THE RAINBOW ROUTE.

From Durango, the metropolis of the San Juan, to Silverton the scenery is of surpassing grandeur and beauty. The railroad follows up the course of the Animas River (to which the Spaniards gave the musical but melancholy title of "Rio de las Animas Perdidas," or River of Lost Souls), until the picturesque mining town of Silverton is reached. The valley of the Animas is traversed before the cañon is reached, and the traveler's eyes are delighted with succeeding scenes of sylvan beauty. To the right is the river, beyond which rise the hills; to the left are mountains, increasing in rugged contour as the advance is made; between the track and the river are cultivated fields and cosy farmhouses, while evidences of peace, prosperity and plenty are to be seen on every hand. Nine miles above Durango, Trimble Hot Springs are reached. The spacious hotel stands within a hundred yards of the road to the left of the track. Here are medicinal hot springs of great curative value, and here, in the season, gather invalids and pleasure seekers to drink the waters and enjoy the delights of this charming resort. Leaving the springs behind, the train speeds up the valley, which gradually narrows as the advance is made; the ascending grade becomes steeper, the hills close in, and soon the view is restricted to the rocky gorge within whose depths the raging waters of the Animas sway and swirl.

Animas Cañon has characteristics peculiarly its own. The railroad does not follow the bed of the stream, but clings to the cliffs midway of their height; and a glance from the car window gives one the impression of a view from a balloon. Below, a thousand feet, are the waters of the river—in places, white with foam; in quiet coves, green as ocean's depths. Above, five hundred feet, climb the combing cliffs, to which cling pines and hemlocks. The cañon here is a mere fissure in the mountain's heart, so narrow that one can easily toss a stone across and send it bounding down the side of the opposing rock wall until it falls into the waters of the river coursing through the abyss below. Emerging from this wonderful chasm, the bed of the gorge rises until the roadway is but a few feet above the level of the stream. The close, confining and towering walls of rock are replaced by mountains of supreme height. The Needles, which are among the most peculiar and striking of the Rockies, thrust their sharp and splintered peaks into the regions of eternal frost.

Elk Park is a quiet little nook in the midst of the range, with vistas of meadows and groves of pines, a spot which would furnish the artist many a subject for his canvass.

At the end of Elk Park stands Garfield Peak, lifting its summit a mile above the track. Beyond are marshaled the everlasting mountains, and through them for miles extends, in varying beauty and grandeur, the cañon of the Animas. Frequent waterfalls glitter in the sunlight, leaping from crag to crag, only to lose themselves at last in the outflowing river. Emerging finally from this environment of crowding cliffs, the train sweeps into Baker's Park and arrives at Silverton in the heart of the San Juan.

Silverton is interesting, both from its picturesque position and from the fact that it is a mining town. The mountains by which it is surrounded on all sides are honeycombed with the shafts and tunnels of innumerable mines. Sultan Mountain, which overlooks the town, is a noble and impressive elevation, and adds to the grandeur of the scene by its regal presence.

MOUNT BEATLE.

From Silverton the journey "Around the Circle" is continued by taking the Silverton Railway, a road constructed up the difficult grades of Red Mountain, and doing an immense business in the handling of ores which are taken from these rich deposits; also employed in the transportation of passengers. This wonderful road owes its construction to the genius, daring and wealth of one man, Mr. Otto Mears, who has for years been the "pathfinder" of the San Juan region, building toll roads and opening the gates of prosperity to the many mining towns of this mountainous country. He is the sole owner of the road, and has conquered engineering difficulties of the most astounding character. The line does not as yet bridge the gap between Silverton and Ouray, and from Ironton, its terminus, stages carry tourists over the mountains to the latter point, where the trip is resumed by the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad.

The stage ride forms one of the most attractive features of this most attractive journey. Lasting only two hours, passing over the summits of ranges and through the depths of cañons, the tourist will find this a welcome variation to his method of travel and a great relief and recreation. The old fashioned stage, with all its romantic associations, is rapidly becoming a thing of the past. A year or two more and it will have disappeared, except in rare instances, from Colorado. Here, in the midst of some of the grandest scenery on the continent, the blue sky above and the fresh, pure, exhilarating mountain air sending the blood bounding through one's veins, to clamber into a Concord coach and be whirled along a splendidly-constructed road, costing in some instances $40,000 a mile in its construction, to behold the grandest of Nature's handiwork, and to be in such close communion with the everlasting hills, is surely a novel and delightful experience.

The scenery on this journey between Silverton and Ouray is of the greatest magnificence. This is especially true of that portion of the route traversed by stage. The Silverton and Ouray toll road has long been noted for its attractions in the way of scenery, the triangular mass of Mount Abraham's towers to the left, while the road winds around the curves of the hills with the sinuosity of a mountain brook. The scene from the bridge over Bear Creek is one which once beheld can never be forgotten. Directly under the bridge plunges a cataract to a depth of 253 feet, forming a most noteworthy and impressive scene. The toll road passes through one of the greatest mining regions in the world, and the fame of Red Mountain is well deserved both from the number and richness of its mines. Before Ouray is reached, the road passes through Uncompahgre Cañon. Here the roadbed has been blasted from the solid rock wall of the gorge, and a scene similar in nature and rivaling in grandeur that of Animas Cañon is beheld.

MOUNT ABRAM, OURAY TOLL ROAD.

Ouray is one of the most beautifully situated towns to be found anywhere. Its scenery is idyllic. The village is cradled in a lovely valley surrounded by rugged mountains. The situation of the town is thus vividly described by Ernest Ingersoll in the "Crest of the Continent": "The valley in which the town is built is at an elevation of about 7,500 feet above the sea, and is pear-shaped, its greatest width being not more than half a mile, while its length is about twice that, down to the mouth of the cañon. Southward—that is, toward the heart of the main range—stand the two great peaks, Hardin and Hayden. Between is the deep gorge down which the Uncompahgre finds its way; but this is hidden from view by a ridge which walls in the town and cuts off all farther view from it in that direction, save where the triangular top of Mount Abram peers over. Westward are grouped a series of broken ledges, surmounted by greater and more rugged heights. Down between these and the western foot of Mt. Hayden struggles Cañon Creek to join the Uncompahgre, while Oak Creek leaps down a line of cataracts from a notch in the terraced heights through which the quadrangular head of White House Mountain becomes grandly discernible—the easternmost buttress of the wintry Sierra San Miguel.

"At the lower side of the basin, where the path of the river is beset with close cañon walls, the cliffs rise vertically from the level of the village, and bear their forest growth many hundreds of feet above. These mighty walls, two thousand feet high in some places, are of metamorphic rock, and their even stratification simulates courses of well-ordered masonry. Stained by iron, and probably also by manganese, they are a deep red maroon. This color does not lie uniformly, however, but is stronger in some layers than in others, so that the whole face of the cliff is banded horizontally in pale rust color, or dull crimson, or deep and opaque maroon. The western cliff is bare, but on the more frequent ledges of the eastern wall scattered spruces grow, and add to its attractiveness. Yet, as though Nature meant to teach that a bit of motion—a suggestion of glee was needed to relieve the somberness of utter immobility and grandeur, however shapely—she has led to the sunlight, by a crevice in the upper part of the eastern wall that we cannot see, a brisk torrent draining the snowfields of some distant plateau. This little stream, thus beguiled by the fair channel that led it through the spruce woods above, has no time to think of its fate, but is flung out over the sheer precipice eighty feet into the valley below. We see the white ghost of its descending, and always to our ears is murmured the voice of the Naiads who are taking the breathless plunge. Yet by what means the stream reaches that point from above cannot be seen, and the picture is that of a strong jet of water bursting from an orifice through the crimson wall, and falling into rainbow-arched mist and a tangle of grateful foliage that hides its further flowing."

CURRECANTI NEEDLE.

Resuming the railroad journey at Ouray, the traveler will find much to interest him in the run past Ridgway, where the Rio Grande Southern connects with the Denver & Rio Grande, to Montrose, where the main line is again reached, and, with faces turned once more to the eastward, the homeward segment of the "circle" is entered upon, and the greatest wonders of all this wonderful journey lie before. From Cerro Summit a fine view can be had of the Uncompahgre Valley, its river, and the distant peaks of the San Juan and Uncompahgre ranges of mountains. Cimarron Cañon is entered shortly after leaving Cerro Summit, the road following this cañon down Cimarron Creek to where it empties into the Gunnison river. Here begins the tourist's experience in the world-renowned Black Cañon of the Gunnison. The name is a misnomer. There is nothing black about the cañon except the shadows of the towering granite walls. The cliffs themselves show bright and happy colors. Gay contrasts of pink and blue, bright complements of red and maroon, all shades blended and differentiated, dashed on here and there as with the broad, free-handed sweep of some master scenic painter. The scene is varied, kaleidoscopic, constantly changing. Here the train rolls along between frowning and exalted walls: there a stream of water, Chippeta Falls, white as wool, pitches from the brow of a precipice two thousand feet above; yonder a side cañon yawns with capacious mouth as if to engulf us. Now we are in a spacious amphitheater, in the center of which stands a tremendous monument of solid stone, a spire graceful as if hewn by the hand of a Gothic builder, and terminating in a sky-piercing pinnacle. This is the famed "Currecanti Needle." Thus for twenty miles the ever-changing variety of the Black Cañon holds the awe-stricken attention of the traveler. At last the train rolls out into the valley of the Gunnison, and pastoral scenes take the place of the tumultuous grandeur just beheld.

But soon a new marvel demands attention. The ascent of Marshall Pass is just begun. We have just gone through the mountains, now we are to go over them. The Pacific slope is now to be achieved. Two powerful engines puff vigorously and take us spinning up the ringing grooves of this marvelous road, climbing grades of 211 feet to the mile with as much apparent ease as though we were traversing the level plain. What a varied panorama of mountain views meets the gaze, and when the summit is reached. 10,852 feet above the distant sea, the train pauses and the eye sweeps the prospect as far as vision reaches. To the right, fading away into the blue distance, can be seen the serrated range of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, snow-covered pyramids of transcendent beauty. To the left towers fire-scarred Mount Ouray, a volcano whose fires died out ages ago, while opposite stands its companion peak, Mount Shaveno. Beneath is the pathway of our ascent, four lines in view, each one an ascending circle of our tortuous upward journey.

CATHEDRAL SPIRE.

Half a dozen revolutions of the wheels and we are on the Atlantic slope. The waters all run to the eastward now. One engine holds the train in check. There are no smoke and cinders. Pneumatic breaks skillfully applied by the engineer control the power of gravitation, which is the sole force needed to carry the long train down its winding way. The sinuosity of the descent is something indescribable. A glance at the illustration of the alignment of the road over Marshall Pass will convey a better idea than anything that could be said. The descent is ended at Poncha Springs, and the train enters the valley of the Arkansas.

At Poncha are some of the most remarkable hot springs to be found anywhere in the West. There are over one hundred of these springs; the water varies in temperature from 90 to 185 degrees Fahrenheit. The analysis of the Poncha Springs corresponds almost exactly with that of the waters of the Hot Springs in Arkansas.

From the Arkansas Valley can be obtained a fine view of the Collegiate range of mountains, including the peaks of Harvard, Yale and Princeton, all of which reach an altitude greater than fourteen thousand feet.

The crowning attraction, the wonder of wonders, the marvel of marvels, yet remains to be seen. The Grand Cañon of the Arkansas lies before us. There are no words in the language which can describe this cañon. There are no pigments on the artist's palette that can paint it; it is indescribable and entirely beyond the reach of mimetic art. The Grand Cañon is seven miles in length—seven miles of wonders, seven miles of the grandest, most awful scenery in the world. To the right boils and surges the Arkansas River, above which tower the red rocks of the cañon. To the left are cliffs, jutting in places above the track, and rising to tremendous and awe-inspiring heights. The progress down the cañon is by means of many intricate curves, and it seems as though the engine would dash itself to atoms against the cliffs, but each time a slight turn is made and the train rounds the promontory in safety. Soon the tourist finds himself in the heart of the mountain. Peak upon peak rises above him, until the splintered summits seem to touch the sky. Darker and darker grow the shadows, narrower and still more narrow grows the gorge, deeper and deeper grows the gloom, the river ceases its roaring, the noise of the train is hardly perceptible, for the engineer has "slowed up," and the Royal Gorge is at hand. Here the cañon is not wide enough for road and river, and here is one of the most remarkable feats of engineering. Right across the gorge, fifty feet wide at the base and perhaps seventy at the summit, which soars above to a height of nearly three thousand feet, a series of great iron braces has been thrown, from which huge iron bars depend, holding a long iron bridge in suspension, that clings to the face of the cliff, and runs, not across, but parallel with the course of the river. The eye can scarcely comprehend the stupendous height of the perpendicular cliffs whose summits pierce the heavens half a mile above our heads.

APPROACH TO THE BLACK CAÑON.

After beholding the Royal Gorge the traveler has a superlative comparison for all that is wonderful and grand in nature. He has seen something which he can never forget, and of the many marvels of this marvelous journey "Around the Circle," the greatest of them all, the crowning glory, is the Royal Gorge.

It will not be inappropriate to make some special mention of several of the more important points of interest on the circle tour, and we add below a short description of the "Royal Gorge," "Toltec Gorge," "Animas Cañon," "Black Cañon of the Gunnison," and the "Marshall Pass."

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