Illustration: THE KEYHOLE, LONG'S PEAK, 13,000 FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL.THE "KEYHOLE," LONG'S PEAK, 13,000 FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL.
THE "KEYHOLE," LONG'S PEAK, 13,000 FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL.
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'."
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 cañon 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 twoprotegés, 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 onelittle oneof 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:
HereCarrie J. WeltonLay to RestDied AloneSept. 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 dayA 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 warnAs 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 sightOf raging storm on Long's Peak height,And saw ambition's fixéd starOn guard, within the gates ajar,Lest mortal man should enter inBefore absolved from venial sin.The solitude of those drear crestsNo welcome gives to lingering guestsWhen storm king vies with mid-day sunIn battle, 'til the conquered oneRetreats for days, perhaps for weeks,And gloom reigns o'er the lonely peaks.The wild wind shrieked as in snow and hailThey 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 lastWhile yet the "Keyhole" must be passed.The stalwart guide in his arms then boreHer fragile form, and ponder'd o'erThe waste of rocks beneath the "Key;"For his strength was failing rapidly,And night clouds dimm'd the tortuous wayWhich 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 mornIn 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 snowThey battled on against the foe.Up, up, they climb'd that dreadful nightAnd brav'd the storm on Long's Peak height;Yet wild winds shrieked as heads were bow'dTo gaze with awe at the snowy shroudIn which she slept on her boulder bed."She lay to rest,—she's gone," they said.
From the Half Way House at break of dayA 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 warnAs 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 sightOf raging storm on Long's Peak height,And saw ambition's fixéd starOn guard, within the gates ajar,Lest mortal man should enter inBefore absolved from venial sin.
The solitude of those drear crestsNo welcome gives to lingering guestsWhen storm king vies with mid-day sunIn battle, 'til the conquered oneRetreats for days, perhaps for weeks,And gloom reigns o'er the lonely peaks.
The wild wind shrieked as in snow and hailThey 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 lastWhile yet the "Keyhole" must be passed.
The stalwart guide in his arms then boreHer fragile form, and ponder'd o'erThe waste of rocks beneath the "Key;"For his strength was failing rapidly,And night clouds dimm'd the tortuous wayWhich 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 mornIn 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 snowThey battled on against the foe.
Up, up, they climb'd that dreadful nightAnd brav'd the storm on Long's Peak height;Yet wild winds shrieked as heads were bow'dTo gaze with awe at the snowy shroudIn 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."SHE LAY TO REST," ON HER BOULDER BED.
"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.MissAsquith."
MissAsquith."
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."
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 cañons 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.
In a room overlooking the broad Connecticut valley, a student, wearing cap and gown, stood by the window watching the clouds as they floated in filmy drapery above the long rows of corn, tobacco and rhubarb which paralleled each other on either side of the historic stream that divides western Massachusetts. Chiquita, as she surveyed the scenery, then the room and then herself, heaved a sigh of satisfaction. The same old routine of registering, getting the trunks unpacked, studies and classes arranged, had come to an end. Greetings by classmates, introductions to new professors, salutations to members of the faculty and respects to the dean had taken their regular order, and now the daughter of Yamanatz gazed wistfully into the deep waters which reflected the clouds above. The room was gorgeous in Indian blankets, draperies, spears, arrows, pottery, beaded scarfs and long war bonnets, gold and silver-mounted leather trappings of bridles, lariats, saddle skirts and pistol holsters adorned the walls, while the floor and furniture were smothered in lion, beaver, wolf, bobcat and fox skins. Busts of Powhatan and Massasoit looked down from pedestals upon the young Indian girl as she reflected the advancing stages of education and refinement which make the civilized world. Well she remembered the lonesome, world forgotten time when she first registered in the great reception room, seven years before, after two years' private tutorship in her effort to master the English language and learn her A, B, C's.
Oh! the days and nights of study, study, study! Nothing but knowledge, for breakfast, dinner, supper and dreams. And as she looked forward to the easy senior year and honors which awaited her upon graduation day, she smiled a little and then waxed serious.
"Me, Chiquita, the daughter of a red devil, mistress of English, French, German, Russian, Spanish, Greek and Latin. Winner of prizes in literature, elocution and music, as well as first lady at all class parties! For two years no function by any great society or college demonstration has been complete without Chiquita, and this is to be my last year. Then adios to my alma mater forever—yes,forever. It is little satisfaction to fill one's mind with knowledge. It is poverty. The mind is dull that is oppressed with wisdom. Chiquita is not as happy here as she expected. But, ah, happiness will surely come when I visit the sick, the maimed, and comfort the dying. In that life where the 'medicine man' of the paleface cuts out big chunk in sick man and pale-faced sister in 'medicine clothes' nurse 'em 'til all well. Ah, Jack, you told me the 'medicine' story in such simple language that I understood it far easier than I now interpret the oppressive wisdom dispensed at clinics or lecture room, by those who fetter themselves to profound and awe-inspiring dissertations, until human intelligence seems a fallacy. With this vast amount of knowledge how little we know! But that reminds me: what will be the theme for my valedictory? There is no one who can, no one who will expect this honor but Chiquita. And I will discuss 'Ambition,' something after this fashion:
"'A soul lay fettered at the portals of heaven. The long, winding stairway reached down into space, through worlds of worlds, and countless millions ascended toward the great white throne, each unconcerned as to the fate of the other. On a bier, with body swathed in burial robes, lay the inanimate clay from which the soul fled after its imprisonment of the allotted threescore and ten years. Around the bier were gathered the few of the endless millions left behind, who remembered the departed a brief season and then became absorbed in the great race of life against death. Science is constantly establishing new guideposts in the chaos of obscurity and winning converts to the domain of enlightened intelligence.'
"There, that is what comes of educating a Ute chief's daughter, and about six pages of that will be proof positive that the savage is infinitely happier with the worship of the sun, the wind, the water as animate objects, than we in the realm of knowledge with our defunct moons and birdless heavens."
Chiquita spent a great portion of her senior year in day dreaming and imaginings, often putting her thoughts into manuscript form. Not that she expected to use them, but because she read the stories she thus improvised over and over to herself, occasionally sending one to Jack for his inspection and criticism. If Jack said it was good she kept it, but if he made objections to any portion, she destroyed the whole. In one of these she wrote of her people and herself and the utter folly of any attempt on the part of the Indians to regain their lost hunting ground and lands. She wrote thus:
"Alas! for my people! The Great Spirit of the white man is probably the same as the Great Manitou of the red man, the Buddha of the Hindoo and the Mahomet of the Arab. All worship a divine being, all nations and tribes of the earth acknowledge a power, mysterious, ever present but unseen, who rules the world, the elements and the actions of his followers. The white races are intellectual, far outranking the black man of Africa, the yellow man of eastern Asia and the red man of America. In the end I see but one result, the occupation by them of the entire world and ultimate blotting out of all religion except the Christian belief in the Messiah, who in the form of man was crucified to do away with the offerings, sacrifices and consecrated rites established by the Hebrews and observed by them without dissension until the commencement of the Christian era. But there are Jews today still looking for the King promised by the old prophets of the Bible, and while prophecy upon prophecy has been fulfilled in a most marvelous manner, these people with no country, no flag, no standing as a nation are promised the earth and fulness thereof and a new Jerusalem.
"Do not the followers of Buddha look forward from the death of Gaudama, who became incarnate 500 years B. C., to the thousands of years which must pass before another Buddha appears to restore the world from ignorance and decay? Do not the noble red-skinned tribes of the great American continent pray to their Manitou for the restoration of the land where the buffalo roam and the paleface cannot molest them?
"But, alas, my people! The heathen world must succumb before the strides of education, science and civilization. It is useless to hope for the return of those days, and while the children of the forest cannot in one generation adapt themselves to the ways and habits of industry, education and social life of their white brethren, the time is not far distant when the blanket Indian will be as the buffalo, and the noble red man become a farmer, mechanic or politician.
"The 'home, sweet home' of the people is the place where they spent their early youth, and no matter where their other years are passed, no matter what their successes, no matter what their failures, the sweetest spot on earth is the home of their younger days, to which millions return and from which millions die far away, but with 'fatherland' a vision still bright before them."
The last term was at end. Visitors flocked to the old historic town to witness the commencement exercises and hear Chiquita, the Ute's daughter, deliver the valedictory. Her father, the aged Yamanatz, was there with several chiefs in full council robes, and this of itself was sufficient to draw thousands of the curious. Prominent officials, who had watched the progress of yoking the savage red maiden of the forest to her civilized white sister of fashion, occupied front seats on the platform of the edifice wherein the commencement scenes were enacted. Interest in the preliminary features seemed to flag, and only desultory attention greeted the various ones as diplomas were handed out.
Little were the gowned professors and learned LL. D.'s prepared for the tumultuous wave of approbation which greeted Chiquita as she appeared on the platform from a side entrance, clad in her native costume of richly-beaded buckskin, her copper colored face set in a frame of intensely black hair, which reached to her knees in voluminous braids from whose ends dangled the "medicine" of the Utes. Words are feeble to express the transition from darkness to educated light, but there she stood in primeval beauty, uttering her valedictory in language so fascinating that not one syllable was lost.
Bouquets were showered upon her, "bravos" rent the air, and, as she stepped before the dean to receive her sheepskin, with its guarantee that Chiquita was educated, a smile of profound satisfaction played for an instant over her marvelously thoughtful face. Then spying Yamanatz near the platform, she bounded into his arms to receive his blessing, her filial affection superior to her decorous surroundings. Never before in the history of the college had such an outburst of enthusiasm greeted a graduate.
Long rows of windows in a massive building gave light to thousands within, who in turn looked out upon the thousands plodding their way to and from toil. It was in one of the hospital zones of the second city in the United States and the building was one of the largest hospitals in the city. Within the memory of the present generation the word "hospital" was fraught with weird and uncanny dark rooms, bloody floors, shrieking victims of accident or disease undergoing the torture of the knife, muffled rumbles of iron-wheeled trucks rolling in new patients or wheeling the lifeless form of the dead to the morgue. Over the door, unseen by mortal man, an ominous inscription, "He who enters here leaves all hope behind."
By the onward, irresistible advance of that flickering flame which penetrates the darkest corner of bigotry and ignorance, science has groped its way beyond the portals of death and snatched many from the very coffin after being prepared for the grave. This is civilization. Even today thousands look askance at the uncompromising brick and stone walls, shuddering as the ambulance gong warns them of its approach, bearing the victim, perchance, of some terrible disaster. To the unsophisticated who visit for the first time one of these institutions a surprise is in store. The awful gloom is penetrated by sunlight. In place of bespattered walls and crimson stained operating table are snow white tiling and glass slabs mounted on iron frames. The sickening offensive odor of the old "slaughter pens" has been relegated to the dark ages, and nothing worse than a whiff of carbolic acid or a possible suspicion of iodoform greets the most sensitive nostrils.
Within such an institution Chiquita found herself face to face with the "medicine" man of the paleface, and her white sister in "medicine" clothes. Arrayed at last in the oriental blue and white striped uniform, white apron with strings crossed at the back and jaunty little white cap, Chiquita began the task of familiarizing herself with the calling which so recently has placed woman in a sphere entirely her own, and made her the subject of hero worship on battlefield and in peaceful home.Faithfullyshe performed the laborious work of smoothing the rumpled clothing of a fever-racked patient, or adjusting the uncomfortable bandages of another, crushed and maimed. In the operating room she administered anesthetics or assisted with sponge and basin, and at clinics she listened intently to all the specialists, while in other channels she learned the necessary business methods needed for successfully carrying on the expensive undertaking which she proposed to inaugurate for the good of her own people.
The last half of the second year of hospital life had commenced. It was summer, and Jack, with Hazel, was returning from his annual trip to the Blazing-Eye-by-the-Big-Water mine.
Chiquita had enjoyed an afternoon with them, driving about the city, and observed that Jack was not as bright and cheerful as usual.
"No," said he, "I don't feel at all well. I think I over-exerted myself at the mine."
Hazel and Chiquita insisted upon his consulting a physician, but Jack contended that it was "nothing; I will be all right in the morning."
His malady, however, grew more pronounced, the third day finding him with a high fever and in great bodily pain. A surgeon was called, who discovered that an immediate operation was imperative.
Jack protested, but finally yielded to the pleadings of his wife, and arrangements were made to take the then almost helpless patient to the hospital.
The carriage was driven to where Chiquita in great anxiety awaited their coming. The surgeon had preceded them, informing the matron that it was a case of blood poisoning, and arranged for the admission of his patient.
At 9 o'clock that evening the affected part was lanced, giving temporary relief, but this disclosed a dangerous complication which would require a tedious operation and a prolonged stay in the hospital.
The next morning, as Chiquita prepared Jack for the operating table, they joked about the medicine tepee and dwelt long upon the singular coincidence that should bring them together under such circumstances. Chiquita administered the anesthetics. While Jack was losing consciousness, struggling vainly to gasp a breath of fresh air, she recalled the vivid description of hospital life which he had so long ago on Rock Creek depicted to her. As the surgeon skillfully wielded his various instruments, and with the electric wire burned the sensitive flesh along the track of the affected part, Chiquita for the first time felt a sinking, gaping, craving of her heart.
She realized in that one moment what it meant. She felt that if Jack should die her heart would cease its tumultuous beating, that if he lived she should forever have to keep her secret and stifle the emotions which her love for him revealed.
A sudden thought surged within her. "No one would know; should she"—"He is not for me—I am a Ute's daughter, a degraded Indian. Can I live and see him the husband of another and not betray my secret? Oh, Jack! perhaps it had been better that Chiquita had never become a medicine tepee queen! Were it not better that the sister of the forest should never have been educated?