mountain-side head first,--most of the time under flying clouds of
snow-dust, until I plunged--fortunately feet down--into the compact mass
at the bottom. Then a friend followed and dug me out, happening, by good
luck, to begin his prospecting in just the right place."
"But weren't you smothered; and how did you feel going down?"
"Very nearly smothered; as to the feeling, it was merely a confused
sense of noise, darkness, nothingness, nowhereness, and the sudden end
of all things. Can you understand such a combination of sensations?
"Here in the park," our friend continued, "we don't mind the winter
much. We have enough people to keep one another company, and we have no
end of fun snowshoeing."
"What sort of snow-shoes?" I break the silence to ask.
"The Norwegian _skidors_,--thin boards, ten or twelve feet long, and
slightly turned up in front. There is an arrangement of straps about a
third of the way back from the front end, and that's all there is of it,
though it's a good deal if you don't know how to manipulate--"
"_Ped_ipulate, would hit it closer, wouldn't it?"
[Illustration: CHIEFS OF THE SOUTHERN UTES.]
"Suit yourself: you won't choose your language so carefully when you
suddenly find yourself filled full of snow, after an involuntary header,
and one or both of your snowshoes going on down the mountain like a
race-horse. If you stay here a winter, though, you must learn, unless
you are willing to remain cooped up in your cabin from November till
May. There is no other possible way of getting about. Before the railway
came, all our mail was snowshoed in, and it was very likely to be
delayed two or three weeks at a time. Then we have debating societies.
'Resolved, That a burro has no rights a miner is bound to respect,' was
our first question one winter--and parties and balls. Formerly, in the
older communities, merchants could easily calculate the extent of their
sales during the cold months, but those in the new camps, the first
winter, sometimes saw hard times.
"We came very near a famine in Rico, the first winter," our visitor
continues. "Nobody could tell just how many people would stay, the
winter closed in unexpectedly early, and, all together, before New
Year's day, it began to be whispered that the supply of 'grub' was
short. As fast as the stores diminished, prices went up, until they were
nearly fabulous. Everybody was on short rations alike. The hotel would
give beds, but no board. One day a miner came in from over the range on
snowshoes, and reached the hotel nearly dead with hunger and exhaustion.
Pfeiffer took pity on him, as an exceptional case. 'I gifs you your
supper,' he said, 'und a ped, und I gifs you one meal to-morrow; after
that you must rustle for yourself.' Flour, bacon, ham, sugar, coffee,
everything, even tobacco, gave out in the shops; and had it not been
that one of the mines which had laid in a large stock of food, shut down
and so sold out, it is probable that the whole camp would have been
obliged to have dragged themselves through the depth of a hundred miles
of February snows, out into the lower country. Comical stories are told
of how the first burro-train load of provisions was distributed."
But in spite of all this isolation, this necessity for elaborate
preparation, the arctic altitude and polar length of the "season of
snows and sins," as Swinburne phrases it, the winter is really the best
time in which to work these silver mines, and the impression that the
San Juan district must be abandoned for half the year, is entirely
wrong, when any thorough system of operations has been projected. Well
sheltered and abundantly fed, removed from the temptations of the
bar-room, which can only be got at by a frightfully fatiguing and
perilous trip on snow-shoes, and settled to the fact that a whole
winter's work lies ahead, there is no season when such steady progress
is possible, either in "dead-work" development or in taking out ore
preparatory to shipment in the spring.
Two little streams come down to the Animas at Silverton--Mineral creek
and Cement creek--the former passing between Sultan and The Anvil, and
the latter between The Anvil and Tower mountains. Up Mineral creek a
dozen miles we find Red mountain, the scene of the latest and richest
discoveries in the San Juan, but which will be considered elsewhere.
Cement creek has several good mines, while beyond, almost on the divide
between the Animas and the Uncompahgre, lies the Poughkeepsie Gulch
camp, which was, not long ago, the locality of a "boom;" and I have the
opinion of a very competent judge, that there probably is no equally
limited district in the whole region, Red mountain being perhaps
excepted, where so much good ore exists.
Still farther, at the very head of Cement creek, is located the
important Ross Basin group of mines, worked by English capital, as are
many other claims in the San Juan mountains. A neighboring mine is
remarkable for producing an ore of bismuth in such quantity as to give
it great mineralogical interest. Bismuth is exceedingly rare. In the
United States it is obtained only to a small amount in Connecticut.
Saxony furnishes commerce its main supply, procuring it at the
metallurgical works of Freiburg, where it is associated with the lead
ores, and is extracted from the cupel furnace after large quantities of
lead have been refined, being accumulated in the rich litharge, or
liquid dross, near the conclusion of the process. This litharge is
treated with acid, and the bismuth precipitated as a chloride by
dilution with water. The making of lily white and other complexion
compounds is the chief use to which bismuth is applied. The Madame
assures me that the effect upon the skin is very noxious,--but how could
she know that?
Crossing the divide, passing the "Mountain Queen" district, and
proceeding eastward down the west branch of the Animas to the town of
Animas Forks, another prosperous and populous mining area is reached.
Mineral Point, where twenty or thirty rich veins crop out, is covered
with claim stakes until it looks like a young vineyard. Its ores, in
general, are dry,--that is, contain little lead; and some streaks show
the beautiful ruby silver. Yet further down, on the eastern side of the
river, lie the partly developed silver veins and ledges of gold quartz
in Picayune gulch, where hydraulic machinery is used; and opposite is
Brown's gulch, where galena and gray copper occur.
The river in this part of the valley struggles through a close and
pretty cañon, at the lower end of which stands Eureka,--a neat village
nestling among trees. Here, too, are concentration works, and the
headquarters of several companies operating in Eureka, Minnie, and
Maggie gulches.
The wall-like sides of the mountains shutting close in together from
Eureka down to Howardsville, show "mineral stains" everywhere, and the
eye can trace dozens of veins slanting up and down the dark cliffs, and
study how they thicken here and pinch there, or just beyond perhaps
disappear altogether, upsetting all the old theories. At Howardsville,
which was the center of everything years ago, the reviewer diverges up
Cunningham gulch, completing the circle of his inquiries, for from
Howardsville to Silverton it is only four miles.
Cunningham is a good type of those huge ravines the western man calls
gulches. Its real walls are several hundred yards apart,--Galena and
Green mountains on the north, King Solomon on the south--but from each
have tumbled long sloping banks of débris, that join at their bases into
a series of ridges. Among these a turbulent stream seeks its irregular
way, and over them the traveler must climb wearily, making frequent
detours to avoid huge pieces of rock that have fallen bodily from the
cliffs, and have been rolled by their great weight to the very bottom of
the gorge. Here and there the walls are sundered, and down a side ravine
is tossed a foaming line of cataracts; or some hollow among the peaks
(themselves out of sight) will turn its gathered drainage over the
cliff, to fall two or three thousand feet in a resounding series of
cascades, white and filmy and brilliant against its dark and glistening
background. Wherever any soil has been able to gather upon these loose
rocks, if some curvature of the cliffs protects from the sweeping
destruction of snow avalanches, heavy spruce timber grows, and this,
with lighter tinted patches of poplars, or willow-thickets in wet
places, or a tangle of briers hiding the sharp rocks and beloved of the
woodchucks and conies, give all there is of vegetation.
But these are all minor features, under-foot. Overhead tower the rosy
and gleaming monuments of that old time "when the gods were young and
the world was new;"--cliffs rising so steeply that only here and there
can they be climbed, and studded with domes and pinnacles so slender and
lofty that, under our unsteady glance, they seem to totter and swim
vaguely through the azure concave.
Amid this magnificence of rock-work, spanned by a violet edged vault
which is not sky but only color,--the purest mass of color in the
universe,--passes the trail and stage-road cut over the lofty crest to
the sources of the Rio Grande, and thence down through Antelope park to
beautiful Wagon-Wheel Gap, and the railway again. Here, too, are rich
silver mines, lowest down the "Pride of the West," next the "Green
Mountain," and, last of all, "Highland Mary," standing almost on the
summit of the pass.
* * * * *
The central point and outlet of all this district is Silverton, and its
founders preëmpted almost the only site for a town of any consequence in
the whole region. Yet she has less than one thousand acres to spread
herself over. Engulfed amid lofty peaks, a little park lies as level as
a billiard-table, and as green, breaking into bluffs and benches
northward where the river finds its way down.
When, three and twenty years ago, miners were amazed at the wealth
disclosed in the mines of central Colorado, eager prospectors began to
penetrate yet deeper into the recesses of the jumbled ranges that lay
behind the front rank. Among the boldest of these was a certain Colonel
Baker, reputed to have got his title as a confederate officer, who
organized a large party of men--some say two hundred in number--to go on
an exploration of what was then called the Pike's Peak belt, including
nearly all the region between that historic mountain and the head of the
Gila river in Arizona. Marching eastward to Pueblo, and thence by the
old Mexican wagon-road through Conejos and Tierra Amarilla, Baker and
his men worked northward along the San Juan and Animas, prospecting for
and finding more or less bars of gold-gravel (you may get "colors"
anywhere in this part of Colorado), till finally, in the summer of 1860,
he crossed the range, and discovered the deep-sunken nook which bears
his name.
Erecting a central camp here, these prospectors climbed all the
mountains, and pushed up every ravine, in search of gold, but found
small encouragement. The silver they knew of, but had no means of
working. Winter came, and they gathered together and built cabins in the
thick timber at the mouth of the cañon. The snow packed deep about them,
a provision train intended for their succor was captured by the Indians,
who became aggressive, sickness set in, and the horrors of starvation
stood at their very doors. This terror, added to their lack of success,
overcame even pioneer patience and philosophy. Reviling Baker as a
cheat, who had brought them, under false pretenses, into this terrible
state, they were about to hang him to one of the groaning pines that
mocked their misery with a loud pretense of grief in every storm, when
some slight help came and the colonel's neck was saved. The following
summer, all who had not died crawled out of their prison-park and
returned to civilization.
It was not until ten years later that any persons went to Baker's park
to stay, and then they were extremely few in number. Almost the first
result of this second advent of prospectors was the unearthing of the
"Little Giant" gold mine in Arastra gulch--a narrow ravine where were at
once erected a log village and an arastra with which to crush the
quartz, worked by the little stream which trickles down from the
snowbanks. Simultaneously came the discovery of silver leads, a fact
that speedily got abroad, induced a little boom, and set Howardsville on
its feet as a camp of some importance and magnificent expectations.
Five miles below, Silverton was laid out straight and square, became the
county-seat, and attracted most of the new-comers as a place of
residence. At first, of course, all the buildings were of logs, and bore
roofs of dirt. To-day the village has perhaps fifteen hundred permanent
residents; churches, schools, newspapers, the telegraph, and all the
appurtenances of frontier civilization. It is characteristic of these
mountain towns that they spring full size into both existence and
dignity. There is no Topsy-growth at all; rather a Minerva-like maturity
from the start.
For several years no wagon-road entered Baker's park, and the only
communication between it and the outside world was by saddle animals. As
the local paper gently expressed it, it "was somewhat deprived of easy
transportation." Goods and machinery of every sort had to be brought in
on the backs of the tough and patient little Mexican donkeys, toiling
across the terrible heights under burdens almost as bulky as themselves.
The whole town would be alive with a general jubilation when the
tinkling bells of the first train of jacks was heard in the spring, for
that meant the end of a six months' siege in the midst of impassable
snow.
Though these mountains are yet full of men who go about all day with a
big six-shooter in their belt; and though the main streets of Silverton
(like other frontier places) contain too many drinking and gambling
saloons, yet the town has never passed through such a rough history as
most mining camps see, and it is to-day the most orderly village in the
whole region. This is chiefly due to the quietly determined attitude its
best citizens have taken, and their fixed purpose not to let the lawless
rule.
[Illustration: CAÑON OF THE RIO DE LAS ANIMAS.]
In the summer of 1881, however, the remnants of the gang of desperadoes
who had infested Durango during the winter, tried to make Silverton a
rendezvous, and one night killed an inoffensive and highly esteemed
officer, who was aiding a sheriff to arrest one of their number. It was
the culmination of many atrocities, and the citizens at once
resuscitated their Vigilance Committee. One of the ruffians was
apprehended the same night, and quietly hung the following evening.
Large rewards were offered, detectives and sheriffs set at work, and
finally the leading spirit of evil was captured by the treachery of his
most trusted ally in previous villainies. After some delay this prisoner
was brought to Silverton in charge of his Judas-like comrade, who took
his reward and rode swiftly away, distrusting the pledge of the citizens
that he should go safely out of town. This was on Friday. The prisoner
was locked up, and strong relays of heavily armed guards, chosen from
men of respectability and standing in the community relieved each other
at the jail night and day, until Sunday morning came, and with it a
cold, dismal storm.
All day the rain fell steadily down, and the air was clammy with chill
mist. Dense banks of clouds were packed into the dripping gulches,
capped the hidden summits and clung in ragged masses among the trees
that darkly clothed the sides of the mountains. Occasional gusts of wind
drove the storm hard against the window panes, but for the most part
rain fell quietly, the streets became avenues of inky paste, and the
darkness of evening gathered early about the town, settling like a pall
upon all the waiting people in it.
Everyone knew, though the majority could hardly say why, that the hour
of fate had come. As the night thickened, men gathered on the corners
nearest the jail, and, unmindful of the persistent rain, stood talking
in low tones to two or three listeners whose faces were close together
and strangely serious. Moving here and there were other little groups,
their footsteps hardly heard in the soft mire, and their voices
hushed,--moving chiefly up and down the alley where the jail stood.
The saloons and gambling-rooms were open, but the dance-hall, which last
night echoed so late to the clatter of heavy boots and the shouts of
half drunken revelry, was closed, and the few women who haunted the
other liquor dens seemed to have forgotten their coarse jibes and laid
aside their accustomed wiles. The soft rattle of the thin faro-checks,
the clink of silver lost and won, and the louder crack of
billiard-balls, were heard as usual, only more distinctly, while the
monotonous "ante-up, gents!" "Are you all ready?" "The deuce wins," and
so on, of the imperturbable dealers, mingled in a sort of minor music to
which all sharper sounds were accordantly attuned. But the players were
moderate in their stakes, and the ordinary excitement of the
smoke-dimmed rooms was hushed.
Still fell the rain drearily. The stern guards about the jail hugged
their rifles under their arms, to keep them dry at the breech, and now
and then tipped streams of water out of the broad hollow brims of their
_sombreros_. In the log gaol the murderer lay upon his couch, apparently
sound asleep, and the inside sentinels rested their guns on their knees
and counted the moments until their watch should be over. Nine o'clock
came and passed without note. Nine o'clock and thirty minutes was marked
on the cold face of the clock, when the key grated in the iron lock,
the door opened a little way and three masked men glided in, shutting
the door behind them. One brought with him a rope, which he fastened
into a staple set in one of the rafters, standing upon a chair which
gave him only height enough just to reach the beam. Another touched the
prisoner, and told him his time had come. That afternoon he had assured
his keepers that they would see "as brave a death as ever went out of
that prison." It was no surprise, then, to see this boy (for he was
scarcely twenty) rise coolly from his bed and walk to where the chair
had been placed underneath the dangling noose. Perhaps he would have
liked to have shaken hands, had not his arms been manacled behind his
back; but instead, pausing a moment ere he took his place, and without a
tremor, he simply said, "Well, _adios_, boys!" Then, stepping up, he
inclined his head and himself set it well within the noose. There was a
touch of the rope to tighten the knot, a snatching aside of the chair,
and the outlaw had "gone over the range," beyond all further harm or
doing of it.
Then the jail was locked, and few knew, even at midnight, whether or not
the retribution had come. There was no boisterousness, no gloating over
vengeance satisfied, less of mirth and curiosity, than I ever saw in a
community where an execution under the sanction of law was taking place.
It was more an awe-struck feeling of a terrible necessity, as if an
impending calamity was at hand, or some great affliction present.
Next morning the coroner's jury met, and a ray of light was shot across
the sombre picture; the verdict said:
"_Came to his death from hanging 'round!_"
XIV
BEYOND THE RANGES.
All the means of action--
The shapeless masses, the materials--
Lie everywhere about us.
--LONGFELLOW.
Three districts require mention before this corner of the state is
bidden farewell,--Ophir, Rico and the La-Plata mountains.
Ophir lies fifteen miles east of Silverton and on the Pacific slope, for
it is at one source of the Rio Dolores. It is reached by a wagon-road up
Mineral Creek, which is one of the most "scenic routes" I know of in
Colorado. At first there is not much to call forth admiration; nearing
the top, however, a remarkable picture presents itself. In a closely
guarding circle of purplish peaks, stand two isolated mountains of
entirely different character and most striking appearance. Instead of
the vertical cliffs, serrated and splintered summits and ragged gray of
the majority of the mountains, these are as rounded and smooth on top as
if they had been shaved by a lawn mower, and rise in unbroken slopes far
above the blackish masses of timber which closely envelope their bases.
It is their color, however, that makes them so grandly conspicuous. Long
strokes of orange and rust color extend up and down from the spruces to
the apex, streaked with bright red and set off with upright lines of
glowing yellow, all softly blended together and crossed by a crowd of
hair-lines, wavy and level with the horizon, like the plumage of a
canvas-back duck. Stand where you will on the eastern side of this
divide between the Animas and the San Miguel, and these great, smooth,
cushiony hills of red, tower up level with your eye, burning under the
sunlight.
At last the road rises above timber line, but even to the last verge,
the soil under the trees is crowded with flowers and all sorts of pretty
herbage, among which the strawberry takes precedence in point of
abundance. Then the track lies underneath beetling cliffs which have
crumbled into long tall, and the pass itself is only the triangular
depression between two opposite slides. On one side here the rock is
brown and broken almost as fine as railway ballast; on the other the
fragments rule much larger in size, are of bluish trachyte and
completely covered everywhere with a stone-lichen hardly thicker than
paint, which gives them a decidedly green color, while the brown rocks
opposite are entirely devoid of lichens.
Down this jumble of fallen rocks--the scene of one incessant slow
avalanche from the weather-crumbled crests still remaining above--the
road passes by a steep and tortuous grade, made somewhat smooth by
filling the crevices with small stuff; but the result would make the
ghost of McAdam turn a shade paler.
These vast "slides" are a prominent feature in every landscape in
southern Colorado. The volcanic rock with which all the mountains are
capped, has a natural cleavage in two directions, and rapidly
disintegrates, even under the air. On the quiet, still days of
midsummer, you continually hear the rattle of pieces of rock which have
fallen untouched from some scarp or pinnacle, and are racing down the
steep talus below. The winter, however, is the time of greatest
destruction. Into the thousand cracks and crannies the rains and snows
of autumn pour floods of water, which penetrate the inmost recesses of
the well-seamed crags. Then comes a frost. The little veins and pockets
of water expand with a sudden force, combined and irresistible. Perhaps
some huge projection of cliff flies to pieces as though filled full of
exploding dynamite; perhaps a stronger body of frost behind it pries off
the whole mass at once, and it dashes head-long down the side of the
mountain, to scatter widely its cracked shell and leave the core a huge
bowlder, which crashes its way far into the struggling woods at the foot
of the rough slope. This process goes on, season after season, until
finally the thousands of feet of summit, which once towered proudly
above the mountain's base, have been crumbled down to a level with the
top of the debris-slope. If the rock is very soft, then the process goes
on with each fallen block, until it is reduced to soil and forms a
smooth, grassy slope, or a clean shaven but barren slide, like the rich
red hills we saw on the other side of Lookout; but if the fragments are
hard, then gradually the bushes and grass will creep up, and the forest
will follow as high as climate and snow-fall will let it grow, and above
will be a rounded crest of broken lava, like Veta mountain--the worst
thing to climb in the wide world.