ESTES PARK.
The renewal of the acquaintance between Jack and Cal was an opportune
one. As each unfolded his past and expectations for the future there
seemed to be a bond of mutual sympathy formed unlike the ordinary
friendships.
"Jack," said Cal, confidentially, "I have laid up a good pile of 'dust'
and got as likely a ranch outfit as any of 'em. I ain't so much on talk
as some fellers with slippery tongues, neither is any one going to get
the worst of it as they do what deals with some of them slippery
talkers. When Cal says a thing's so, it's so, just as sure as gun's made
of iron. Now, I'm gittin' on in years, an' git lonesome as a settin' hen
without airy egg. I ain't a pinin' away, but I would like to gin some
desarvin' woman a good home. I'd kinder like to live in Denver and have
a house up among them nabobs. I don't expect that big red stone quarry
is goin' to give out right away and I just as lieve as not use some of
it to build a decent mansion. Then I've got a few thousand
steers;--they's one bunch of eighteen hundred fat ones, every one of
them beef to the heels, true Herefords, got the Hereford mark, that will
run twelve to fourteen hundred pounds apiece, and prime beeves are good
as cash anywhere. I think that bunch of steers ought to provide a pretty
good place to live in as long as the stone don't cost nothin'."
[Illustration: THE "KEYHOLE," LONG'S PEAK, 13,000 FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL.]
Cal stopped and looked curiously at Jack, who was looking curiously at
him.
"You are not so awful poor. Been about fifteen years making it?" asked
Jack musingly.
"Well, longer than that. I took up that stone ranch twenty years ago.
Never thought much of it until Denver got into the buildin' boom and
some feller was cartin' away my red rock without asking--the cattle,
well in freightin' and ranchin' I run onto many a 'maverick' durin' the
spring round-ups, then some young tenderfoot would get a rich uncle to
stake him; but when one of them March blizzards struck his weavin',
staggerin', half-famished bunch he would get sick and be glad to turn
over his travelin' boneyard for a couple of hundred or less, an' I kept
addin' to 'em until I got into raisin' nothin' but thoroughbreds,"
answered Cal.
"Let me tell you something, Cal. I'll put you onto the right track and
if you can't manage to do the right thing at the right time, you'll have
to live in that red house by yourself, see?"
"I savvey."
Hazel commenced to smile. She had joined in the general conversation
until Cal got sentimental, but when Jack joined forces with the honest
man of the plains who acknowledged to picking up "mavericks," although
she did not know what they were, still she felt that it was some "get
something for nothing" scheme and she was afraid Jack might acquire bad
habits; then she was inclined to resent any effort on the part of Mr.
Jack to become a promoter of some matrimonial enterprise, so she smiled
and sententiously remarked: "I guess you need not bind yourself to
deliver any foreign goods for domestic purposes, free of charge, Mr.
Jack."
"Now listen, my dear," said Jack. "Wait until you learn what's trumps
before you tip your hand. I'm going to invite Cal to go with us to Estes
Park. He can be so useful to me, you know, if I want to go out for a
deer hunt; then he can pilot Miss Asquith over the big rocks when I have
my arms full attending to you," said Jack, with a merry twinkle.
"Oh, ho! so it is Miss Asquith you seek to waylay, is it? Well, that is
different. Say, I guess I'll have to throw up my hand. I have no trumps!
success to you."
Cal laughed, Jack made merry over the prospect, and Hazel could not help
being amused at the deliberate plot to kidnap a woman's heart who had
for twenty-five years earned her own living.
"Cal, there is a Miss Asquith going to meet us in Denver and join us on
a trip to Estes Park. Just you come along and help me take care of the
ladies. You have nothing on hand and you will enjoy the trip anyway. Now
that is all I want. If you get tangled up in any foolishness"--
"Now mind, if I do go, and get half a chance I'll stake a claim sure as
gun's made of iron," jokingly remarked Cal. "I will have to go to the
ranch first: I'll stop off at Hugo and be in Estes in a few days. I'll
find you all right," so Jack and Hazel continued alone on their journey.
"Say, Jack," said Hazel, after Cal left them, "what a joke it would be
if Mr. Wagner should marry Miss Asquith."
"Why shouldn't he? Of course she is much better educated; he has the
gruff ways of the rich frontiersman, but he is rich and not so much
older than she is. He will give her an elegant home, where he will be
like the historic 'bull in a china shop.'"
"Just what was in my mind," interrupted Hazel. "Do you remember she said
two or three times, joking, of course, 'I don't see why I never could
find a farmer who would take pity on me.'" Both laughed heartily at such
a prospect. The long, dusty ride over sand hills, through dreary, brown
sunburned cattle ranges from Cheyenne Wells to Hugo and Hugo to the end
of their journey, finally came to an end. The welcome snow-capped peaks
freshened the superheated atmosphere and Denver with all its wealth,
health and climate was reached. It did not take long for Jack and Hazel
to find Chiquita, and within an hour or two Miss Asquith arrived. They
were in a mood to enjoy all the sights of the big city of the plains;
but what chiefly impressed the new visitors was the clearness of the
air, the bracing, inspiring vigor which it imparted, and the absence of
that aftermath, which always followed exercise in the lower altitudes on
the lakes or sea coast.
The slow dragging, mixed train deposited its burden in Lyons just as the
book said it would, and the red volcanic rocks baked them, and the
"yaller legged" chicken, in all its delicious russet brown jacket, was
served to the hungry quartet, who renewed their grumbling on the park
hack as the driver cracked his whip and the wheels crunched their way
through the deep hot sand. Slowly the great vehicle groaned along for
perhaps a mile, when a sudden turn in the road brought them to a bridge
which spanned a clear sparkling stream, and the ascent of the first
lofty foothills was begun. Eyes brightened, ejaculations of surprise and
delight followed each other in rapid succession as "Johnnie" cracked his
whip and dexterously guided the now thoroughly contented coachful of
pleasure seekers along a narrow ledge, winding around some precipice or
taking a run down some steep declivity that caused the timid to shriek
and the blood to tingle in the more reckless. Up, nearer and nearer the
sky, ever leaving the top of the next hill below them, until the summit
was reached.
Coats that had been discarded because of the heat were resumed, light
wraps were called for by the ladies, and the descent towards the Park
commenced. Great stretches of pine forest fringed the barren rocks on
some of the long ridges, while on others a chaotic interwoven mass of
tangled "dead wood" silently proclaimed the terrible devastation of the
devouring mountain fire.
As the first view of the Park greeted the travelers, a merry shout rent
the air, the coach pulled up at the side of the toll road and everybody
alighted to "stretch," get out still heavier wraps, and make ready for
the remaining four hours' ride. Hazel had exhausted her supply of
English suitable for the occasion, while Jack and Chiquita enjoyed the
attempts of Miss Asquith to do the subject justice in "shop" words.
Even the heavier wraps were none too warm as the coach reached the foot
of the last incline and rolled easily over the hard, gritty, well kept
turnpike. The meadow stretched before them, the Big Thompson easily
distinguished in its center and the unbroken line of mountains walling
up to the sky, shut them out from the noisy world which lay just beyond
Long's Peak, whose snow-white night cap was then a mass of burnished
copper from the last rays of the setting sun.
"Oh, Jack, how supremely grand," was all Hazel ventured.
"It is just lovely," murmured Miss Asquith.
The great triangle sent forth its warning that dinner was waiting, and
reluctantly they entered the house where the warmth of a little wood
fire took the chill off the crisp air.
"Think of it, 90 degrees in Chicago yesterday, today a fire to warm the
house!" exclaimed Hazel.
"It is just lovely," said Miss Asquith.
"Dinner," shouted a white-aproned darky.
A great platter of deliciously browned brook trout stood appetizingly in
the center of a round table, and the four chairs were immediately
occupied by four hungry people, who waived all ceremony, as well as the
every day stereotyped roast beef, making trout the Alpha and Omega of
their first Estes Park repast.
The sight-seeing was begun at daybreak, Jack routing out his party in
order to see the sunrise and the dissolving mists which hung low on the
mountain sides as they disappeared beneath the warming influence of old
Sol. An early breakfast was followed by unpacking of trunks, arranging
of fishing tackle, cameras, hammocks and paraphernalia which they
disposed of in and about the four-room cottage near the main hostelry.
Great elk and deer antlers decorated buildings all about them and the
emblem of occupancy was the fly rod standing in some convenient corner.
Saddle horses, phaetons and four-seated spring wagons were standing
about, chartered for the day's outings, while already on the banks of
the streams were anglers casting their favorite flies over pool, riffle
and swirl, in expectant anticipation of luring the wary, ever alert
inhabitant which lurked beneath some rock or bank. A flash of something
like light, followed by the straightening of a line, the symmetrical
curve of a split bamboo, the sharp click of a swiftly revolving reel in
crescendo as the line cleft the water, then the lull, the renewed dash
for liberty as a spotted, open mouthed one-pounder madly threw himself
from the water, shaking his head and falling with a splash back into the
stream,--the critical moment,--but the barb holds and a limp, pink
tinted trout, with extended gills, floats easily into the landing net--a
prize is captured which proves the record breaker of the day, all within
sight of the "tavern."
Day after day excursion followed exploration; fishing in Willow Park or
Horseshoe, the canon and the "pool," over on the St. Vrain and the
meadow; in the latter place as the season advanced one becomes familiar
with the finny tenant who has outwitted all the temptations of
professional angling, and many an hour can be spent devising new
deceptions with which to entice the sagacious big ones, those who have
felt the keen thrust of a barbed hook and learned not to grab every
dainty morsel floating near its den. Few captures of the landlords of
the meadow stream are recorded.
Among the tourists were numbers of English members of the nobility, and
in fact a great portion of the Park was the property of a well-known
lord, whose representative entertained his lordship's friends. The grand
herd of Hereford cattle grazing in the park belonged to the English
lord, as well as many of the blooded horses found at the corral.
Just a week after Jack had tested his ability attending to the caprices
of a bride and his two proteges, they were all resting in easy chairs or
in the hammocks, awaiting the arrival of the stage from Lyons, when a
pair of handsome brown horses, flecked with foam, swung into view,
drawing a buckboard in which sat a lonesome traveler leading a beautiful
roan saddle pony. It was Cal, and as he greeted Jack, who had advanced
to meet the outstretched hand, he said, "I thought perhaps I'd run
across a 'maverick' up here."
Jack understood and replied, "Glad you come prepared to put your brand
on any that you catch in the round up."
As they were instructing the corral men what to do with the horses Miss
Asquith said to Hazel, "Oh, Mrs. Sheppard, isn't that a stunning
turnout? I guess it must be my rich farmer." To which Hazel nodded
assent, remarking through her smiles, "There's no telling."
Chiquita joined in the merriment with a suggestion, "Suppose, Miss
Asquith, you let me get some Indian lovers' ferns and you dry them, then
crush them with your own hands while you chant some lines which one of
the great Sachems, in time long ago, obtained from a good spirit; and
the good spirit promised the great Sachem that any of his maidens could
cause an obstinate lover to woo her, or make a recreant spouse return to
the side of his love if the maiden or wife would mix some of the ferns
with some killikinnick, so the object of solicitude would smoke himself
into her presence."
"Oh! That is just lovely. I think I would rather have one smell kind of
smoky any how. I just abominate these scrupulously clean men who
saturate the atmosphere with Jockey Club; it is too much like 'shop.'
Ugh!"
"Sh!" said Hazel, "they are coming. Welcome, Mr. Wagner, and here is a
poor unfortunate, Mr. Wagner, who is on her way to China; she says she
is going to bring back a Chinaman or die in the attempt--Miss Asquith."
"You need not go to China for 'em. I've got one down at the ranch that
I'd just as lieve swap as not."
"Is he the genuine article with a dragon on his blouse?" retorted Miss
Asquith. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wagner."
"Thanks; and, Chiquita, who would have thought it? You here, and, well,
this beats me," turning to Jack, who was enjoying the scene.
"My surprise I promised you," said he.
"Surprise, well I should say so, sure as gun's made of iron, but tell
me--"
"I'll tell you myself," broke in Chiquita. "Yamanatz's daughter has been
to college for the last six or eight years. Chiquita has adopted the
life of her white sisters." She said it rather regretfully, Cal thought,
but he replied:
"The flower of the Utes is a daisy, sure as gun's made of iron."
"Now, Mr. Wagner, that is not fair; you might have said something nice
about me," playfully remarked Miss Asquith.
"I suppose I never will be forgiven for such a lack of good manners,"
said Cal, continuing in that open-hearted off-hand way, "but let me tell
you how I will even up. Tomorrow morning you shall ride that roan for me
and the rest of us will trail along behind and take your dust, for that
horse is a thoroughbred."
Just then the dinner gong sounded. The party planned an outing at
Horseshoe Falls, Chiquita and Miss Asquith, with Cal as escort, all
mounted, while Jack and Hazel drove in the buckboard, carrying supplies
and fishing tackle. Ten miles over a hard, sandy road, a couple of
hours' fishing, lunch in camp fashion, then an hour's rest and return to
the hotel. Miss Asquith was a trifle timid at first, but she was not a
novice and soon proved well able to master her mount, although he was
spirited and inclined to test his powers against all comers. But she
could not catch trout. Cal, of course, found it necessary to spend most
of his time extricating her line from the limbs of trees or driftwood in
the stream and changing the flies.
He showed her when and how to let the sombre hued gray hackle or gaudy
"royal coachman" settle daintily along the riffle, or drop a "black
gnat" from a bunch of grass on the opposite bank as though it was a sure
enough bug. But the lady in search of a Chinaman could not hook the lord
of the water. She was either too slow or too quick, and the exasperating
ineffectual attempts to capture one _little one_ of the many that
rose to the bait, took it with a rush only to drop it instantly, or the
ones even darting out of the water as she lifted her flies too quickly,
wore her patience to a frazzle. In fact, after losing one grand fellow
that she had managed to hold for just an instant before he broke her
leader, she was fairly upset and could not keep back the tears of
disappointment.
"Now, little one, you must not give up that way," Cal expostulated.
"These pesky fellows are just like lightning. Let me see if I can't get
that one. Now watch my fly as it goes into the dark shadow by that tree
and I will skitter the second fly sort of dancing-like diagonally across
the lower corner of the swirl that makes over that sunken rock--Gee,
whiz! I've got him, and see, there is another just grabbed the second
fly. Now the trick is to let them fight it out among themselves while I
hold this end of the argument. Two are not so hard to 'whip' as one if
you keep your line just easy tight as they are pulling against each
other all the time. But we will have to go down by that little beach
where I can wade out with a landing net; the tail fly being down stream,
the farthest will drop into the net first, then I let the other float in
on top of him, see?"
"I don't care, I think it is real mean I can't catch one," replied Miss
Asquith, "but oh, ain't they pretty?"
"Guess they are half pounders, perhaps the biggest will go three
quarters," said Cal, as he adjusted the "shrinker," a little spring
scale which he took from his pocket. "Nine ounces and fourteen ounces,
larger than I thought they were," said Cal, as he placed them in his
creel. "I guess we'd better be moving towards the camp, and as we go I
will tell you one secret of catching trout. As your flies settle into
the water, pull against them easy all the time as though they were
fastened to something, a good deal like 'feeling a horse's mouth' when
driving. This seeming tension, while infinitesimal, is enough that when
a trout grabs the fly he can not drop it; and when you feel the 'tug,'
instead of jerking your line out of the water turn your hand over and
upward a little. This will set the hook deep, then land your catch--if
you can."
"Oh, yes, it is easy enough to say it," replied Miss Asquith.
The camp was soon reached and a gay party discussed the two "big ones"
at dinner upon their arriving at the hotel.
"There are very few trout caught in the Park that exceed a pound, and
more six ouncers or less than in excess of six," said Cal. "The large
three to eight pound red throated mountain trout are more plentiful in
the waters that empty into the Pacific Ocean or Rio Grande River than in
the streams that go to the North Platte and on into the Missouri River."
Trips of this nature and exploration tours followed each other day after
day, until all the country had been visited.
One trip which Jack deferred was to Long's Peak, and as day succeeded
day he was conscious that his little party cast longing glances toward
that snowcapped, uncompromising sentinel of the plains. So few ventured
to undertake the fatigue incident to the wearisome and perilous journey
that little was heard of the experiences, and those who did accomplish
it seemed loath to recount much of their experience. When the signs in
the zodiac at last became propitious, and all were physically and
morally equal to the attempt, preparations were made to go to the Half
Way house, Lamb's ranch, and the next morning, at four o'clock, make an
early start to climb the peak. No fishing tackle was carefully stowed
away, no odds wagered on results, and no great amount of unrestrained
merriment attended the "make ready" as wraps, lunches, heavy ironshod
walking sticks and sundry necessaries were packed into the vehicles.
Three good saddle ponies of the Indian variety were provided for the
ladies, while Jack and Cal made arrangements to get their saddle animals
at Lamb's. The road to the Half Way house was of the usual rough
thoroughfare, corduroyed in places, steep and fringed with pine trees,
whose uncanny whisperings added to an already semi-funereal gloom which
hung oppressively over the party. This was partially due to the
impressive monosyllabic advice given in low voices by guides, hostlers
and residents of the park.
After a restless night, just as the gray dawn of morning was breaking
through the eastern sky, the lengthening and shortening of stirrups,
changing of packs, wrapping up bundles of extra clothing and other
miscellany occupied the time while breakfast was being prepared. With a
good-bye to those who remained at the ranch, a cavalcade of a dozen,
including guides, started away in the crisp, frosty air, each one eager
to be in the lead, and on the return each one was contented to be the
drone. The sun was perhaps two hours high when timber line was reached.
Frequent stops for breathing had to be made and saddle girths adjusted
as higher altitudes and steeper grades were encountered. The
inexperienced noted the panting horses, but did not fully grasp the
terrific effort required to climb those precipitous inclines at eleven
thousand feet above sea level. Not a cloud, not a particle of haze
blurred the clear atmosphere. The pines soughed dreamily and waved their
needle tipped arms in a lazy, indolent manner, wafting fragrance and
vigor to the world. The trail wound its serpentine way around hill after
hill toward the monster peak, standing cold and aloof, riveted, as it
were, to the deep blue firmament against which it seemed to rest. As the
sky was approached nearer and nearer, the vegetation grew sparse and
stunted. Coarse rye grass in clumps few and far between gave evidence of
nature's provision, even at that altitude, for wandering deer or elk
that might be left behind when the great winter migration of the
restless bands sought the lower regions. Great boulders appeared more
frequently and the trail led the party over slide rock a great portion
of the way. The squeaks of conies and shrill whistles of groundhogs
could be distinguished above the clatter of horses' hoofs, for timber
line is their home.
At last the trees were left behind, the great boulder bed stretched
before them, an ocean of waste rock, formidable, repellant, uninviting.
The "Key Hole" was plainly visible, two miles distant, while the summit
of the peak towered far above, almost over them. Horses were lariated,
saddles taken off, and lunches stowed into pockets, the stout iron
pointed sticks were brought into service and the signal given, "Onward."
The way at first was over soft grassy spots interspersed between the
waves of rocks, here and there a scrawny runt of a pine tree, looking
more like roots growing needles than a tree, beneath the shelter of
which the famous ptarmigan, or mountain quail, kept lonely vigil.
The last vestige of verdure passed, the immensity of that vast area of
huge, desolate, dreary waste of rock appalls the mind. Step by step, up,
up, over those ever increasing boulders, it did not seem like mounting
higher and higher, but as though one was in a gigantic, fearful stone
tread mill and the earth gradually sinking away, down, down, into space
below. After the boulder bed, the snow, hard, crusty, firm enough to
bear a horse. The "Key Hole"--and as the party passed through to the
eastern slope, they found spread out beneath their feet the dry, dusty
plain, with its brown coat of grass and alkali, stretching away into
nothing. A venture to the edge of an immense great rock upon which one
could lie down and gaze into the depth below was like looking into
eternity, the contemplation of which baffles the mind for words to
describe the awesome, fearful grandeur of God's handiwork as viewed from
Long's Peak. No other peak so barren, no other peak so lonesome, no
other peak so supernaturally devoid of at least one redeeming feature as
Long's. From its barren crest one seems able to touch the sky, and one
bound into space would land him beyond the world. To the right could be
seen Denver, there the Platte River, Longmont in a maze of alfalfa beds
and wheat fields, but these were as a drop of water to the ocean, a
grain of sand to the plains. A hasty lunch, dry indeed, but for the
accommodating snow bank which leaked enough to furnish ice water that
coursed in a stream about the size of the lead in a pencil down a
boulder, which dwarfed Cheops' pyramid. The labor involved in the return
trip caused dejection and woe. Lameness was the rule and only after much
coaxing, and threatening, could every one understand the peril which
awaited them, once the night settled down before the boulder beds were
crossed.
Just below the "Key Hole" the guide conducted the party to a wooden slab
standing unpainted, weatherbeaten, bearing this inscription:
Here
Carrie J. Welton
Lay to Rest
Died Alone
Sept. 28--1884.
It was in a spot at the base of the "Key Hole" where the rocks stood on
end and seemed to disappear into the boulders, that made up that vast
boulder bed. From a prayer book, which Jack carried, he read the
following tale of the awful tragedy:
PERISHED ALONE.
From the Half Way House at break of day
A maiden gaily strode away,
To climb the heights of Long's Peak bold,
With guide to show the trail, I'm told;
For there's no path and the way is steep,
And death lurks 'round that grim old peak.
'Twas at the dawn of an autumn morn,
The pine trees soughed as if to warn
As two climbed o'er the boulder bed.
"Come back! The storm! 'Twill come," he said.
"On to the summit," she made reply.
"Why need we falter, you and I?"
Then upward climbed to view the sight
Of raging storm on Long's Peak height,
And saw ambition's fixed star
On guard, within the gates ajar,
Lest mortal man should enter in
Before absolved from venial sin.
The solitude of those drear crests
No welcome gives to lingering guests
When storm king vies with mid-day sun
In battle, 'til the conquered one
Retreats for days, perhaps for weeks,
And gloom reigns o'er the lonely peaks.
The wild wind shrieked as in snow and hail
They undertook the downward trail.
She brav'd the cold and murmured not,
As they groped their way from spot to spot;
Her wondrous strength succumbed at last
While yet the "Keyhole" must be passed.
The stalwart guide in his arms then bore
Her fragile form, and ponder'd o'er
The waste of rocks beneath the "Key;"
For his strength was failing rapidly,
And night clouds dimm'd the tortuous way
Which few e'er tread e'en at mid-day.
"You may go for help," she moaned at last,
As through the "Key" they slowly pass'd.
"The rocks will shelter me," she said,
And sank to rest on the boulder bed.
He covered her with the coat he wore,
Then hastened to the "Half Way" door.
Another dawn of an autumn morn
In the eastern sky had been born,
As stalwart guides, with throbbing heads,
Toiled wearily o'er the boulder beds;
'Midst cruel crags and waist-deep snow
They battled on against the foe.
Up, up, they climb'd that dreadful night
And brav'd the storm on Long's Peak height;
Yet wild winds shrieked as heads were bow'd
To gaze with awe at the snowy shroud
In which she slept on her boulder bed.
"She lay to rest,--she's gone," they said.
"Oh, dear, isn't it sad?" said Hazel and Miss Asquith in a breath.
"She died alone?" queried Cal.
"Yes, sir," spoke up a guide, "both of us would have perished, but she
was true grit to the last. I thought she might hold out, but the storm
grew worse as it grew darker."
"Do you have such awful storms as early as September?" asked Hazel.
[Illustration: "SHE LAY TO REST," ON HER BOULDER BED.]
"Sometimes the first winter blizzards are pretty rough up here;
generally get a starter any time after the middle of September,"
answered another guide.
"We had better be moving," said Jack.
"One moment, please. Would you mind giving me a copy of those verses
when we get to the ranch? I would like to show them to visitors," said
the guide.
"Certainly, certainly; why, just take the prayer book. We will all put
our names in here right now and you can keep it to remember us by,"
replied Jack.
The dragging of swollen feet, weary bodies and aching limbs back over
that two miles of desolation was full of torture for all. The expected
relief when the horses were reached proved but an additional
multiplicity of aches, especially in the joints of the knees, where it
seemed as though iron pins were crunching the very cavities of those
valuable adjuncts to man's usefulness.
Hazel cried, Chiquita even complained, and poor Miss Asquith,--well, Cal
had his hands full. He showed his frontier gallantry by picking her up
and carrying her down one steep grade as though she were but an infant,
and the episode did more to reinvigorate the dejected spirits of the
entire party than anything that could have happened.
Nevertheless the Half Way house welcomed a hungry, cross, disgruntled
aggregation of mountain climbers.
Said Jack as the guide bid him good-bye, "Don't you ever get tired of
seeing these peak scalers come near the place? They are all alike on the
home stretch, if they are able to stand up at all."
"I must say I do. I wouldn't care if no one ever again wanted to make
that fool climb. Why, that senseless trip has often put folks to the bad
for months. They can ride up Pike's Peak, but they don't know what
climbing is until they tackle that old fellow. Well, adios; I'll say
this much, you've been the jolliest party this season."
It was nine o'clock when the hotel was reached, and it was noon of the
next day before a lot of crippled tourists managed to limp into the
dining room, leaving a trail of arnica and pain killers everywhere they
went.
"Oh, isn't this just lovely," said Miss Asquith, as Cal rolled her in an
invalid chair to her place at the table.
It was a couple of days before the effects of the Long's Peak trip
abated to a degree that recreation once more became a pleasure. During
the days of sight seeing and exploration of Estes Park, Chiquita had
opportunity to study the character of the saleslady depicted by Miss
Asquith, but she had little chance to talk with the lady on whom the
years sat as easily as upon one in her teens, and whose vivacious
temperament was contagious. The enforced respite gave plenty of time for
recounting interesting episodes in Miss Asquith's life, which she did
with charming grace.
To many, Miss Asquith seemed affected. The spontaneous spark of a
jovial, witty disposition burned just as brightly in her at forty-five
as it did a generation before, but the critic would not have it so. "It
is put on, it is not natural, it is out of place; she had better be
saying her beads preparatory to being buried," were some of the unkind
remarks heard.
Hazel said to Jack, "She shocks one at first with her display of
artlessness as a stock in trade, until you learn by experience that it
is natural."
"I presume, my dear, there are people at eighty who condemn the
'kittenish' actions of some at ninety, the same as those of thirty
criticise Miss Asquith. Is it envy?"
"I'll tell you, Chiquita," said the lady in question the day after the
peak episode, "I find great enjoyment in being jolly, full of fun,
possibly at times breaking all written rules of decorum and dignity; for
why should we poor mortals go around with a long face, rigid arms and
mouths full of pious ejaculations just because the Puritans brought that
style from across the water? I have been doped on fashion for a quarter
of a century, and fashions change, but in that time I have learned that
to laugh is to be with the world. To weep is to be alone. Better be a
little frivolous with good appetite than strain at dignity and wail with
dyspepsia. This etiquette and form is only skin deep any way."
"You are such a considerate little body I should have thought some
enterprising man would have captured you years ago," ventured Chiquita.
"There was one, but he was stricken with fever and after that I never
have had a desire to become married. Think I would like to run a ranch,
though, now I am getting old and need some one to take care of me," she
playfully added, causing a genuine ripple of merriment.
"Miss Asquith, you are all right," said Hazel. "Don't let these carping
critics cause you to forego any fun there is in life, even to playing
tag with a cattle king," which, of course, produced another burst of
laughter.
"I shall have to insist upon your accompanying us to 'Buena Vista,' Miss
Asquith. I think you can spare the time and positively we can not get
along without you," said Chiquita.
"I shall have to give up that pleasure. I must go on my journey." The
reply was rather sad, but she quickly recovered her usual vivacity. "I
want another trial at those fish. I suppose I will have to leave
Saturday, and this is Wednesday--"
"Well, well, who are these girls conspiring against now?" said Cal, as
he drove up with Jack.
"We have just talked Miss Asquith to death and tried to get her to go
with us to 'Buena Vista.' You will go, won't you, Cal?" said Chiquita.
"Oh, you bet, I'd never lose such an opportunity. Guess you will change
your mind, Miss Asquith. In fact we will have to take you prisoner."
"I want to catch a fish before I leave Estes. Now, be good and go down
in the meadow and tie one somewhere to the bank so I can find it,"
banteringly replied Miss Asquith.
"We will go Friday and I pledge the fish, a big one," said Cal.
Seated upon the beautiful roan pony, Miss Asquith, followed by Cal, went
to the meadow Friday afternoon, while the others lolled in hammocks
around the hotel. The sky was just the least bit clouded and a warm
south wind blew lazily across the park. A few fingerlings had been
lifted from the riffles when Miss Asquith headed her pony into deep
water up stream at a big bend where the river was sixty feet wide. Cal
was busy whipping the eddies farther down. As her pony was well trained
to the angling pastime, he knew almost as well as his rider what was
wanted. Stepping slowly along until the water reached his belly the pony
stopped, Miss Asquith's flies flashed behind, then she gracefully
dropped the leader far over the stream to the other shore.
"Oh, dear," she exclaimed, "they have gone too far and caught in the
grass. How--how will I ever--"
Just then the tail fly dangled down to the surface of the water, held
back by the droppers, which were caught in the grass ever so lightly.
The top of something darted from under the bank and seized the fly. Miss
Asquith thought it was a muskrat, it was so big. Down went the line
deeper and deeper. She instinctively turned her hand and wrist in order
to free the hooks from the grass, and thus set the fly good and deep
into whatever was cavorting around, making her reel sing as she never
had heard it before.
"Oh, Cal, quick! quick! come and get me," she called, little thinking
what she was saying, at the same time pressing her knee against the side
of the pony, who recognized the signal and turned toward the shore. Miss
Asquith allowed her rod to hold steady until she could dismount. By that
time Cal was at her side.
"You've got a beauty, sure as gun's made of iron," said he.
As she reeled in a little of the line the tension ceased and an immense
trout broke from the water. "Oh! Oh! what shall I do?"
Cal spoke sternly, "Watch your line and don't be foolish."
With that she settled down to her work and in a few moments had the
pleasure of floating the fish into the landing net, Cal wading out to
intercept it. As it went into the net she stood on the bank just above
him, a little beach giving him opportunity to make the capture. As he
stood there holding on to the staff of his landing net with one hand and
the line with the other, he said, "This trout is yours on one
condition--the fish, the horse and the man all go together. Say yes, and
the fish comes ashore, say no, and I turn him loose."
"Yes, yes, y-e-s. Hurry up with the fish," she exclaimed, adding
excitedly, as Cal came to the bank, "I'll just kiss you right here for
the sake of the fish," and, suiting the action to the word, she planted
a good smack on his upturned mouth.
"Now we will see what he weighs. But first here is your reward,"
slipping a big solitaire off his finger and holding up his hand, "tie it
on if necessary."
"Why, what is that for?" stammered she.
"Didn't you say 'yes, yes, yes?'"
"Yes."
"Well, that meant fish, horse and man, and I'm the man."
"Mr. Wagner--Cal--let me go. My! the people are all watching us."
"Never mind, show them your hand. Just two pounds and a quarter," said
Cal, as he adjusted the scales, "the biggest one this season so far."
"Yes, a fish, a horse and a man--quite a catch for one day," laughingly
said Miss Asquith.
"The details of that catch are duly recorded in the hotel register and
never will be duplicated," said Cal at dinner, as the party made merry
and toasted the future ranch owner, who blushed rosy as a girl of
sixteen, while Cal was as brim full of joy as a lad with a new pair of
red top boots and sled to match. The following telegram fairly burned
the wires:
"Stoddersmith, Boston. Caught a trout, a horse and a man with a six
ounce rod. Trip to India postponed. Resign position today.
Miss Asquith."
To which they replied:
"Miss Asquith, Estes Park via Lyons, Colo. Congratulations. Fish, horse
and man uncertain property. Resignation accepted to take effect day of
ceremony.
Stoddersmith."
It was decided to go overland to Chiquita's Buena Vista ranch on
horseback and with pack animals, the road horses and buckboard being
started a few days ahead by way of Georgetown and the Berthoud Pass, to
await the party at Hot Sulphur Springs, the trail from Estes via
Specimen Mountain being impassable for anything on wheels.
"I am very anxious," said Jack, "that Hazel should see the grandest bit
of scenery in Colorado. While the average mind is satisfied with Estes,
still there is one little area beyond Estes that surpasses anything
else, and there is but one way to get to it--walk."
Two good camp hustlers were engaged to do the work of packing, putting
up tents and other duties in common. By going ahead a camp was located
and pitched by the time the sightseers overtook the advance guard. A
saddle horse to each member of the party, three small pack mules and a
Mexican burro--the Rocky Mountain canary which Jack promised his sister
year after year--the luggage so packed being ample for three times the
number in the party.
The sun had crossed the noonday meridian when the final adios was given.
Striking to the right of the Horseshoe Park road the trail led into a
labyrinth of forest burned "down timber," miles of denuded
trees--sentries in nature's graveyard--and as the wind wheezed dismally
through the few branches left by the consuming fire, their creaking and
rattling was not unlike the clatter of a thousand skeletons assembled in
some vast amphitheatre to dance away a few years of eternity's exile.
The first camp was made in the center of this weirdly fantastic home of
goblins and bogy men. The tents had been pitched and camp fires started
when Jack and his four companions came straggling along. The side packs,
containing commissary supplies, stood gaping, awaiting the cook. Frying
pans, coffee pot and "Dutch oven" appealed, as it were, for recognition,
so in one chorus the honor was thrust upon Jack to "get the first meal."
But he was a past-master in the art, notwithstanding he had not
officiated before in the presence of so "finnicky" an assemblage.
"Now, you ladies who have a cupboard full of clean dishes to use when
you commence to prepare a meal, and a table to prepare it on and a cook
book to guide you, and a sink for the trash, and shelves full of handy
ingredients, and when the meal is ready every dish has been used and
every utensil stands neglected with traces of its having fulfilled a
mission belonging to it, and who sigh because there are so many pots,
stewpans and table dishes to wash and dry after the meal is over,--just
watch the frontier method."
Jack had superintended the packing of the "mess box," so he knew where
all the supplies were. Seizing a stick, provided for the purpose, his
first act was just like that of a woman. He poked the fire, but in his
case it was to "draw out" a bed of coals on which he set the oven
skillet, a cast iron utensil about five inches deep, with long legs
under it and a bail and cast iron cover half an inch thick. The latter
he placed on the fire logs. Next he washed his hands, then put a
tablespoonful of coffee for each cup into a big pot and added cold
water. This was put on one corner of his bed of coals. Taking a six
quart pan he put in flour, some salt, a pinch of sugar, some milk--which
by good luck they had managed to capture at the last ranch--then some
baking powder, and stirred it all up with a big iron spoon until it was
stiff. The mixing was done on a convenient rock. Here Jack looked
suspiciously at the quizzical eyes which followed his every movement. He
washed his hands again, then with turned-up shirt sleeves moulded the
dough, adding flour until it was biscuit thick. Turning another pan
upside down he flattened a portion of the dough to the desired
thickness, then cut his biscuits square. The remainder of the dough in
the original pan was treated likewise where it was. Cutting off a piece
of bacon rind he "greased" his oven skillet thoroughly, placed the
biscuits therein, then put the hot cover upon the skillet and a
shovelful of hot coals on the cover. The coffee was just beginning to
boil, so he set the pot back on some hot ashes, washed his pans, spoons
and hands, and in a twinkle was slicing up some bacon and calf's liver,
which he placed in a frying pan near the bread oven.
Bright tin cups, plates, knives, forks and spoons were handed around and
the "folks" instructed to "get your places near the grub pile." A bucket
of cold brook water stood handy by. Jack opened a can of peas, which
were soon sizzling in a double bottomed stewpan. A round wooden box was
marked "Oleo"--but no one, except Jack, knew it to be otherwise than
"best Elgin butter."
Into another frying pan Jack put some of the butter, and when it was
good and hot added half a dozen brook trout that also had escaped the
notice of the now hungry onlookers. The scent of savory viands nearly
precipitated a riot.
"Supper!" called Jack.
"Why, you don't know whether those biscuits are burned to death or raw,"
said Hazel. "Look at him settle that coffee with cold water. Where's an
egg?"
Jack lifted the cover off the oven and a cloud of steam rose up and
wafted away, then he set the skillet in the center of the party, the
fish beside the bread and the bacon near at hand; peas came along and
Hazel picked up a lightly browned, rich, creamy biscuit, breaking it in
two and adding a dab of butter, took a bite, smacked her lips and said
"More." The verdict was unanimous.
The routine of camp life is not a dull one; new and varied episodes
follow each other in rapid order while on the trail. The informal
mannerisms of camp life become contagious and an irresistible impulse
takes possession of the most conservative to break away from
conventionalities. Bantering persiflage bubbles in everyone, and good
natured raillery adds zest to all phases of the experience, whether it
rains or shines.
No sooner had Jack straightened up his kitchen than he inspected the
disposition of the horses, seeing that each one had as good a spot to
crop grass as was obtainable. Then the beds. "Put some more of those
second growth pine boughs under that bunch of blankets and it will be
more like a good curled hair mattress, to which I presume Miss Asquith
is accustomed; dig a trench all around each tent; it may rain before
morning and this side hill will be a running river if it does; spread
that wagon sheet over the saddles and 'commissary' before you turn in;
we will want to start about eight o'clock; you may sleep until six."
Thus he gave his instructions to the hustlers.
After a little chat, as they sat on the ground, Turk-fashion, or lolled
against a tree, first one yawned and of course the others followed suit,
so Jack suggested "early to bed."
Breakfast over, saddles were cinched, camp equipment all snugly packed
away and the laborious climb was commenced which was to take them to the
slide rock trail five miles long, following the crest of the great
continental divide which separates the waters of the Atlantic and
Pacific.
The men walked behind their respective ponies, lessening their labor by
hanging to the ponies' tails, while the fair sex suffered almost as much
hardship listening to the panting, patient animals, as they stopped
every hundred feet to get a breath and "blow."
"Oh, say, but this is a corker!" said Cal, as he steadied himself and
leaned against a tree for a little rest.
"I often wish my tongue would hang out like a dog's when I get to
climbing these high peaks. Seems as though mine fills my throat up so I
can't breathe," said Jack, his remark causing much merriment.
The summit was not far distant at ten o'clock, and as they surmounted
the last slope the clouds rolled in above them like a great drop
curtain, black and dense. Onward the great canopy spread toward the
sunlit peaks beyond, leaving a trail of drizzle, sleet and snow. Then
the entire party was swallowed up in an immense gray fog bank, while
darker electrically charged masses of moisture bowled along, chasing
each other through phosphorously illuminated paths, much to the
consternation of the ladies.
"Oh, it's lightning right here! Won't it strike us?" exclaimed Miss
Asquith.
"It might give you a little shock that would tingle some, but not enough
to hurt you," vouchsafed Jack.
The light clouds soon followed, then the sun shone bright, and in a few
minutes the gum coats provided for just such an emergency had been
relegated to the strings on the saddles. To the left, on the slope of
another hogback, rose tier after tier of little lakes, seven terraces in
all, each fringed with a belt of green pine trees; behind each belt rose
a precipitous ledge of rock.
"Just look at that, isn't it grand?" said Hazel.
Jack had provided plates and the panoramic camera snapped its welcome to
the view. Five exposures were made to insure a good one, then the party
filed along the ragged, dimly outlined trail which Indians had used for
a century or more. In the distance could be seen the headwaters of the
Cache le Poudre and to the immediate right a huge snow bank formed a
horseshoe half a mile in its arc. Leaving their ponies, at a suggestion
from Jack the party walked over to the edge of the slide rock and gazed
down into a small lake, of perhaps a thousand acres, nestled in a rocky
embrace, twenty-five hundred feet below them, into the nearer edge of
which stones were sent splashing by those who attempted a throw. Groups
of pine trees dotted the farther shore of the lake and upon its bosom
floated half a dozen immense icebergs, which remain summer after summer,
during the months of July and August, never entirely disappearing.
Again and again Jack attempted the difficult feat of obtaining a focus
to register that grandest of picturesque spots on the plates especially
prepared, but none proved successful when developed.
Slowly, regretfully, the march was again taken up and camp was made on
the low pass where pools of water flow from two outlets, one north into
North Park, the other south into Middle Park and the Grand River. This
camp was beneath the famous Specimen mountain and its fantastic
spire-like rock formations, on the apex of which the "Big Horn" dozed in
perfect security, the spires succeeding each other and making the great
aerial stairway accessible only to the sure-footed mountain sheep.
No one enjoyed the life of the camp half as much as did Chiquita. She
was in her element. The respite from the continual grind of college had
been such a welcome one that she preferred to listen to the others
rather than join in the general conversation. The topics discussed found
no sympathetic chord in her mind, and, notwithstanding the years she had
submitted to the refining influences of education, she was a savage at
heart. She realized it. Her restive spirit broke the bonds of captivity
as soon as the first campfire was lighted. Like a golden winged
chrysalis she burst her civilization fetters and became again the
forest-born Indian maiden, Chiquita. No longer did she feel the
restraint which society demanded. The buoyant freedom of the camp
injected new life into her veins, new aspirations into her mind. But she
was not aware that the very ascendency of civilization immeshed her in
its grasp. Her manners, always charming, had become more so under the
polish of education and association with those who trained the soul as
well as the hand, the eye, the body.
"The smoke of the tepee fire has driven away the oppressive chaotic
whirl of classes, recitations and examinations which have had possession
of me ever since I left the college," she said, apologetically.
"That was one reason I had for making this trip overland," said Jack. "I
knew you longed to break away from crockery and tablecloths, and in your
tent you will find something that will please and make you still more at
home."
When Jack superintended the packing of the paraphernalia for the trip
over the trail, he managed to include in Chiquita's outfit a complete
set of buckskin garments, and these she found awaiting her. It was not
long before she appeared in her native costume.
"Now you look natural," said Cal.
"The daughter of the woods is happy again," she replied, half sadly,
but, recovering quickly, proposed a specimen-hunting expedition up the
mountain which derives its name from the great pockets of specimen rocks
found upon its slopes.
The party picked its way carefully over slippery, slimy, ooze-covered
shale to the specimen beds. Geodes, rounded nodules of rock, filled with
waxy uncrystallized deposits of infiltrated silicious waters were broken
open, presenting in some instances masses of infinitesimal stalactites,
in others the beautiful ribbon agate so much prized by the mineralogist,
with its alternate rows of different colors. Much more difficult to find
was chrysoprase in green, and the flesh red carnelian, all of these
known as chalcedony and of which in Rev. 21:19 and 20, St. John
describes the third foundation of the wall of the holy city as "a
chalcedony," the tenth foundation "a chrysoprasus." Hours were spent in
digging these precious souvenirs from their resting place.
Far above, an occasional mountain sheep appeared for a moment,
reconnoitering to see if it was safe for him to descend with his family
to the night camp of the Big Horn, for the oozy, slimy deposit was salty
and this "lick" was the most famous in all the great length and breadth
of the Rocky Mountains. It consequently became the resort of thousands
of those wary, intelligent animals, but there were times when the
insatiable desire for alkali grew so strong that no danger appalled
them, and they rushed recklessly only to meet death at the hands of the
hunter who took advantage of this weakness. Skulls, broken horns and
bones could be discerned upon the apex of many of the spires or
truncated cones which rose at intervals from the eruptive lava, that in
ages gone by had broken forth from the earth's crust, the surface of one
of these beds being, in many cases, not over three feet in width, while
the precipitous sides of the cone varied from one foot to a thousand
feet. To these dizzy spots, which formed the Big Horn's aerial stairway,
did this wonderful animal bound, whether pursued or in search of a
resting place, alighting with sure foot, and immediately curling down
for a nap or another bound in event danger was scented. That leap from
danger was in itself marvelous--with all four feet curled beneath that
ponderous body, the iron muscles warmed by the heavy hair coat, it was
not the laborious effort of a steer elevating its hindquarters,
unfolding one foreleg and then the other with a groan; it was a
propulsion of a seemingly inert mass into space, a touch of toes to the
earth and another bound into the air and probably out of sight, for that
stairway is a mass of intricate, steep sided fissures, deep rifts
opening one into another, each presenting a ledge sufficiently large to
enable one of these sure-footed travelers to find "bouncing room" and so
down, down, down for a thousand or more feet this denizen of the clouds
would make his escape. This method of retreat being so sudden and the
disappearance so sure, tales have been ofttimes told of the wonderful
leaps into mid air, dropping to the bottom of one of those canons and of
his sheepship alighting on his horns, none the worse for jumping half a
mile or more.
All one afternoon Chiquita told wonderful stories of the wild game life,
the parties of hunters who came even from Europe to wait for days until
the sheep came to the "lick," and how these hunters crept up to the
"beds" in the darkest and stormiest nights, waiting within rifle shot
until the dawn should break, when the slaughter would commence. She told
of the bands of elk, two and three thousand herding together, migrating
from their summer feeding grounds among the high willow grown, spongy
bogs, to the cedar grown mountains along Eagle River, crossing Middle
Park in October and November after the first great snow storms began to
drive them out.
"The mountains around here used to be the greatest paradise for game
that Indian ever found. Is it any wonder my people resent the intrusion
of the paleface?" said she, after giving an enthusiastic account of one
of the Ute hunting expeditions which took place when she was but a few
years old.
The fascination and charm which held the listener spellbound could not
be analyzed. Chiquita in her college dress and college speech was not
the Chiquita of the forest. Day after day as the party wended its course
along the Grand River and over the range to those famous springs at the
Buena Vista ranch, she pointed out hunting grounds, battle fields where
Cheyennes fought the Utes, or Sioux came down from the north to wage a
war of conquest.
The buckboard was at Hot Sulphur Springs when they arrived. Miss Asquith
and Cal, it is needless to remark, found this conveyance more to their
liking, at least a part of the time, than the saddle method.
From the ranch excursions were made to Egeria Park, where the towering
Toponas rock lifted its ragged summit over five hundred feet in the air,
and on whose side a city of swallows, martins and mud-nesting birds
numbering into tens of thousands, dwelt until the winter breath drove
them to the warm southland. A trip to the famous Steamboat Springs, with
its porcelain frescoed caves, belching forth the peculiar chug, chug,
chug of a Mississippi boat, as though some giant ventriloquist were
navigating one of those floating palaces in the bowels of the earth.
Great trout were captured, after arduous labor, from the sluggish waters
of the Bear River, but little peace was afforded the whole trip from the
pestiferous swarms of red-legged grasshoppers exiled from the plains, to
be buffeted back and forth from the surrounding ranges of snow-capped
mountains, until the white man's destroying agency should catalogue them
with the auk, the buffalo and the red man; as Chiquita chronicled it,
"another example of the onward march of civilization."
The removal of the Utes from White River to the Uintah reservation had
been so distasteful to Chiquita that she seldom visited the remnants of
her people domiciled in a strange land. Many of these, however, made
pilgrimages to her ranch, and the various tourists who shared in her
hospitality had opportunity to see the blanket Indian in all his modern
splendor of cast-off army garments and civilian society apparel.
Yamanatz made his home a greater part of the year at his daughter's
place, but the aged chief had lost his vigor and only waited the call to
the Great Hunting Ground beyond. He took little interest in the comings
and goings of strangers, but enjoyed the company of Jack, who made it
his mission to entertain the old warrior in every manner possible as far
as he could.
The time for Chiquita to return to college was approaching. She had
given up the trip to California on account of the sequel which the
little romance of Miss Asquith and Cal had brought about. Chiquita had
obtained their promise that the wedding should take place at the Buena
Vista ranch.
The preparations were made and the services of a clergyman, who was
making a tour of the mountains, was secured. Cal was elated at the
unexpected turn of affairs and Miss Asquith was easily reconciled. Jack
gave away the bride and the "wedding bells" which comprised a part of
the ceremony "pealed forth" from a lot of Indian tom-toms, sleigh bells
and tin pans in the hands of some visiting Utes.
The newly made man and wife started, after the wedding repast was
served, for Denver. Jack, Hazel and Chiquita followed a few days later,
Chiquita to return to college, Jack to continue his journey to the mine.