and twilight dawned upon our little camp, all were busy preparing to complete the distance to the object which stood so majestically towering before us, with our minds fully absorbed with thoughts of climbing its rocky sides and standing upon its cool, snowy summit.

Before leaving here I desire to say a few words by way of description of this pretty little place. The town—the population of which is about six thousand souls—is situated on the Denver & Rio Grande Railway. It is neatly laid off in perfect squares, the streets all being of the same width. Along either side of each street are rows of beautiful, thrifty trees, which almost meet their heads over the pass-way, rendering them cool and delightful; while the water rolls in cool, crystal streamlets at either side of every street. The buildings are all remarkably neat; and there are two or three very large and magnificent hotels, with all modern improvements and conveniences. Take it all in all, Colorado Springs is certainly the most beautiful place we had ever seen. But as I do not wish to weary the reader with long and tedious descriptions, I must hasten to future events.

When we arrived within half a mile of the famous springs we camped among the bushes on the bank of a little stream that flowed down from among the mountains, in order that our team might have water and good pasture. We then proceeded the rest of the way on foot.

Our attention was attracted by the many vehicles passing to and fro,—some very fine carriages drawn by beautiful matched teams. On closer observation we found that the passengers were usually lying in beds prepared for the purpose, and apparently sleeping. On inquiry, we learned that these were invalids; and as they were unable to occupy any other posture, on account of physical weakness, they were taking their exercise in that way. Here might be seen numbers of such invalids from all parts of the Union. They are usually affected with pulmonary disease, and consequently come here to breathe the pure mountain-air and to drink of nature’s healing fountains.

The springs are situated in a deep hollow near the base of the peak; and three splendid hotels, with a few dwellings, a livery-stable, a grocery, etc., constitute the town of Manitou, the asylum of the afflicted, with whom the large hotels are often crowded.

Well, we first came to the sulphur spring; but after tasting its water—which proved to be not very palatable—we proceeded to the next, which we found to be soda-water. There is a beautiful polished rock, about six feet square and quite thick, carved out like a basin and placed over this spring, to receive the clear, cool waters that constantly bubble up through the silver-sand. We had yet one spring to visit, and this was the iron-spring; so, after seeing it and tasting of its waters, I told the boys that I had now tasted all of them, and that I preferred water without mineral. Will suggested that it might be like beer—it does not taste so well at first, but it does not take long to get used to it. Doc. thought that the greatest objection was, the springs were half a mile from camp, and a mile would be a long way to go every time a fellow wanted a drink. So he accordingly procured a little brown jug; and after it was filled we started back for camp. We had not gone far when of a sudden the cork flew forcibly from the jug; and striking Will on the most prominent feature of his face, it brought forth a few strains of Colorado eloquence. Here Will set the jug down and positively refused to carry it farther; “for,” said he, “if the rest of you want to run the risk of drinking that water, all right. But I don’t calculate to take any chances; for who knows but what the blamed stuff might blow a fellow up?”

We spent some days wandering up and down the lovely passes and sitting beneath the little trees on the brinks of the clear springs from whose waters we daily drew. To attempt to describe this place as it really is would be undertaking an impossibility; for the beautiful green slopes of the surrounding mountains, upon which the tasteful hand of Providence has planted her most lovely pines, the great silver-topped monument to the west that rears its head far above the clouds as if to call down the blessing of Heaven upon the pools below and guiding the afflicted to the fountain of life, the little springs away up in the bluffs that send their clear, icy waters rippling down the mountain-sides among the pretty trees, are all too perfect and beautiful for the human hand to imitate or the mind to imagine.

The medicinal qualities of the springs, too, are very great; for many persons who reached their green brinks exhausted, emaciated, and pale as death have felt new strength at the first draught, and in a few weeks the thin form, with the slow, faint pulse, is as a new person, and the color is seen coming to the cheek.

The cool breath of the mountain, which constantly kisses this little paradise during even the sultry months of summer, together with the beautiful surrounding scenery, are alone enough to delight the heart, banish the dull feeling of affliction, and tune the aching heart with health and happiness.

The large, fine hotels at this place and at Colorado Springs are principally occupied by invalids who come with fortunes; while there are hundreds of wagons standing among the trees, with tents by their sides, in which they stay who come with spare frames and sparer fortunes. I have gone among these many wagons; and while I found some comfortably located, with all necessaries and conveniences, I also found some wretched families, with scarcely enough to eat and not sufficient clothing to hide their wasted frames. Some are stretched upon miserable couches, with the shades of death upon their countenances. Medical skill has broken the feeble means, but life continues to waste; and now, with the last few cents, they come to drink of the free fountain of Nature. I have often thought, as I saw so many afflicted gathered round these wells, of the healing waters of which the Bible speaks, which the angel came down to trouble. While there are deaths now and then, a greater portion of the invalids go away mended.

Besides afflicted persons, there are many wealthy families who come here to recuperate and spend the summer-season. They usually lodge at Colorado Springs, and take their daily rides down to Manitou fountains,—often in the finest vehicles, with beautifully matched teams, which are kept for this purpose. What a contrast between these hale, hardy persons, who are rolling in luxury and happiness, and those fever-racked invalids in the little tents on the hill-side.

The water is very unpalatable; and though a person can not drink more than a swallow or two at first, by sipping at it daily it will at length taste very well, and can be drank freely. The soda-spring is used the most, though the others are best in many cases—according to the complaint.

We were all very anxious to ascend Pike’s Peak; but upon inquiry we found it to be thirteen miles from Manitou to the summit, and was usually ascended by burroes (donkeys), which were kept there for that purpose. Accordingly, arrangements were made for starting the next day. Before the appointed time we went among the long-eared herd which was soon to take us up the mountain-side, each one wondering which one would be selected for his seat, and how the ugly things would ride anyhow. Here we learned that four other tourists were to accompany us—this increasing our number to eight, including the driver. At the appointed hour the saddles were placed upon these little samsons, and without halter or bridle we mounted for the trip. Will remarked as he mounted that the people in Nebraska always rode with bridles, and that he thought it a very poor way anyhow to place your life within the power of a d——d jackass. A loud yell from the driver, and the herd started forward. As the road was not unusually rough for a mountainous country, nor the ascent very steep, we got along very well the first mile; but then the road became very rough. And so steep was the ascent that often the little creatures that carried us stood almost perpendicular upon their hind feet, and the path was so narrow that we had to go single file. Thus we went on, the driver remaining in the rear, applying a great whip to the burroes without mercy whenever necessity required it. At the expiration of about three hours we came to the half-way house, and halted to partake of some refreshments and to warm by the fire, as the air was getting cool. Soon the driver announced the time to start on, and we remounted. We were now above timber-line; and nothing appeared before us but the bald and rugged mountain. On we went, winding our course among the huge rocks and up the gorges until we arrived at such an elevation that breathing became difficult, and one of our companions began bleeding at the nose. Here our new companions announced their inability to go any farther; and they proceeded at once upon the return. After bidding them good-by, we, together with the guide, pushed forward, determined to stand upon Pike’s Peak, or find that it was impossible to do so. As we ascended the air continued to grow lighter, and affected our breathing considerably; but we were now nearing the summit, and being so absorbed with glowing thoughts of standing upon the great peak, we still went on, uttering no word of complaint. At length we arrived upon the summit. The dutiful little creatures swung their long ears back and forth as though they felt as glad as we. Here we were, fourteen thousand feet above the level of the sea, far above all surrounding objects, and naught but the horizon to bound our vision. There is here a United States signal-station; and the officer lives in a little stone house. He says that he stays here the year round, going down to the valley now and then; and Indians never bother him. He says that the elevation does not affect him much, as he had become somewhat used to the light air. Upon inquiry concerning the weather, he told us that he was sometimes visited by violent thunder-storms; and the lightning played upon the mountain-top, at times ingulfing him in electric fire and rocking his little house. Dense clouds of vapor hung around the mountain far below, and we fully realized that we were indeed above the clouds. After descending we learned that while we were upon the summit, with the sun brightly shining above our heads and the snow glittering beneath our feet, a fine warm shower was falling from the clouds into the valley below. After having enjoyed the novelty of wading snow-banks in the summer-season to our satisfaction, we were ready to descend. So, with many happy wishes for our mountain friend, we began to go down. This, however, was not very pleasant; for every step the burro made he jerked his rider severely. Will remarked that he did not mind riding donkeys as long as they stood on their hind feet; but he could not go it when they stood on their heads. It is certainly remarkable to see these small animals carrying more than their own weight upon their backs; and, notwithstanding the steepness and roughness of the road, they seldom lose their footing,—though I once saw one descending a steep bluff with a load upon his back that made him groan, and losing his footing, he tumbled down the mountain and dashed his life out upon the rocks in the gully below. They have proved to be of great service in mountain regions; and hundreds of them are daily climbing and descending their rocky sides.

In due time our party arrived safely at Manitou—the trip having cost us just five dollars apiece. We had now seen and experienced the changes in the atmosphere from the lovely valley below, to the mountain-top far above the clouds. We had gone in one day from where the air was perfumed with the odor of sweet, tinted blossoms and flowers, to the land of snow-banks where vegetation did not grow. We had seen the tall, graceful pines dwindle to low, dwarfy shrubbery, and then give way to the cold, bare mountain. It was a lesson—a practical and instructive one. We now felt considerably exhausted, which we manifested by retiring an hour earlier than usual. We felt a little sore the next morning, but were soon as nimble as ever. It usually takes between five and six hours to ascend, and between four and five to descend; and many persons can not stand it to go up at all. The trip should not be made in one day.

We had now been here some days; and though it seemed to us a life-time could be spent in this beautiful valley, we were compelled to leave for other scenes.

The Garden of the Gods, so often spoken of by the tourist as a pretty place, we learned was but two miles off; and we concluded to visit this natural curiosity. The road to the garden wound like a serpent among the rugged, rocky mountains, and with much difficulty we passed along. It was not long before we came to a curious object. It was the wonderful balancing rock. This huge stone, weighing many tons, rests upon another stone with a foundation of but about a foot. It is apparently just balanced, and looks as though it could be tilted by little power. It is a wonder; and we gazed upon it with interest. The road ran by its side, and it appeared to be somewhat risky to drive by. Will said he would go and throw it over; and he was soon seen with his shoulder against the mountain of stone, fully believing himself able to overbalance the rock. But his strength was not a mite to what was required, and he gave it up. I found that there was no danger, and drove by in safety. Another mile among the brush and rocks, where the trail of the mountain-goat was fresh, and we passed between two gigantic natural pillars of stone, and opened into a level, lovely valley, about six hundred yards in length and two hundred in breadth, richly carpeted with soft, green grass. Surrounding it were towering rocks of red granite some three hundred and thirty-seven feet high, and of all shapes,—some of them presenting a grotesque though beautiful appearance. Occasionally there might be seen a little grass-spot, with here and there a bush, away up in the mountain crevices, among which sported the birds of gaudy plumage, singing their sweet songs of glee. The little conies sported here and there from rock to rock, and the mountain-sheep, with their long snowy coats, stood far up among the bluffs looking shyly upon us; and we sat viewing the surrounding curiosities. How appropriate the name “Garden of the Gods!” We camped here for the night at the foot of what is known to the tourist as the perpendicular rocks. Up in the mountain just outside the garden was a pretty little lake of clear water, and taking a bucket I started up with the team to water them and bring some to camp. Will, being much attracted by the scenery, at once began climbing the rocks, expecting to arrive at an elevation from which to obtain a more extensive view of the surroundings, while Doc. remained at the wagon loading shells for our rifles. Scarcely had I arrived at the lake when I became startled by the cries of Will, who was now rushing, rolling, and tumbling down the mountain toward the wagon, yelling out, “Bear, bear!” I hastened to the wagon, and, seizing my big rifle, started to the rescue. Doc. had already arrived; but the terrified Will rushed down the gorge like an arrow, with his hat in one hand and his gun in the other, not noticing us nor slackening his speed until he was safely in the wagon-bed; and he did not stop his noise until he was tired out. We struck bruin’s trail in the sand and followed it for some distance, and at length caught sight of him; but before I could salute him with a rifle-ball he entered a dark cave among the mighty rocks. We went to the mouth and dared him out; but he did not come, and we had good reasons for not going in. He was a medium-sized black bear, and looked as though he might be a pretty good squeezer. The chase was now ended, and after procuring a few specimens of rock we went to camp. Will had quieted down, and upon our making fun of him and asking him why he did not shoot the bear, he said that it was so rough up among the rocks to skin an animal, and so far down to the wagon to carry the meat, that he thought the bear would follow him right into camp, where he would kill him and have it handy. The scheme would have appeared very plausible could he have explained that infernal yelling. Presently, upon looking upward, we saw a mountain-squirrel skipping about among the rocky ledges; and as the sharp report of a six-shooter rang out upon the evening breeze, we were delighted to know that we were to have rich squirrel-soup for supper. Night soon came on, and the blankets were spread for retiring. But Will was excited, and said that he did not calculate to take his chances of going to sleep in a place where the bears were sticking among the rocks, and panthers and wild cats were working their scratchers out and in, practicing for a grab, while rattlesnakes were looking out at us from every little bunch of grass; “for,” said he, “the devil knows what may happen, and no one be awake to see it.” I felt very sure that Will would not sleep much that night; and knowing that if he saw danger he would make noise enough to awaken us and alarm even bruin himself,—as he did before,—we concluded to retire as usual, taking the precaution, however, to picket the horses close to camp, as they readily scent strange animals and snort; and this was also a guard.

In the morning after breakfast we took a short ramble, looking at the many curiosities and natural beauties in and around this lovely green pass. Hundreds of names are carved or written upon the rocks here; and the names of Miller and Llewellen are painted in large letters upon the very crest of a rock several hundred feet high. The side upon which the names are written is as perpendicular as though it had been hewed down by human design; and it is also very steep on the other side, where the parties must have climbed up and then leaned over in the swimming space to write. It must have required great labor to get there; and nothing but a burning, ambitious desire to be where man had never been,—and where so few could go,—could have led these men to climb so far in the air and register their names upon the very margin of the death-register; for if, in climbing, the foot or hand hold had given way, the body would have been precipitated to the level without hope.

We were not as full of adventure as they; so we cut our names in the base of a smooth, red rock that towered far above us and came to a point like a spire.

While working here we noticed a small hole at the bottom of the same rock, just large enough for a man to crawl through; and upon examination we found that it was the entrance to a cave. The hole was smooth, and looked as though it had been used. It took some time to convince Will that the bear he had seen could not get in there. But at length we all concluded to enter the dark dungeon; so, after arming ourselves, we took a lantern and a few tallow candles and crawled in. After going but a few feet we could stand erect; and then, each with a light in his hand, we penetrated the cavern, which ran into the body of the solid rock. It was twenty feet high and ten feet wide, and so ascending that we were obliged to crawl upon our hands and knees as we proceeded. The floor was covered with dust from the rocks; and in this we could see many tracks, some imitating the wild cat and the panther. We did not know what we might come in contact with; but being full of curiosity we crawled on until we came to the end, which was fully twenty yards from the entrance. Here a small stream of water gushed forth from the side of the cavern, and, after running a short way, terminated in a small pool worn in the rocky floor, from which it sunk unperceived away. We tasted the water, and found it cool and pure; and in the lamplight it glittered like crystal. We now descended to the entrance, and looking carefully at the wall we found several names cut there, apparently some years since; and we registered there also, and then made our exit.

We had now seen all the curiosities of this beautiful garden, and prepared to leave. It is only possible to travel through the rugged mountains by way of the natural passes; and we were compelled to go out by the balancing rock—the way we entered. The road was rough and narrow; but we passed along, conversing of the great beauties of nature, and at sunset we stopped for the night upon our old camping-ground near Manitou.

During the evening we had conversations with several persons familiar with the surrounding country; and they gave a glowing account of the South Park, representing it to be a beautiful, open country, lying just over the Green Horn range, about forty-five miles from Manitou, and that it abounded with deer, antelope, elk, etc., and that a large bear had been killed but a few days before among the South Park pines. We were also informed that this was a favorite hunting-ground, and that small bands of Indians, who claimed the ground, were constantly wandering through the park in search of game; and considering white hunters trespassers, they often gave them much trouble. I had already seen many of the red race, could speak many words in their own tongue, and had become so used to their appearance that the quills and plumes did not scare me much; and the boys being delighted to hear of a country which afforded an opportunity to try their new guns, we determined to visit the place, notwithstanding a little danger.

CHAPTER II.

The next morning we rose at the dawn of day, and after breakfast we filled our jug with soda-water and journeyed for South Park. There was but one accessible route from this place in that direction, and that was up through the famous Ute Pass.

We had gone about a mile up the pass when we came to the Rainbow Falls, to the left of the narrow road. The waters of a mountain stream roll over a precipice one hundred feet high; and as it dashes over the rough, projecting crags and is lashed into foam against the rocky sides, its roaring can be heard far up and down the pass. During the forenoon in summer the sun reaches this place, and, striking the crystal waters as they roll over a certain large rock, a most perfect and beautiful rainbow, with brightest tints, is reflected upon the rocks at the side of the chasm. Hence the name, “Rainbow Falls.” Tourists to Manitou are usually taken up here on burros.

The walls on either side of the pass were a couple of hundred feet high, and at some places almost met over our heads; and the gorge was so narrow that there were but few places where wagons could pass. It appears as though an all-wise Hand had hewed out this pass with an express design; for there would be no other possible way by which these rugged and towering mountains could be crossed. Though the way was yet rough and steep, we greatly appreciated our privilege.

It was now necessary for one of us to go on ahead to give the proper warning to outfits coming down the pass; and though we had traveled but about fifteen miles it was dark when we came to the top of the range, and our horses were much fatigued; and having walked all the way ourselves to lighten the load, we also felt much worried, not being used to mountain travel. So as soon as the horses were properly cared for and supper was over, we at once prepared our couches and lay down to sleep on the cold crest of the Green Horn range, at an elevation of ten thousand feet above the sea. The night was very cool; but we were among the pines, and building a good, warm fire, we slept quite comfortably.

We had just laid down when the horses set up such a snorting as to plainly indicate that something strange was nearing our camp. Quickly buckling on our belts and snatching our rifles we ran into the darkness, and crawling cautiously in the direction indicated by the frightened animals, we lay flat, awaiting the approach of some wild animal, or thinking that perhaps Indians were lurking around the camp watching for our team. Presently the rustle of a chain was heard, and Will excitedly growled out: “Boys, the devil’s got us this time; he has his chain along.” Soon the object could be seen slowly moving toward us, and from its appearance I was slow to contradict Will’s assertion. However, as it came nearer we found it to be a burro, with a chain to its neck. This little creature had probably strayed from its owner, or perhaps escaped from a massacred outfit, and not wishing to be alone had come to our camp by the fire-light. After scouting around camp a short distance, we again lay down.

The next morning, though in the heart of summer, the water that we had left in a bucket was frozen so hard that it could hardly be broken with the hand. Taking an early start we renewed our journey.

We were yet about thirty miles from the park; but being now upon the top of the ridge, and the rest of the road descending all the way, we expected to camp in sight of the park that night. Instead of walking all the way, as the day before, we could now have the satisfaction of riding at least part of the way. We were not used to such hills; and we soon concluded that it was easier to go up-hill than down. The road was in some places so steep that we had to lock all the wheels and tie a log in front of the hind wheels, and then tie ropes to the wagon and hold back besides, to assist the horses in their descent. It was very tiresome; but we went down pretty rapidly, and at sunset we camped by a little spring that nestled beneath a large rock in sight of the great South Park.

The next morning we went down into the park in search of a good place to camp. In a mile or two we came to a little stream, and after following its meanderings a few hundred yards we found it bubbling from a beautiful spring at the foot of a high bluff. The whole surrounding was carpeted with richest pasturage; and now having the two most necessary elements for the forming of a first-class camp, namely, water and pasture, we concluded to stop here while hunting through the park.

The description given us of this valley was not in the least exaggerated; for it would be difficult to imagine a more delightful place. One does not appreciate a pretty valley until he has climbed around awhile among the rough, barren mountains where the wild goat harbors; and then when he comes from the rocky cliff into an opening like this, several miles in length and a half mile broad, the floor almost level and richly carpeted, dotted here and there with little quakenasp groves, among which the fountains head and send their crystal streams down the pretty green slopes, he sees it in its fullness, and justifies the name “park,” or even paradise.

We looked upon the surroundings and were delighted; and we congratulated ourselves upon our good fortune in having the opportunity to behold this beautiful garden of nature.

Having been warned of the Indians, our first work was to prepare a little fort for a retreat, should it be necessary. There were several trees that had been blown up by the roots lying close to camp; and cutting these into logs we rolled them in shape and made quite a fort. Will was now left here while Doc. and myself started out through the park in search of meat for supper.

After roving around for some time, viewing the pretty valley and looking for game, we caught sight of a herd of deer; but being too far off we did not shoot, and disappearing in a quakenasp grove they were not seen again.

We were already quite a distance from camp; and as the sun was fast disappearing behind the mountains, we now felt the necessity of retracing our steps. On nearing camp, Doc. succeeded in killing a large jack-rabbit; and this, with some nice biscuits, was our supper.

The shades of night had now gathered, and we prepared to retire. The horses were brought near camp, and driving the large iron picket-pins deeply into the earth, they were firmly fastened, lest they should break loose and escape should anything extraordinary occur. The fire was now extinguished, that no enemy would be directed by it to our camp; and we lay down within our little fort to sleep. Nature could not have formed a more beautiful night. The sky was thickly studded with stars, and not a cloud was to be seen. The zephyrs softly and noiselessly fanned the valley, and but one noise could be heard—that was the sweet murmur of the little brook which rippled among the roots and pebbles by the very side of our bed. We for the first time felt lonely, and realized that the music of nature is sweet. Soon our eyes were closed in slumber; and without even a dream to disturb us, we slept sweetly until morn.

We ate a hearty breakfast,—which was chiefly the rich, delicious flesh of the antelope,—and then concluded to make another hunting-expedition, similar to the one the day before. Our belts were filled with cartridges, and our six-shooters and knives were buckled about us; and taking our big rifles, we left Will in camp as usual, and went off down the park. We came to a stream that rolled down the mountain-side among the thick pines; and knowing that deer kept in the thickets during the day, coming out night and morning to eat in the clear valleys, we concluded to follow this stream up the mountain. We caught sight of game on several occasions; but the timber was so dense that we could not see it until frightened, and we arrived at the mountain-top at twelve o’clock without making a successful shot. I now sought a clear place; and climbing upon a huge rock I placed the field-glass to my eyes, and looking down over the tree-tops into the valley below I could plainly see our camp. The horses were quietly grazing near by, and Will, from his position at the fire, was probably getting dinner. As everything seemed quiet, we felt no uneasiness concerning camp; and being but about four or five miles therefrom, we started over the opposite side of the mountain. We soon came to a small crystal lake; and for the first time since entering the park we saw Indian signs. There were many tracks upon the brink of the lake; and some being quite fresh, we were convinced that we came but a little too late for company. Several small canoes were floating loosely upon the water, and we supposed them to be used merely as pleasure-boats; for as the lake was about one hundred yards in diameter, they could be of but little use in travel. A boat-ride in the wild mountains is a rarity, and Indian or no Indian,

we concluded to have a boat-ride right there. So stepping aboard, I plied the rude oars, and we shot over the lake. It was fine sport, and we felt pretty good over a free boat-ride. After the first excitement had worn off, we began to consider our position. We were rowing the Indian’s canoe upon his own waters, and if seen by him would be considered trespassers; and at that very moment the eagle-eyes might be watching us from the surrounding pine-thickets. Though we did not care a darn for the trespass, we fully realized our helpless position in case of an attack, so we pulled for the shore.

Half of the afternoon had already passed away, and feeling pretty good over the boat-ride, we started for camp. About an hour before sunset we came to a very rugged part of the mountain, and feeling considerably wearied we sat down upon a log to rest. While looking around at the pretty scenery, we saw a small woolly animal lying in the leaves at the foot of the tree upon which we sat. It was apparently asleep; and approaching it cautiously we got within a few steps of it, when it discovered us and sprung to its feet. It was a cub bear. We rushed upon it, captured it, and concluded to take it to camp alive. The little fellow kept up a continuous growling and snapping; and after finding itself completely overpowered it uttered a loud, piercing cry, which was answered by a terrific roar just behind us in the bushes. Doc. said we had played h——l now; and turning around we beheld two large grizzly bears, with roach up and froth on their lips, rush out of the bushes but a few rods away, and with angry snarls were coming upon us. The grizzly bear is the most ferocious of the bear tribe, and will attack the hunter with the most desperate and persevering fierceness, especially in the defense of its young. The brutes were closely upon us, and not a moment was to be lost. Raising our large rifles to our shoulders, we both fired at the same instant; but, unfortunately, both shots were fired at the same bear, which for a moment stood paralyzed and then fell over dead. The other one was already standing upon his hind feet within a few feet of Doc., extending his affectionate arms for a hug, and from the looks of his mouth, a kiss too. In attempting to reload his rifle he found that the shell had stuck in the chamber, so dropping the rifle he drew his six-shooter; but before he could fire it was knocked from his hand by the powerful paw. Again Doc. grabbed up his gun, and by repeated blows with the heavy barrel over the nose, which is the most tender part of the bear, he succeeded for a few minutes in keeping bruin at bay. All this was the work of an instant, and I saw the necessity of a shot from my big rifle to stop the infuriated beast. So, having shoved a cartridge into the chamber, I took deliberate aim at the heart and fired. The bear shifted just as I pulled, and instead of the ball striking the heart, it entered a few inches above the intended mark, crushing the shoulder-bone. This completely disabled the left fore leg, and the animal fell at the report of the gun; but after rolling over two or three times upon the ground, he again reared upon his hind feet and renewed the contest with apparently increased fury. We now used the six-shooters,—known as forty-fives,—and which were also deadly weapons. Nine shots were fired, when the frenzied beast became subdued and fell dead at our feet. Upon examination, eight of these shots were found to be simply flesh-wounds, yet a solitary ball, having penetrated the heart, would necessarily have produced death. The conflict was now over, and we looked about for the pet cub. Just around the edge of the cliff we saw an entrance, leading, as we supposed, into a cave among the rocks. Here was doubtless the abode of the bruin family; and we supposed that the cub had gone in, but had no particular desire to go in to see.

We were soon on our way to camp, each carrying a bear-hide and a chunck of the meat. The hides were dried, and proved to be of much service. During the day they served as cushions for seats, and when the nights were cold they were our warmest covering. As we had often heard of bear-flesh being the most delicious of all meats, we were anxious for a taste. Accordingly, a quantity was at once placed upon the fire for supper. We were a little disappointed; but having exercised considerable during the day, it nevertheless tasted very well.

The next morning we set out to cross the park. About 3:00 P.M. we arrived at the opposite side, and concluded to camp until the morrow. We had scarcely halted when a single Indian came out of the pines, and manifesting friendliness, came up to our camp. He could speak a few words in English; and we soon found that he wanted a shooting-match. We disregarded his solicitations for a little while; but he still presisted. Doc. then took his rifle in his hand, and making him understand that he was the poorest shot in the party, showed him that he would shoot. The Indian appeared delighted; and walking away three hundred yards, he cut a notch in a tree with his tomahawk, and with utmost satisfaction came back to shoot. He expressed his desire that Doc. should shoot first; and without ceremony he fired, striking the center of the white chip. The red-man gave his shoulders a shrug, and with an “ugh” of surprise he refused to make a shot, and was soon gone away disgusted into the pines. There were doubtless many others among the surrounding hills, and this one had perhaps come out to test our ability with the rifle. They are cautious about approaching the unerring ball, but at the same time entertain comparatively little fear from the awkward marksman. They have entertained this dreadful fear of the big rifle in the hand of a good marksman ever since the year 1860, when a party down in Texas were rounded up by buffalo-hunters and the most of them picked off at a very long range. This information is in every tribe, and will doubtless become proverbial. “Why,” they say, “the big bullets are whizzing down in Texas yet, hunting Indians.”

The next morning, while preparing breakfast, two other Indians appeared and asked for something to eat. We did not hesitate to share with them, and they eat greedily. I might here remark that during the whole of our extended journey, notwithstanding that we were often approached by the hungry Indian as well as white man, we never refused to share eat and drink, no matter how scanty our supply.

Having heard so much about Leadville for the last few months, and seeing such vast numbers of emigrants daily winding their way to the mountain of wealth, we concluded to give it a visit also. We could hear the whistles blow, and see great columns of smoke rising from between the hills when we were yet fully fifteen miles away. We began to see dead horses and mules by the way; and as we proceeded the numbers increased until within a mile or so of the place the way was literally strewed with dead animals; and there was not a spear of grass left for our horses to graze. We at length arrived at the great center of excitement; but the scene I can not describe. The place lies between two ridges, and is nine thousand feet above the level of the sea. No costly mansions, built with time and care, adorn the place, and no spacious business blocks, with their beautiful polished fronts, are seen; but the great mining metropolis of the Union stands with her hastily-reared cabins among the green stumps of the late forest, and her hundreds of tents glitter upon the hill-sides that have been left rugged by the spade of the hungry miner. Snow glistens upon the crests of the high mountains in every direction. Its cold breath brings chill to the camp, and the nights are very cold.

The population is estimated at twenty thousand; and with fully one half of these miserably located in wagons, and insufficient coverings, there is much misery. Like unto the finding of gold at the discovery of America, the populace had been excited far and near, and the greedy seekers of the precious metal came rushing to this find in the cold, bleak mountains like perishing cattle to the pool. West-bound trains were every day behind time with their terrible loads of people, who did not consider that there could be no accommodations in a place so rapidly sprung, and the consequences were hunger and exposure. This resulted in disease; and at one time many were daily swept away by pneumonia. The horses, too, standing unsheltered upon the mountain-slopes by the hundreds, with no pasture but the green twigs of the fallen trees, and the little feed that some of their owners could afford to buy, contracted diseases; and the town was literally surrounded with dead animals. Many poor men, depending upon their teams for support, were entirely broken up. Persons coming by wagons usually had a small stock of provisions and beds along; but the thousands who came from the East by rail were at the mercy of those who were prepared to board and lodge. There were boarding-tents stuck upon the hill-sides, and, though all could not be accommodated, meals were from one to two dollars apiece. There were other lodging-cabins, and this was from fifty to one dollar per night. I have seen persons who just came from the East, and not wishing to peril their health by exposure in the cold night-air of the mountain, offer five dollars for a comfortable night’s lodging. They had plenty of money, but the accommodation was not to be had; and many a person from a good, warm bed lay here shivering in the folds of a single thin blanket, and paid an exorbitant price for the privilege. There was one large hall, which was built at the beginning of the excitement, and which now rented at seventeen hundred dollars per month. It was used as a saloon, and had two bars, with two tenders and a cashier behind each; and day and night the drinks were issued as fast as these men could tend. The spare part of the hall was let out to lodgers; and persons paid fifty cents per night to wrap themselves in their own blankets and sleep spoon-fashion upon the floor. The floor was covered every night. It would be difficult to even imagine the amount this firm daily realized. There being no railroad here, everything had to be freighted in over rough mountain-roads, and of course was very high. There was but one route by which a railroad could reach the place, and that was up the grand canon of the Arkansas; and this was just wide enough for one track. The Denver & Rio Grande and Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe companies both saw the great prospect for a road to Leadville, and they both began to extend their tracks. They came to the canon at the same time, and a quarrel arose as to which should enter. Each company employed squads of men to guard its workmen, and gave them five dollars per day; but great bowlders would tumble down the canon from several hundred feet above, and thud heavily in the waters below whenever work was begun. This war was waged for some time, during which several men were killed. At length United States troops were called to the scene, and General Sherman came out to quell the war. The matter was taken to court, and after a decision in favor of the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad the little narrow-gauge wound up the gorge to the town.

Persons who bought property here at the early stage of the excitement suddenly rose to men of wealth; for a lot in the heart of town was worth far more than a lot in the center of Dayton, Ohio. Many shrewd persons made fortunes here, in various ways; and some lost all they had. I will venture that there are many returned to the East with Leadville experience to-day who will consider before they rush wildly to another find in the cold, bleak mountain in the winter-season.

In connection with this sketch of Leadville I feel constrained also to add something that will doubtless be interesting to many, as showing the physical and financial ability of woman as well as Leadville opportunities. Mrs. Sallie Ray, known as the Leadville washer-woman, has to-day an income of thirty thousand dollars per annum, owning property in Leadville that rents for two thousand dollars per month. The following is a brief history of this wonderful woman: She was born in the north of Ireland in the year 1830, and came to New York when she was fifteen years of age. She there married a book-keeper named Joseph Ordway. He soon died, and she went west to Leavenworth, Kansas. From there she went to Denver, and finally, in 1867, to Leadville. In Denver she married a man named Frank Hay; but he died soon after, leaving to her a daughter, Cora, now a pretty girl of about seventeen years. Her career has been a peculiarly eventful and exciting one, and would doubtless make an interesting little volume. She has dug in mines, fought in Indian wars by the side of her husband, scoured the plains on horseback as a scout, and became an expert at the business. She braved the dangers and storms of winter, where Leadville now stands, before there were houses to inhabit; and she says she used to keep Cora wrapped up in warm blankets, day and night, to keep her from freezing. She helped found the city of Leadville, mapped roads, built houses, and took in washing from the miners. When the place became settled, the land she had taken up turned into a fortune; and as the silver rattled down the wash-board she felt herself growing rich. She weighs about one hundred and forty pounds. Having her property all in the hands of good agents, she is taking her ease.

There are constantly finds being made that create a great excitement at first; but in most cases they prove inferior to expectation, and soon die away. On the contrary, this has proved a good camp; and from the rich finds that are being made every once in awhile the whole town and its surroundings appear to be threaded with rich veins of silver-quartz. We were not greedy or in any wise excited, however, and concluded to leave the place and steer for Denver, the queen city of the West.

We passed down Chimney Gulch, the great natural pass through the towering Rocky Mountains, and in which roll the clear waters of a beautiful mountain-stream.

We camped one evening in this gulch, fifteen miles from Denver, and thought to try our hands at fishing. We never had success in fishing in clear waters, where the fish could see us; so, of course, we sought a place where the water was shaded. After finding a place where the water whirled into foam round a rock, and grass floated on the eddy, we cast our hooks; but in spite of the soft, delicious fat meat that we suspended there was nary a bite.

There were some fellows out from the city, also; and they, too, were fishing, but with better success. They came up to where we were; and seeing the place in which we were fishing and the bait we used, they burst into a hearty laugh, and asked us if we were not cat-fishers from Arkansas. Will was a little insulted at this remark, and told them that the fishers were all right but the darned fish were just like the people out west here—used to eating nothing but mud and grasshoppers, and did not know what meat was.

I was willing to be called anything, so I could catch fish; so I went to their wagon, and, finding that they had a nice bucket of trout, I decided to take a little piscatorial information. I learned that trout stayed only in clear water, and were from six inches to a foot in length. The fishing is usually done with a fly; that is, a little red feather tied just over the hook. When baiting is used, grasshoppers are the best; and meat will not do at all. Will was right. The hook is cast into the water where trout are seen, or where there are rocks or logs under which they are likely to be, and then dragged up and down to attract attention. The hook is sometimes drawn past the fish several times without notice, and of a sudden a dart is made at the fly or bait; and in either case he usually sticks.

We had better success in our fishing after this lesson; but we also learned that it took ingenuity and lots of experience to catch speckled trout. Finding the grasshoppers few, and the best jumpers we ever saw, we concluded that the fish we could catch would not satisfy the hunger engendered in capturing the baits; so we gave up the sport to look at the mountain curiosities.

The walls upon either side of the gulch tower several hundred feet high, and in some places are almost perpendicular. The gulch is very narrow here and there, and the stream takes up nearly the whole pass. In these places the way has been worked and walls of stone have been built. We thought the people of Denver had done this through necessity, and never even dreamed of a toll-gate. But in the morning, as we came near the mouth of the gulch, we found a fair tree suspended in the way; and were asked one dollar, or ten cents per mile, for the privilege of passing under. Well, there was but one thing to do, for even the best-trained burro could not climb round the gate, and the man who stood in the door of his little cabin with his belt of six-shooters on, looked as though he meant to collect his toll, so we paid the bill and drove out from the mighty walls upon the pretty level prairie.

It was Sabbath morning, and the sun shone brightly. The tolling of the church-bells could be distinctly heard, while the spires rose high and glittered in the sunlight. It was a delightful morning, and we passed merrily along, anxious to stand in the beautiful streets of the western Jerusalem. We soon met the folks from the city riding out in their fine carriages, enjoying the soft, pure, morning air, and we thought of home. We had a white cover upon our wagon, and as the little ones passed by they would excitedly call out to pa and ma to look at the gypsies. When near the city we met two young men on horseback who were disagreeing as to the distance of the mountains that hung upon the edge of the prairie in the direction from whence we came. One was acquainted with the country and knew the distance; but his comrade was insisting that it was but three miles at most. So, standing as he was between the great confidence he had in his friend, and his own judgment, based upon real observation, he came to us acknowledging his fresh arrival from the East and inexperience in the country, and asked for the truth. We had been in his fix at Pike’s Peak, and though realizing his position, we told him it was full fifteen miles, and drove on.

We at length came to the city and camped in a pretty grove upon the banks of the South Platte that rolls along the edge of the corporation. It was a cool, delightful spot, and there was a wagon beneath almost every tree, while great numbers of children were playing in the cool shade. Some had come here to spend the summer and had large tents up, and cooking-stoves, and other household furniture. They live comfortably in the pure, soft, open air. We went into the city, and were greatly pleased with its fine, large buildings, and pretty, dry streets. The principal hotels are the American, Interocean, and Grand Central. These are very fine houses, and are usually crowded to their utmost during the summer by persons who come here to spend their vacations for their health. There are persons in Denver who say they came here hopeless invalids, and to-day they are stout and hearty. The population is said to be forty thousand; but from the fact that there are so many transient persons, it is hard to estimate. The post-office is large, and has three general deliveries, each taking charge of the mail under certain letters of the alphabet. These deliveries are opened for a short time whenever a mail arrives; and persons looking for mail have to be on time. There are so many persons here from the East, and who have no boxes, that to avoid rushing and confusion they are made to form rows and march up in regular order—the little one standing an equal show. These rows sometimes reach clear out of the house and far down the sidewalk, and persons often stand at the delivery fifteen minutes before it opens so as to be first; for sometimes the window is closed before all are served. The city is very thrifty; and at the time we were there fifteen hundred houses were said to be in process of erection. All kinds of business is flourishing, and workmen appear to be encouraged. Law is excepted, for there are more lawyers here than would be necessary to do three times Denver’s legal business. Just south of the city is located the largest gold and silver smelter (it is said) in the world. By miners, farmers, stock-raisers, and tourists the city is supported. North and east of the city there are several hundred acres of good farming-land; and the very best crops of wheat, potatoes, oats, etc., and some splendid fruit also, are raised. Of course it is all done by irrigation; but the mountain-streams are near, and the broad, level fields are easily flooded.

Our next place was Cheyenne, Wyoming, which lay about one hundred and ten miles to the north; so taking a last look we left the beautiful city behind and journeyed up the Kansas Pacific Railway. There was a well-broken road all the way, and we glided smoothly along, crossing over the Little Thompson Creek, and near by Fort Collins, and soon entered the city. It is situated upon the north bank of a branch of the South Platte, called Crow Creek, and is surrounded by barren hills. The great Union Pacific Railroad runs through the place, and the Colorado Central and Kansas Pacific roads terminate here. There is a great deal of mining-machinery manufactured here, and this, with the railroad shops, stock-raising, and the government fort near by, is what supports the town. The town is somewhat scattered, and the buildings are mostly old and very common. There are many saloons and gambling-houses; and though there are undoubtedly some good citizens here, the people generally are pretty rough characters—the female portion not excepted. However, the place is not nearly so notorious as years ago, when it is said they used to have a man every morning for breakfast. We paid here four cents per pound for potatoes, three cents for corn, five cents for flour, and for other things in proportion.

Our young friend William Gray here concluded that things were not like they were in old native Nebraska,—to which he was fervently attached; and not wishing to experience any more changes, see any more Indians, or get any farther from home, he concluded to go back where father’s chimney helped make the morning fog. So, mounting his pony, he bid us good-by, and loped out of sight down the railroad with a light heart, and the determination to live and die and be buried in blessed old Nebraska.

Will had hardly gone when two young men named June and Hugh Goodrich came to our camp; and finding that we were on our way to California, and that we wanted company, they made application, and we concluded to go together. They were brothers, and were then on their way from Missouri to Oregon. We were in camp together but a few days until we found that though they were inexperienced, they were nevertheless good, honest boys; and we were proud of our new companions.

We now started for the notorious Black Hills that lay along both sides of the line between Wyoming and Dakota, and one hundred miles to the north. There was a wagon-road leading from Cheyenne directly to the hills, and taking this we crossed over the Platte River. In a few days we were in sight of the hills. They are high, rugged, and perfectly barren, and the surface is so dark as to have the appearance of burnt prairie. Hence, the name Black Hills. We pushed on up to Camp Bradley, and then visited some of the mines. The miners say that this is undoubtedly the richest mining-district in the West; but for mining there is much water needed, and this they lack. The artesian experiment is being tried, but thus far with poor success. But should this eventually succeed, mining-stock in the Black Hills will be at a premium. Work is going on, however, but the pannings are light.

The Indians have been a reigning terror to the miners here, and whole outfits have been murdered on the way, while men were every day shot down with picks in their hands by the hidden foe. The little camps that stick here and there among the hills are made up of men who care not for man or devil; and a rougher set I never saw. They beat cow-boys badly. There is a saloon and gambling-house in every camp; and could the hills but speak, they would tell of crimes as black as the sands upon their slopes. The hills can be seen from one or two points on the Union Pacific Railroad. There is a branch railroad being now built from the Union Pacific a little west of Cheyenne to the hills.

We now came down the north fork of the Cheyenne, then over on the Powder, and then down the Platte to the Union Pacific Railroad again, and started west. We soon came to Rawlings, a place spoken of in connection with the White River agency massacre as where the troops left the railroad to go to the scene. We now opened into a dry, sandy desert, and were compelled to make forty and fifty mile drives, with the wheels rolling deep in the soft surface, to reach water.

In one of these big drives we came to a little stream called Bitter Creek, that flowed noiselessly down a ravine; and the first impulse was joy. But when we got to the bank we found a notice stuck up warning us to not let stock drink for the water was poisonous. It was as white as milk with alkali; and we wondered if we had not struck the land that flows with milk and honey—however, we saw no honey around. The horses wanted to drink, but we carefully kept them from it. Taking a cup, I resolved to taste the stuff, poison or no poison. I took but a little sip, and was satisfied; for it was so strong that the skin came off my lips and tongue wherever the water touched.

We came to the mountains at dark, and following a road that branched off down a deep gulch to the right we traveled about two miles and opened into a little basin covered with rich, green grass, and where the pure, cool water bubbled from the foot of the mountain and ran off down the hollow, glittering in the bright moonlight. Having just come out of the scorching sands, and not having had a drink of good water for several days, the camp was to us delightful; and the ponies, after quenching their thirst from the crystal stream, rolled themselves upon the soft lawn and went to grazing the tender grass as though well contented.

There were several other outfits there also; and by one of the wagons a splendid, large, dark-bay stallion lay dead. The horse was very dry when he came to Bitter Creek, and in spite of all warning his owner let him drink; and though he took but a few swallows of the ugly water it did the work.

We stayed here the next day to recruit our team, and killed a fine large deer that came to drink at the water below; and the following morning we took our last draught from the cool waters, and rather reluctantly left the beautiful Antelope Springs to climb up the side of the mighty mountain to the west. We wound slowly up the steep side, and it was nearly night before we reached the top. When once there we could see for miles around over the rugged, barren peaks and the dry, sandy plains of Bitter Creek. The timber was but dwarfy bushes; the air was light and cool, and the clouds swept by our feet along the crest of the mountain, being sometimes so thick as to hide objects but a few yards away. We looked down the other side, and it appeared to be miles to the bottom; for the pines in the valley below looked like little twigs on a hazel-brush. We descended but a short way when we came to a pretty spring and stopped for the night; for our horses were very tired. The next day at noon we reached the bottom; and as we looked back it seemed as though we had come directly down from the heavens.

Here stood what is called Quakenasp Mountain; and from a cliff away up in its side sprung a stream of clear water which came tumbling down over the rocks like a cataract. We had heard this mountain spoken of as being a great place for game; so, being remarkably fond of hunting, we concluded to stop and try our hand. There were great chasms in the mountain-side, and these were filled with thick growths of quakenasp-trees and bushes, down among which the water flowed and where the game harbored.

Leaving the Goodrich brothers in camp, Doc. and myself each strapped a blanket upon his back, and, taking our big rifles, we started up the mountain. We saw some sign, but no game until we reached the top. Looking down the other side we saw a little branch running down a deep hollow, and we descended. Here the banks were all cut up with the sharp hoofs of the deer and elk, and the print of a single Indian moccasin could be seen in the soft sand at the brink. The slopes were all covered with sage-brush as thick as a man’s leg and as high as his breast, with here and there a little pine-tree. I often think of it to-day as the wildest-looking place I saw in all my travels.

Our camp lay just over the mountain, about four miles away; and as the darkness was already gathering we concluded to stay here till morning and shoot the game as it came to the water. So, wrapping ourselves in our blankets, we lay down among the sage-brush at the roots of a little pine sapling that stood on the bank of the stream and were dozing sweetly when the piercing howl of a wolf, that appeared to be trailing us down the mountain-side, broke the deep silence and roused us from our slumbers. Almost instantly howling began in every glen and on every hill-side; and the shrill notes echoed down the valley in which we lay. We had always kept a fire when in bad wolf-countries before; but thinking that there was no danger here we had avoided fire on account of the game. And it was even dangerous to start a fire here among the dry sage-brush without first carefully clearing a place; for, should the fire break out, we would surely perish in the flames. What was to be done must be done quickly, for the brush was crashing at our very sides and the deafening cries rang in our ears. Fire-arms against such numbers was a feeble defense; and there being no other tree that could be reached in time, we both sprung into the slender sapling that we knew was too weak to bear us up, just getting out of the way when several large wolves reached the tree. Doc. being the lightest went up first, and I stayed as close to the bottom as I could to take off as much weight as possible. But, just as we had anticipated, the tree was too weak; and, bending over, Doc. was left within six feet of the ground, so that we were both almost within reach of our hungry foes. Thicker and thicker they came and louder and louder they howled until they looked like a large flock of sheep, and we could not hear each other speak. They became so ravenous that they would spring up and clash their foaming jaws together, sometimes within a few inches of us, and now and then catching parts of our clothing, and blowing their warm breath in our faces. It was a critical moment; and had that tree been high enough I would have climbed up to the moon. But it was the best we could do; and with our knives in our hands we struck them in the head as they jumped up. The prey was so near that they lost themselves in anxiety and rage, and would spring at the tree and gnaw like mad maniacs. This I was careful to stop with a shot or two from my six-shooter; for should the tree be weakened in the least we knew very well that it would make but little difference to us who got to be president of the United States. We fought them off in this way for several hours, and until there were many killed and great numbers wounded. All of a sudden—as though their attention had been attracted by something else—they ran off, howling, down the stream. This was our opportunity; and leaping quickly to the ground we grabbed our rifles and ran for another and larger tree that stood two hundred yards away. We got about half way when we found that they were coming back; and then there was a race for life. We thought that the sage-brush were thicker than we had ever seen them; and it appeared as though the tree were a mile off. On we went, lunging, leaping, and falling, and the howling became too near to sound nice. The tree is but a few yards away, yet the brush are rattling at our very heels and the angry growl is plain to our ears.

The tree is reached, and we each spring for a limb and draw ourselves up out of the very mouths of our enemies. For a moment we are safe. But, great horror! Just at that moment Doc.’s limb broke, and he fell back among the enraged throng. He alighted upon his feet, however, and leaving his rifle fall and throwing his blanket from his shoulder the attention of the wolves was slightly diverted, and, quick as a cat, he sprung for another limb; but before he could draw himself out of the way several large fellows firmly fastened their fangs in the legs of his pants, and I thought the show was about over with him. They howled and raged and tore, with their game in their very jaws; but Doc. held to the limb with a death-grip, until I shot the wolves that held him down, and, drawing himself safely up, he heaved a long sigh of relief and appeared to be surprised to find that his legs and feet were all there, with but a few light scars.

We were now safe; but the wind turning cold about midnight, our couch in the tree was very unpleasant, indeed. The pack appeared to be bound to have meat, and stayed round the tree, howling and gnawing, until near daylight, when they began to disperse, and the noise died away among the rifts and gorges. When all was quiet and the night was done we stepped to the ground much relieved. The tree was terribly torn, and the ground and brush all around were smeared with blood and foam. We found twenty large wolves lying dead among the sage-brush, with wounds from knife and bullet. Great pools of blood stood here and there, and the blankets were hanging in shreds on the brush. We had had wolf-calls several times; but that was the most disagreeable call we had ever experienced.

We did not think it worth our while to look for game in that part after such a night of carousing, so taking our rifles we started up over the mountain for camp. We got near the top, when hearing a racket among the crags and bushes near by, we dodged behind a large rock and prepared for the oncome. Soon a large elk dashed from a deep gorge, and started off down the mountain-side, closely pursued by several great wolves. Quickly resting our rifles against the rock, we sent our lead upon the elk; and with a jerk of the head and a high leap in the air, he fell dead among the rocks, and the wolves ran off in fright. It was the largest of the species that I had ever seen, and the tips of its great horns were five feet apart. Taking the tongue and saddle, we went down into camp and found everything all right. We then had breakfast; and the soft flesh was delicious. I shall never forget that night, and shall ever feel thankful that our new comrades were left at camp; for otherwise, with their inexperience, the result would certainly have been bitter to our little camp.

Well, we were now ready, and again rolled on, crossing over a dry, barren belt of country, and at length arrived at Green River, a little town situated on the banks of a stream from which it takes its name. At this place the stream is one hundred and fifty yards wide, and the water, as indicated by the name, is really of a light-green color. It is also very clear and deceiving, and rolls so rapidly that it is considered a very dangerous stream. The evening that we arrived there was a man upon the opposite shore with a large herd of horses that he had raised in Idaho, and which he was driving East. They persistently refused to enter the water; but after repeated attempts they were started in. Seeing them drifting far down the stream, he swam his horse in below, intending to keep them up. He was known to be an expert swimmer; but the herd drifted against him, and in some way getting dismounted, he was borne down beneath the surface; and the fishes that sport beneath the green waters are probably to-day playing around his white frame. His wife and two children witnessed the terrible sight from the bank, and were almost distracted with grief; but the mad waters rolled on, and they were widow and fatherless.

There was a whole gang of miserable-looking Arkansas emigrants, with their ox-teams, and old wagons with tops patched with dish-rags, old hats, etc., stopping upon the bank, and thinking themselves unable to pay the ferryman’s bill of three dollars per wagon, were debating what to do to get beyond. The price was exorbitant; and finding the ferryman a very independent gentleman, I jumped on a pony and rode into the stream to try its depth. The waters were very clear, and I found the depth to be very irregular,—some places being very deep, and others but three and four feet. I was very careful in picking my route and marking it by objects upon the bank, and at length went back for the wagon. We passed ropes under the bed and lifted it up to the top rings in the standards, and after putting the stoutest horse on the upper side, and tying a couple of stones to the axles, we drove in. This was an anxious moment for the Arkansas emigrants, who lined themselves upon the bank like a lot of mud-turtles in a morning-sun, and watched every turn. We got off the route a little a few times, and the horses could hardly keep their feet in the deep water, but we arrived safely beyond. A loud cheer went up from the Arkansas side just as we landed; and though the ferryman became very clever, and offered his services very reasonably, the oxen were yoked, the little ones loaded up, and in they came in our course. It was an interesting sight, and we stayed to see it. The oxen refused obedience, and were hard to manage in the deep waters, and several times some of the wagons drifted into deep places and the water came up in the bed, driving the big fat corn-fed girls to the side-boards to cry for help; and the number of little fellows, as they stuck their unkempt heads out from under the cover of many colors, looked like eagles’-nests floating on the water. The old he-Arkansaws, however, stayed by the teams, and one by one they wound up on the bank. When they were all safely landed, it was amusing to see the old fellows going around their wagons as though looking if any were missing, while the little ones jumped out in the sand and sported around in the sun like little wet dogs.

We then moved on, and the next day camped at the edge of a pretty forest. The following notice was stuck up on a tree: “Warning! Three hundred Indians in this vicinity.” We kept a sharp lookout; and though we saw some of them, we had no trouble.

We were now traveling on the old California emigrant-road; and every few miles we would find stones or boards stuck up at the road-side with almost obliterated inscriptions of “Dora Sires, killed by Indians,” or, died of fever, etc., etc.,—some of the dates being as far back as 1850. We chatted with several old Forty-niners in our rounds, and they told us many interesting incidents in their journey through the wide, wild regions. They say they used to go in large companies for their protection against savages and wild beasts. And to maintain order among themselves, they took their judges and lawyers along, and summary justice was meted out to the offenders as they went along. Sometimes the sentence was death; and in this case the prisoner dangled from the limb of a tree by the road-side.

Passing along we came to Evanston, a little town on the Union Pacific Railroad, and near the Utah line. Here we entered Echo Canon, down through which ran the railway—in fact this being the only way the insurmountable heights can be crossed. This canon is far noted for its grandeur, which in no case has been exaggerated. After we had gone down into it a few miles, we found the walls almost perpendicular, and from eight hundred to one thousand feet high; and the great eagles that flew from crag to crag above our heads looked as small as swallows. Upon speaking here the volume was greatly increased, and an ordinary conversation echoed far down the canon. Hence the name, “Echo Canon.” There is a little stream running in at the mouth of the canon, and being fed all the way down by springs that roll their waters from the cliffs above, it increases to quite a creek. At some places the canon is very narrow, and the stream taking up nearly the whole way, the rail and wagon roads are forced to wind along the side of the mountains, often several hundred feet above. The road at these places has required a great deal of labor to make it passable, and is so narrow that should a wheel get six inches out of the way, team, wagon and all would roll down the steep side and be dashed to pieces against the crags and pines, and finally thud in the waters far below. There are places all along, a mile or two apart, where teams can pass, and it is the duty of each outfit to keep a guard ahead; but in case outfits do meet, one wagon has to be taken apart to let the other pass. Fierce contests sometimes arise as to who shall undo. At these places look out for the toll.

There are many of these great gulches and canons in the mountains, and much of mountain-travel is done over lofty, dangerous roads. Sometimes the track winds around the mountain several times, and then runs along the crest for several miles; and to look down into the swimming space, the dark, deep passes appear like ways into the center of the earth. I have often—through curiosity—climbed above timber-line upon the side of the mountain, where all was bleak and rocky, and looked down the steep, pine-decked slopes. There are often rocks weighing many tons just hanging on the steep sides, and can be pried loose with little effort; and it is amusing to start them down the mountain-side and see them mow the pines as though they were straw, leaving a swath like a reaper, and thudding heavily in the grassy hollows below. At lonely places in some of the roads that run through dark, deep canons, there are bridges built over streams and gorges by private individuals, who live in little forts by the way and extort the most exorbitant rates for crossing over. They are always well armed, and travelers are forced to pay; for there is no way to get around, and to travel back over the steep, rocky road they can not think of. There is, however, once in a while a person who understands the mountain tricks; and when they come this way there are some lively times in the narrow passes; and doubtless many a man has sent up his soul from the rifts among the rocks by these lonely mountain-bridges.

All persons en route for the Pacific by way of the Union Pacific should keep a sharp lookout for Echo Canon and view its grandeur, as the train winds slowly down between its towering walls.

Coming to Echo City, a little mining-town in the canon, we branched off up Weber Canon, then up Silver Creek Canon toward Park City, where the Ontario Mine, the largest and richest silver-mine in Utah, is situated. When we were yet twelve miles off, the stream that comes down from the mines through the canon was so impregnated with rubbish from the mines and quartz-mill, as to be unfit for use and to have a silver cast. Hence the name, “Silver Creek.” Winding up the steep, rough canon, we at length came to Park City,—which is but a few little log and board shanties stuck among the rocks against the mountain,—and learned that it was just a half mile up to the main mine. The way was up a gorge that was so steep and rough as to be almost inaccessible; and when we arrived we were tired and our team was well jaded. We did not like to leave them below. Here stood a large frame building; and in this the shaft was sunk. The shaft is about six feet square, and there was a large engine to work the windlass to let the miners up and down to and from work, and also to haul up the quartz. We found the superintendent to be a very clever gentleman; and he promised us that if we would wait till noon, when the miners had gone to dinner, he would let us down the shaft. This we gladly assented to, and we were accordingly let down into the bowels of the earth, five hundred feet. Here we found several chambers branching out, each high as a man’s head, and ten or twelve feet square. Four large engines were standing here for the purpose of pumping out the water should a vein be struck. Engineers stand ready at their posts; for they say water often bursts in the mine in such quantities as to cut off the escape of the miners should there be no pumps. This, then, is what is called flooding the mines. The metal is in hard rocks, called quartz; and these rocks run in veins through the earth, usually two or three feet square. Sometimes the veins run near the surface, and at other times, as in this case, far below. Old experienced miners can generally tell when there is metal below. The ceiling is very heavily timbered up, and torches were hung all around. The miners have torches fixed on their caps. The leads in this step had run out, but there was another shaft running down still a hundred feet deeper, where the miners were working; but we were not permitted to go there. After the foreman had shown us all around, he gave each of us a piece of quartz as big as a fist, and we all stepped upon the elevator to go up. The light at the top of the shaft looked like a star. All ready, and the foreman pulled a rope which rang a bell up by the engineer, and away we shot up the dark shaft, and soon stood in daylight. There is a saw-mill here, and the engines are fired with wood. There are several other shafts in the surrounding hills; but this is the main one. Four bars of silver, worth two millions of dollars, were sent to the mint at one time from this place.

We now went down to the quartz-mill that stood at the foot of the mountain. This is an immense structure; and the pounding and roaring of the ponderous machinery can be heard a long way off. We were permitted to go all through this mill; and though the dust and noise were very disagreeable, we took a careful look at everything. The quartz is thrown into a huge, long trough, and is mashed by powerful iron stampers that are worked up and down by machinery. It is then thrown in at the top of a big furnace; and at a certain time an iron-cart is run under the furnace-grate, and the red metal is stirred down. It is dumped out close by to cool. This is very hot work; and the men doing it wear sponges over their mouths and nostrils to save their lungs. There is then an apartment with a platform about four feet high upon either side, with steps leading up. Upon either platform there are six tubs, two feet high and four feet in diameter. A small stream of water runs from pipes into each tub, in which some kind of machinery whirls round. The dust, as it comes from the furnace, is thrown into these tubs, and the clean metal comes out below, looking like quicksilver, and floats in pans upon a strong fluid solution. When the pans are full it is skimmed off, and then melted and run into bars. This process of melting is called smelting.

There are different kinds of mines. The quartz-mine, already spoken of, where the metal, like fine sand, is mixed all through hard rock; the placer-mine, where the metal is found among gravel and sand; and the sluice-mine, where the metal is in the bed and on the banks of a stream. Of course, some are very rich, while others are so poor that it does not pay to work them.

The sand and gravel from the placer-mine are hauled to water, and there the metal is washed out. This is called panning, and is spoken of as panning out “rich” or “poor.”

In the sluice or gulch mine the men dig the dirt into the water and mash up the clods, throw out the stones, etc., and the dirt all washes down while the metal sinks to the bottom. When there is considerable on the bottom, the stream is turned and the gold is taken up, put in troughs, and washed out as in placer-mines.

There is great gold and silver excitement in the mountains all the time, and many fortunes have been made, while, on the other hand, many have been lost.

There are companies in the mountains who employ miners who wish to prospect—and have nothing to go on—upon these conditions: They will furnish picks and shovels and grub stakes, and if the miners strike anything they are to give half to the company. The expenses of the company in these bargains are not very heavy; and many of them have made large fortunes from a pick and shovel and the little sack of provisions that they hung upon the back of an old, crippled miner.

It takes a great deal of money to work a mine payingly, especially a quartz-mine; and often a poor miner is compelled to sell a rich find for very little. Rich companies watch these opportunities, to take the advantage.

In the summer-season, when the snows are melted down, parties of one, two, and three persons, with tools and provisions packed on burros,—and sometimes on cattle,—are roaming all through the mountains,—down the slopes and up the gorges, from the pine-forests below to the barren, snow-capped peaks above,—toiling in the day-time and by moonlight, greedy and anxious for gold.

There are many inexperienced persons going into the mountains every year to prospect; and though the old miners have many tests and a great knowledge as to the sign of ore, a greenhorn often makes a find in his very tracks; for the old miner passes over, depending greatly on his ability to tell almost at sight, while the greenhorn comes along turning every curious-looking stone and digging wherever anything glitters. The following are a few such instances: In the year 1878 two brothers named Sisson, living at Granada, were at Pueblo court as witnesses. They testified in the forenoon, and taking a pick and shovel, in the afternoon, they started out among the hills toward Pike’s Peak to prospect. When they were four or five miles from town their attention was attracted by the peculiar color of the rocks and gravel on the slope of a little hill; and though they knew nothing whatever about mining, they thought there must be metal there. So with pick and shovel they dug away, and by the moonlight they still worked. In the morning they were satisfied that they had struck rich ore, though they had dug but eight feet deep. One of them stayed there and the other went to town to report. That very evening the boys were offered twenty thousand dollars for their find. This place had been trod over many times, and the pick and spade had turned the soil on all the surrounding slopes.

One of the best mines at Leadville, also, was discovered by a poor, ignorant Swiss, who took his tools on his back, to make or break. Some miners, while prospecting among the hills, were attracted by fresh dirt, and going to the place they found the old Swiss sitting in the bottom of a hole seven or eight feet deep, with his head upon his hands, and so weak that he could hardly stand. He had run out of grub, and, knowing that he had made a find, he was afraid to leave it lest some other person should get possession; and thus he was starving to death. This proved to be an immense fortune for the old fellow; and, wiser than most miners, he was content to take good and let better alone; and he sailed for his motherland, where the crystal lakes nestle in the Alpine folds, there to rest and enjoy his treasure.

Finds are continually being made; but the fortune comes so suddenly that the miner, like the gambler, usually spends freely, and is anxious to try his luck still further. Claims are often jumped by other parties, and some bitter fighting is sometimes done; for if there is one thing besides a man’s own life that he will shed his blood for, it is the glittering gold.

Miners receive from five to seven dollars per day, and furnish their own tools. It is certainly hard and dangerous work to dig in the mine so far below, and thus seeing but little sunlight the whole season through; but, strange to say, there are men who have crippled and ruined themselves in the dark gold-dens, and though hobbling on crutches are not yet content to live anywhere but where the pick rings against the rocks, and the exciting cry of gold is heard.

Whenever the cry of a rich find is raised, it goes like wild-fire through the mountain-towns, and often far out, and people rush like maniacs to the scene—some to mine, some to haul, etc. Whether the alarm is true or false, numbers arrive at the scene. There are persons having good teams watching these breaks, and as soon as the first cry is raised they load their wagons with tobaccos, liquors, flour, feed, shoes, blankets, etc., etc., and hastening to the ground they cut down some pines and stake off a claim, and build a little store-house. They get their own prices for goods; and should the cry be false, he can easily sell out to persons who come to see; but should the find be rich, he has his store-house where he can make his fortune. Besides, the vein might run under his very claim. Persons are making fortunes at this to-day; and Leadville is an example. Persons who staked off their little claims among the trees on the mountain-side when the discovery was first made, can to-day count their wealth in large pieces of silver and gold.

Park City is forty miles from Salt Lake; and anxious to see the great historical valley, as well as the home of a people who are the world’s curiosity, we pulled out in that direction.

CHAPTER III.

View of Salt Lake Valley and City—Tabernacle—History of the Mormons—Joe Smith—Came to Kirtland, Ohio—Brigham Young Converted—Located at Independence, Missouri—Located at Nauvoo, Illinois—Joe and Hiram Smith Killed—Emigrated to Council Bluffs—Came to Salt Lake—Trouble with the Government—Mormon Theology.