Class 
 Book- 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
CLIMBING THE ROCKIES. 
 
SHOSHONE 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER WESTERN WONDERS 
 
 By EDWARDS ROBERTS 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY 
 CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1888 
 
Copyright, 1888, by Harper & Brothers. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I 
 
 N the preface to his volume called the " Ore- 
 gon Trail," — one of the most delightful 
 of his books, by the way, and one which should 
 be regularly sold on the " overland trains " of 
 the Union Pacific, — the historian Parkman 
 describes how, shortly after graduation, he, in 
 company with his cousin and classmate, Quincy 
 A. Shaw, was one day journeying in the then 
 wilderness, which is now Eastern Colorado. He 
 says : — 
 
 " I remember that, as we rode by the foot of Pike's 
 Peak, when for a fortnight we met no face of man, my 
 companion remarked, in a tone anything but com- 
 placent, that a time would come when those plains 
 would be a grazing country, the buffalo give place to 
 tame cattle, farm-houses be scattered along the water- 
 courses, and wolves, bears, and Indians be numbered 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 among the things that were. We condoled with 
 each other on so melancholy a prospect, but we 
 little thought what the future had in store." 
 
 This was in 1846. The object of the present 
 volume is to describe to the tourist a route be- 
 ginning where Parkman left off, at the foot of 
 Pike's Peak, passing through the wonderful 
 mountain and desert scenery of Colorado and 
 Eastern Utah to Great Salt Lake, thence north- 
 ward by the way of the Falls of Shoshone and 
 the great lava bed of Idaho, through which the 
 Snake cuts its way, to the .plateau of the Yel- 
 lowstone. There rivers which flow to the Gulf 
 pf Mexico, the Gulf of California, and the 
 North Pacific, all find their source. From this 
 mountain birthplace of flowing waters, the tourist 
 w^ould emerge by the gateway of the Missouri. 
 
 Travelled Americans are more familiar with 
 Europe than with their own country; and yet it 
 would not be easy anywhere in Europe to find 
 so much that is novel, interesting and beautiful 
 crowded into one short journey. There are 
 historical associations, also, which attach to the 
 trip. It is now familiar ground, but it was the 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 field of the first explorations ever attempted by 
 the United States Government. As they ap- 
 proach it, most people probably suppose Pike 
 to have been some miner of " the forty-nine " 
 period; and they never know that the name, 
 Pike's Peak, is the familiar monument of a gal- 
 lant soldier of the United States, a brigradier- 
 general of the War of 1812, Zebulon M. Pike, 
 who in his thirty-fifth year met his death at 
 the assault of York as it was then called, now 
 Toronto, in April, 1813. Seven years before, 
 in 1806, he had started from St. Louis, under 
 orders from President Jefferson, to find his way 
 to the head-waters of the Arkansas and Red 
 Rivers. "While toiling thither he first descried, 
 upon the 15th of November, 1806, the blue 
 peaks of the Mexican mountains to the west- 
 ward ; and accordingly the most prominent 
 among them has from that day to this been 
 known as Pike's Peak. 
 
 So, also, the scientific name of Great Salt 
 Lake is Bonneville, after that Captain Bonne- 
 ville whose life and curious adventures among- 
 the Indians about the year 1 830 have been 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 vividly described by Washington Irving ; though 
 with Httle actual knowledge of the subject about 
 which he was writing. 
 
 As the traveller goes north, following the 
 route laid down for him by Mr. Roberts in this 
 volume, he may enter the Yellowstone Park by 
 the beautiful Canon of the Madison. Here he 
 comes directly upon the trail of the expedition 
 of Lewis and Clarke, sent out by President Jef- 
 ferson in the year 1803 to find its way through 
 the northern portion of the recently acquired 
 Louisiana purchase to the mouth of the great 
 river discovered by Captain Gray, of Boston, in 
 the ship Columbia, in May, 1792. It was on 
 the 28th of July, 1805, that the two famous ex- 
 plorers, having toiled slowly up the Missouri, 
 reached the point where the great river forked 
 in three directions ; and they say : — 
 
 "We were therefore induced to discontinue the 
 name of Missouri, and give to the southwest branch 
 the name of Jefferson, in honor of the President of 
 the United States, the projector of the enterprise ; 
 and called the middle branch Madison, after James 
 Madison, Secretary of State." 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 Returning the following year, having wintered 
 at the mouth of the Columbia, Lewis and Clarke 
 reached St. Louis on the 23d of September, 
 1806, about two months after Lieutenant Pike 
 had started on the journey which was to leave 
 him a prisoner in the hands of the Spanish 
 authorities at Santa Fe. The modern traveller, 
 following the itinerary laid down in this volume, 
 will thus go out by the route of Lieutenant Pike, 
 and return by that of Lewis and Clarke, passing 
 on his way through the scene of the adventures 
 of Bonneville. 
 
 But the tourist who would still like to have 
 a taste, though hardly, perhaps, more than a 
 remote flavor of what is known as '* roughing 
 it" in his journey, has no time to lose. Civ- 
 ilization, with all that the name implies, is 
 rapidly taking possession of the whole moun- 
 tain region of the West. Down to the days of 
 Parkman, Colorado was much the same as when 
 it was first explored by Pike. The change has 
 come within the last twenty-five years ; and the 
 change which has already taken place is sug- 
 gestive of the yet greater change to come. 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 For the man or woman who, tired of the cities 
 and of civilization, wishes for a time to get near 
 to Nature, there is still much left west of the 
 eastern base of the Rocky Mountains. Neither 
 the steam railroad nor the electric road has yet 
 marred the Yellowstone. The luxury and keen 
 enjoyment of two days' staging even are to be 
 had between Beaver Canon and the Firehole 
 of the Yellowstone. 
 
 The trip merits all that Mr. Roberts has said 
 in its commendation. A few months ago Carl 
 Schurz chanced to remark to the writer that 
 of all earthly places his eyes ever rested on, 
 Henry's Lake in Idaho, at the gates of the Yel- 
 lowstone, seemed to him nearest to a terrestrial 
 paradise. The remark met with a warm re- 
 sponse. The day is not remote when at the 
 head of Henry's Lake will be found a large 
 summer hotel to which those residing in our 
 Eastern cities, who are weary of watering-places 
 and of the familiar European trips, will go to 
 breathe in health from the fresh mountain air 
 and to enjoy a scenery and a nearness to Nature 
 which it is not easy anywhere else to find in 
 
PREFACE. xi 
 
 equal proportion. That region is still wild. 
 The woods are full of game, and the waters 
 teem with fish. Day after day you can walk 
 or go on horseback through those park-like 
 mountain reaches, and feel that you are wholly 
 away from the haunts of men. And yet in a 
 few years they will be hardly less frequented 
 than the White Mountains or the Catskills now 
 are. 
 
 It is still rare to meet any one w^ho has seen 
 the Falls of the Snake ; and people look with 
 mild surprise upon those who, having visited 
 Shoshone, presume to compare it with Niagara. 
 Yet no one possessed of a keen eye for the 
 beautiful and the picturesque can visit the two 
 places without feeling that the Idaho cataract, 
 high up in the great table-land amid its lava 
 beds, and under those wonderful mountain skies 
 and in that mountain atmosphere, is incom- 
 parably the more attractive, and, indeed, except 
 in volume of water, the more wonderful, as well 
 as more interesting, of the two. 
 
 The proposed trip includes much, though for 
 one starting even from the Eastern or seaboard 
 
Xll PREFACE. 
 
 cities it can be made in the course of three or, 
 at most, four weeks. It involves a lasting per- 
 sonal acquaintance, as it were, with Niagara, 
 Chicago, the great plains, the mountainous 
 regions and summer resorts of Colorado, the 
 Canons of the Arkansas and the Gunnison, the 
 Marshall Pass, the Great Salt Lake of Utah, 
 with its strange, picturesque, geological forma- 
 tion and pure, clear, health-giving atmosphere, 
 the Falls of the Snake, the two days' staging 
 across the park-like mountain plateau which 
 leads to the sources of the Madison, the innu- 
 merable wonders of the Yellowstone Park, and 
 finally the journey along the head-waters of 
 the Missouri, all ending at St. Paul. No one 
 who makes the trip is likely ever to forget it. 
 That more may realize what it is, and so be 
 induced to make it, is the object of the present 
 
 volume. 
 
 CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS. 
 
 Boston, July 20, 1888. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 Chapter 
 
 Page 
 
 I. First Impressions i 
 
 II. The City of Denver . 22 
 
 III. Clear Creek and its Surroundings . 53 
 
 IV. In the Shadow of Pike's Peak ... 73 
 V. Through the Heart of Colorado . . 95 
 
 VI. Glimpses of Utah 119 
 
 VII. Shoshone 142 
 
 VIII. A New Route to Wonderland . . . 174 
 IX. Among the Geysers of the Yellow- 
 stone . . 202 
 
 X. Homeward Bound 246 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Climbing the Rockies Frontispiece 
 
 The Dawn of Civilization 5 
 
 A Prairie Town . 15 
 
 General View of Denver 25 
 
 Fourteenth Street, Denver 29 
 
 The State Capitol 37 
 
 The Opera House 50 
 
 Hanging Rock, Clear Creek Canon 55 
 
 Idaho Springs 59 
 
 Manitou 75 
 
 The Antlers 84 
 
 A Spring House %% 
 
 On the Road to Pike's Peak 93 
 
 Currecanti Needle, Black Canon 103 
 
 Castle Gate 113 
 
 East Side of Salt Lake City 123 
 
 The Temple and Tabernacle, Salt Lake .... 128 
 
 Pulpits and Organ 130 
 
 The Grand Leap 143 
 
xvi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Pack 
 
 The Great Falls, Shoshone 153 
 
 Above the Falls 157 
 
 The Twin Shoshone Falls 162 
 
 Under the Great Falls, Shoshone 165 
 
 Down the Canon from Twin Falls 169 
 
 Madison Valley 175 
 
 Snake River Crossing .186 
 
 Fording the Snake 189 
 
 Tyghee Pass 191 
 
 Manley's Cabin 196 
 
 Falls of the Yellowstone 203 
 
 Old Faithful 222 
 
 The Giant Geyser 229 
 
 Following the Yellowstone 237 
 
 Grand Canon of the Yellowstone 241 
 
 Climbing the Terraces 251 
 
 The Hot Springs Terrace 262 
 
SHOSHONE, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER WESTERN WONDERS. 
 
SHOSHONE, 
 
 OTHER WESTERN WONDERS. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 AT the city of Omaha, overlooking the 
 muddy waters of the Missouri, one is at 
 last face to face with the far West. The city 
 itself affords a striking illustration of the untir- 
 ing industry that has so materially changed the 
 aspect of the country lying between the Rock- 
 ies and the Missouri. Surrounding Omaha the 
 progress of later days is most marked ; but in 
 the far distance are still the sea-like plains 
 that were once the terror of a restless army 
 bound across their trackless wastes toward 
 Pike's Peak. 
 
 In the *' good old days," as some enjoy calling 
 that period during which the middle West was 
 
4 SHOSHONE. 
 
 a veritable terra incognita, " the West " was 
 Buffalo. Later, the distinction was claimed by 
 Chicago. To-day, both these cities have lost 
 such prestige. Even Denver, far away as it is, 
 can scarcely be regarded as on the outskirts of 
 civilization. For beyond it is Salt Lake City; 
 to the northwest are Cheyenne and Laramie ; in 
 the extreme north are Butte and Helena. The 
 growth of the trans-Missouri country has been 
 one of phenomenal rapidity. Every year the 
 changes are marked and important. Denver, 
 Kansas City, Omaha, and other places have 
 grown from villages to towns, and from towns 
 to cities. One need not read to obtain their 
 history ; he can have it told by many a settler. 
 The cities were born and have attained their 
 manhood within a quarter of a century. 
 
 In taking his first trip westward one must 
 prepare to be disappointed. He will find less 
 barbarism than he expected, and more civiliza- 
 tion. The era which the novels of brilliant hue 
 depict is an era of the past. Much is rough 
 and uncouth, of course, and there are vast areas 
 which, minus the Indian and the buffalo, are 
 much as they were before the advent of civiliza- 
 tion. But pressing hard upon neglected wastes, 
 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 7 
 
 and fast obliterating all traces of that wild West 
 which " Buffalo Bill " delights to illustrate, are 
 the farms and homes of the new-comers. On 
 every hand are seen the results they have ac- 
 complished. Study as you travel, and you will 
 find the middle West as interesting as a novel. 
 You can see history created. The cities are 
 monuments to a people who in the future, if 
 not to-day, will be famous for their thrift and 
 energy. 
 
 If one's aim is enjoyment, he should take the 
 West in sections. Try to see the entire region 
 in one summer, and you will lose the charm 
 which the more leisurely traveller gains. He 
 who pays a flying visit to Europe, giving an 
 hour to the Louvre, a day to Venice, a night to 
 Paris, returns an ignoramus, confused and tired. 
 So with the West: if too great haste is made 
 the observer becomes confused. No particular 
 spot is photographed on his mind. All is a 
 jumble of prairie, mountain, river, and valley. 
 
 In order, therefore, that we may return from 
 our summer holiday refreshed in body and in 
 mind, let us not journey far, nor hastily. At 
 Omaha we can mark our course. It is not so 
 much a question where it shall lead, as it is 
 
8 SHOSHONE. 
 
 where it shall not lead. Before us lies the West: 
 close at hand the middle West ; in the far dis- 
 tance the Pacific West. Colorado, of course, is 
 one objective point. Through that State extend 
 the Rockies, ever attractive and alluring; and 
 there too is Denver, the untiring city that to-day 
 is one of the wonders of the country. Then, 
 from Colorado, what more natural than that 
 Utah should be visited, — Utah, the stronghold 
 of Mormonism, the land of sunshine and culti- 
 vated valleys and inland salty sea? But there 
 we pause, and stifling the longing for lands 
 still farther westward, turn northward through 
 Idaho, and then eastward through the National 
 Park, our " Wonderland," with its spouting gey- 
 sers, its gorgeously colored canons, and forests 
 of sweet-smelling trees. 
 
 This, then, is our course. We will make a 
 circle of it, nearly; for with Omaha as our 
 starting-point, we will make St. Paul the end of 
 our journey; and in the month or more that 
 we are " on the wing," much of the glorious 
 scenery of the middle West will be ours to en- 
 joy. In our path will be cities that cannot fail 
 to command admiration ; views over which our 
 artist will go into ecstasies. W^e shall climb 
 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 9 
 
 mountains, follow the course of winding streams, 
 loiter at the Shoshone Falls, — higher and wider 
 than those of Niagara, — and, toward the end of 
 our time, wander at will among the curious for- 
 mations of the Yellowstone. 
 
 When it was first proposed to build the Union 
 Pacific Railway, the idea was regarded as vision- 
 ary, hazardous, and foolish. Now that the road 
 is an accomplished fact, one easily forgets that 
 its construction ever appeared impossible. It 
 is the pioneer line westward from the Missouri ; 
 and to-day, after escaping from its net-work of 
 branches in Nebraska, extends to Denver, Chey- 
 enne, and Ogden. By lease and purchase it has 
 also its Pacific coast terminus, and has pene- 
 trated the rich mineral fields of Montana. If 
 only the early disbelievers in the Union Pacific 
 could see it now, how strong would be their 
 desire to hide from the gaze of the world ! 
 
 The course of the Union Pacific from Omaha 
 to Denver is through Nebraska to Denver Junc- 
 tion, and thence southwest to the famous Colo- 
 rado city. The river Platte is followed nearly 
 the entire distance, and one is led through a 
 region that is fast becoming famous for its farms 
 and vast agricultural areas. 
 
lO SHOSHONE. 
 
 It is often said that the plains are dull and 
 monotonous. He who is alive to the beauties 
 of Nature, or who is interested in whatever is 
 novel, can never agree to this. Their very his- 
 tory gives them interest. Some of the fiercest 
 battles that the pioneers ever waged were fought 
 on the ground that we too often pass over with- 
 out a thought of the events of twenty years 
 ago. Every inch of the way across Nebraska 
 was contested. Recalling the past, I can still 
 see the long trains of emigrants, bound for the 
 new El Dorado ; and at night, when there are 
 prairie fires to be seen, there comes vividly be- 
 fore me the picture of those guarded halts of 
 long ago, when smaller camp-fires were lighted, 
 and men hardly dared to sleep for fear of lurk- 
 ing savages watching for a chance to begin their 
 work of murder and destruction. 
 
 Life on the plains is less hazardous to-day 
 than it was before the advent of the railway; 
 but I doubt if the labor of living is less severe. 
 One is not very apt to give particular thought 
 as to how men gain a foothold, nor to the man- 
 ner in which they begin their work of making 
 farms out of the duU-hued prairie land. And 
 yet the modus operandi might very likely be 
 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS. IT 
 
 studied with advantage. The task is not an 
 easy one, we may be sure, and there arc trials 
 long and severe. There are many foreigners 
 among the Nebraska farmers, and many of the 
 new towns are German in everything but their 
 appearance. That, to be frank, is American and 
 Western ; not interesting to look at, but thor- 
 oughly comforting to all who may be interested 
 in the growth of our country. The rapidity 
 with which Nebraska villages grow is most 
 astonishing. The only pity is that with age 
 ^nd size they do not increase in beauty. 
 
 Early in the spring the plains are brilliant 
 with carpetings of vari-colored flowers. They 
 are scattered like brilliants over the vast rolling 
 billows of earth, and, in contrast with the green 
 of the grasses, give the country a richness of 
 coloring which is indescribably attractive. As 
 summer draws nearer the delicately tinted visi- 
 tors of spring-time give way to an universal 
 brownness. By July all freshness, and all color- 
 ing save that of brown, are lost. But the blue- 
 ness of the sky remains, and that, together with 
 the mellow brown of the plains, gives a suffi- 
 cient contrast of tint to make the scene far from 
 commonplace. 
 
12 SHOSHONE. 
 
 I can never decide which portion of the day 
 I Hke best when on the prairies. Morning is 
 dehghtfuliy fresh. The sun is a ball of fire 
 when its first flashes of golden light come 
 across the unbroken stretches, and the prairie 
 dogs, demurely sitting on their hind legs, give 
 it noisy greeting. Through the night you have 
 been asleep. The dull rumble of the cars has 
 soothed you to a rest such as you have not had 
 for months. Waking refreshed in mind and 
 body, and breathing in the fresh, clear air as 
 you stand on the rear platform looking over the 
 quiet country, life ceases to be a dull reality. 
 You catch the spirit of the scene, and are alert. 
 Then comes the long, idle day. The towns you 
 pass are all in embryo. Some are more rudely 
 built than others, but all are new, and each lays 
 claim to distinction as being the centre of some 
 reg-ion sure to attract in the future an enormous 
 population. Here the railway follows a wind- 
 ing stream, that now hides beneath its sandy 
 bed and again crawls lazily over it, and then 
 passes through fields of growing corn, or, like a 
 ship, rides gallantly over the rolling mounds that 
 have been so often likened to the waves of a 
 noiseless sea. 
 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 1 3 
 
 Nebraska may be said to have already had 
 three distinct epochs in its history. The first 
 was that in which the Indians held undisputed 
 sway ; the second that in which the forerunners 
 of the present civiHzation began to make their 
 memorable overland journeys; and the third 
 that of the present progress. Of the first we 
 have many traditions and some tangible infor- 
 mation handed down by the ultra-adventurous 
 who lived for a time among the Indians and 
 studied their mode of life. Of the second we 
 are better informed. In that second period 
 brave old Ben HoUiday had established his 
 famous stage-line to and across the Rockies, 
 and such observing travellers as Bayard Taylor 
 and Samuel Bowles had made pilgrimages to the 
 still doubtful quantity familiarly known as '* the 
 West." The amount of romance crowded into 
 the period immediately preceding that which 
 witnessed the advent of the railways would 
 make many an interesting volume. Who to- 
 day can begin to realize the hardships of the 
 pioneers? If ever chivalry existed in this coun- 
 try, it had its reign while the emigrant trains 
 were slowly traversing our Western plains. Kit 
 Carson, Buffalo Bill, and other famous scouts 
 have an unique place in history. 
 
14 SHOSHONE. 
 
 Little can be said of the third great period of 
 Nebraska's history beyond that which is already 
 known. The census will show the rapidity with 
 which the country is being settled ; and one has 
 only to visit the region from year to year to note 
 its steady progress in material development. In 
 the near past Nebraska was chiefly famous as a 
 grazing country. To-day it is one of the great 
 farming regions of the middle West. Time was 
 when the rainfall was insufficient to grow crops ; 
 but now even this disadvantage no longer ex- 
 ists. Year by year the rainfall increases. In 
 explanation of this phenomenon — if it be a 
 phenomenon — various causes are assigned : one 
 theory being that moisture is attracted by cul- 
 tivation of the soil; another that railroads are 
 followed by rain-clouds ; another that the old- 
 time hardness of the soil no longer exists, so 
 that water is retained in the earth, and, evaporat- 
 ing, creates clouds that formerly had no source 
 of existence. Whatever the reason may be, 
 however, the fact remains that Nebraska, as well 
 as its neighbors, has changed for the better, and 
 can no longer, by any possibility, be regarded 
 as a part of the Great American Desert which 
 in our childhood days was represented as cover- 
 ing an alarmingly large area of our country. 
 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS. I7 
 
 One truth regarding it is that you do not be- 
 come acquainted with its best or more interest- 
 ing features by simply travelling through that 
 portion of the country which the railway has 
 chosen. One has passing glimpses of the many 
 *' prairie towns," which are so sure an indication 
 o( the actual progress being made ; and there 
 are isolated " dugouts " scattered along the 
 way. But the largest and most productive farms 
 are mostly well away from the railroad, and 
 the peculiarities of life in a country so lately 
 settled as Nebraska are only discovered by 
 personal investigation. Study the pioneer Ne- 
 braskan, and you will not only be amused but 
 instructed. His life is an altogether strange 
 one, not resembling in the least that of any 
 other man whose progress you have ever chanced 
 to follow. His home is a dugout, or, if fortune 
 has smiled upon him, an adobe, with a roof of 
 sods, and his nearest neighbor lives twenty miles 
 away. And yet I question if you will anywhere 
 find more contentment than exists in these hum- 
 ble abodes. I know not what it is, — the cli- 
 mate, the hope of better times to come, perhaps, 
 — but there is something which gives the home- 
 steader that which few of us ever have, — the 
 
1 8 SHOSHONE. 
 
 power to smile when the outlook is darkest ; a 
 brave heart, no matter what the trials are. You 
 will find lone women in the single-room dug- 
 outs, and you will also find whole families there. 
 One can never fail to detect any real progress 
 in the family welfare ; for with better circum- 
 stances comes the cabin, — a degree above that 
 of the dugout, — and following the cabin the 
 ugly but still comfortable frame house. 
 
 Mr. Frank H. Spearman, in a paper on the 
 American Desert, published in " Harper's Mag- 
 azine " for July, 1888, says that the " first settler, 
 with rare exceptions, ekes out a half-starved 
 existence until he can make proof on his land ; 
 by this time he is eager to sell to one of the 
 second crop of pioneers, — men who bring a 
 little money with them to fight the battle with. 
 As a rule, though, the necessity of incurring 
 debts to keep things going beats this second 
 class, and they in turn give way to the thrifty 
 farmers who come prepared and able to stay. 
 For it must not be supposed that the original 
 homesteader is necessarily a farmer. You will 
 find all sorts and conditions of men among them, 
 from ministers to cowboys, from bankrupt busi- 
 ness men to the latest exile from Russia. All 
 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS. I9 
 
 of these, together with professional men and 
 tradesmen in the villages and a fair sprinkling 
 of bona fide farmers, appear in the ranks of the 
 homesteaders." 
 
 As illustrative of the rapid rate at which Ne- 
 braska is now being settled, Mr. Spearman 
 quotes from an address delivered at the Chey- 
 enne County, Nebraska, fair in the fall of 1887. 
 '' General Morrow," he writes, " instances eighty- 
 three thousand acres of land entered by home- 
 steaders in a single county during three months 
 of 1887. All the land officers of the West tell 
 the same story ; their statistics sound like fables. 
 The United States Land Office for the extreme 
 southwestern part of Nebraska, embracing but 
 a few counties, remitted last year to Washington 
 $500,000 to pay for homesteads and pre-emp- 
 tion." Continuing, the writer says that Omaha, 
 Kansas City, and other large centres are " simply 
 a reflection of the farms of Kansas and Ne- 
 braska, and are dependent entirely on the desert 
 for their business." 
 
 It is a little startling — because showing into 
 what errors of prophecy our ignorance may lead 
 us — to notice, as Mr. Spearman does, that in 
 1858 the "North American Review" said that 
 
20 SHOSHONE. 
 
 our people, at that date, when there was scarcely 
 a hamlet forty miles west of the Missouri River, 
 '* had already reached their inland frontier." 
 Before the end of 1880 the population of Ne- 
 braska numbered half a million. To-day, Mr. 
 Spearman says, the State has twice that many 
 people, and the cities of from three thousand to 
 fifteen thousand inhabitants that have attained 
 their present size within the past few years are 
 evidence in themselves of the substantial devel- 
 opment of the new West. 
 
 The average altitude of the country bordering 
 the Missouri River is from fifteen hundred to 
 eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. 
 At the base of the Rocky Mountains the eleva- 
 tion has increased to nearly six thousand feet. 
 The slope from mountain to river is gradual and 
 hardly perceptible. You are every day con- 
 scious of certain atmospheric changes and of 
 the fact that the sunshine has at length become 
 continuous. But no hills are climbed, and at 
 a casual glance your surroundings are always 
 the same. 
 
 " Nebraska is noted for the great number of 
 its sunshiny days," says the writer whom I have 
 so often quoted. "The catarrhs and rheums, 
 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 21 
 
 the neuralgia and the consumption, of the East 
 are unknown, except such cases as were con- 
 tracted elsewhere. Although in summer the 
 thermometer ranges very high, sultry heat is, 
 of course, an impossibility at such an altitude. 
 To be perfectly comfortable in the hottest 
 weather, it is necessary only to keep out of the 
 direct rays of the sun ; the nights are always 
 cool." The soil of the State is easily cultivated, 
 and is of surprising richness. It extends to a 
 great depth, and is most easily tilled. Trees are 
 fast being planted in and around every new 
 town, and irrigating canals have been dug to 
 convey the waters of the numerous " creeks," 
 or small streams, to wherever the soil needed 
 moisture. The destructive Dakota blizzard 
 sweeps down upon the open prairies at times, 
 but such visitations are rare. As a rule the 
 winters are mild and invigorating. One rarely 
 feels fatigue ; and life, to those once initiated, 
 has charms which we, perhaps, noting so care- 
 lessly, cannot appreciate nor understand. 
 
 It is an all-day's journey from Omaha to Den- 
 ver. Leaving the former city in the morning, 
 you retire at night with the consciousness that 
 all around you — to the north, south, east, and 
 
22 SHOSHONE. 
 
 west — there is only the rolHng prairie, brown, 
 far-reaching, restful to one whose eyes are tired 
 of other sights. In the morning the scene has 
 changed. Before you — a dark-blue wall cut- 
 ting its way north and south — are the Rockies, 
 the Alps of America. Their higher peaks are 
 white with snow, and glisten like pinnacles of 
 purest ice. 
 
 How beautiful they are, these mountains of 
 stupendous height, how grandly outlined, of what 
 overpowering size, only he who has looked upon 
 them from the plains can understand. They are 
 as fascinating as is, to many, the ocean. You 
 long to reach them, to be near enough to study 
 their contours, to see their ever-changing lights 
 and shadows. In the early morning they are 
 softened by a thin blue haze. They seem as 
 light as air, and one doubts if the snow patches 
 are not clouds. When first sighting the higher 
 peaks you are forty or sixty, even a hundred, 
 miles east of Denver; and yet the air is so 
 clear, the distance so deceptive, that you can- 
 not realize how far away you are from what you 
 see. Many a worn-out pioneer, trudging beside 
 his wagon with its painted sign, '' Pike's Peak or 
 Bust," has thought his journey ended when the 
 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 23 
 
 snow peaks first flashed their Hght upon him. 
 And yet I venture to say that many a hope 
 was doomed to disappointment, and that, even 
 within sight of the long-sought goal, the journey 
 of life was ended. 
 
 But for us, in our Pullman, no danger menaces. 
 As we look, the huge bulwarks grow more and 
 more clearly outlined. Lesser peaks leap into 
 view beyond the limits of the plains ; the forest- 
 crowned foothills begin to lend their bit of color- 
 ing to the scene. Soon the outlying towns of 
 Colorado's great city are crowded about us. 
 The listlessness of portions of the day before 
 departs. We have crossed the plains and are 
 on the outskirts of Denver. 
 
Chapter II. 
 
 THE CITY OF DENVER. 
 
 NO one would have dared claim for Denver, 
 a quarter of a century ago, the proud 
 position that it holds at this time. Then it was 
 a mere village, without wealth, without influence, 
 remote, and unsightly. Now it is a metropolis, 
 a centre of refinement, a place rich in itself, and 
 the admiration of all beholders. More than 
 keeping pace with the phenomenal growth of 
 a region that is still in its infancy, so far as 
 development is concerned, it has lost no oppor- 
 tunity and neglected no chance. Active, keenly 
 alive, progressive, and vigorous, it has turned to 
 its own account the fortunes of the State of 
 which it is the capital, and has secured by every 
 means in its power the reputation it to-day en- 
 joys. When the history of the far West is 
 written, and the causes of that growth and de- 
 velopment which we now applaud are analyzed, 
 it will be seen that Denver has often been the 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 2/ 
 
 power behind the throne. Her capital and her 
 people have protected new ventures, and kept 
 alive the confidence in the future of the State. 
 Through days of financial disaster, through all 
 vicissitudes, there can be found no diminution 
 of the faith that at last has been rewarded by 
 the growth of a great city in close proximity to 
 the region that as long ago as 1806 tempted the 
 valiant Pike to cross the unknown plains lying 
 beyond the muddy waters of the Missouri. 
 
 Like a romance is the story of Colorado's 
 growth, and not less so is that of the growth of 
 Denver. We miss finding in its history the 
 fanciful doings of Spanish adventurer and pious 
 padre. No fierce wars were ever waged for 
 its possession, no glittering pageants were ever 
 held in the long wide streets, with their vista of 
 mountains and plains. There was little that was 
 poetical, but much that was practical. Still the 
 story is as interesting as though there had been 
 these well-worn episodes to draw upon and to 
 magnify and render picturesque ; for the tale 
 is of how man came to a wilderness and lived 
 down all trials and all disappointments, how he 
 fought against great odds and battled with hard- 
 ships, and came out victorious. And if we are 
 
28 SHOSHONE. 
 
 not satisfied with the practical reaHties pre- 
 sented, and still desire some glitter of gold to 
 lighten the narrative, we have but to turn to 
 the mountains. In their wild fastnesses will 
 be found the foundation of all the romance we 
 wish. 
 
 It is not an easy matter to describe Denver. 
 It is so similar to other cities in many respects, 
 that one feels doubtful about the propriety or 
 the necessity of mentioning many of its promi- 
 nent features, and is in danger of forgetting that 
 what may seem only ordinary is, in reality, most 
 extraordinary. If the city were less substantial 
 in appearance, or possessed certain glaring pe- 
 culiarities, it would be much easier to describe. 
 But it so belies its age, and seems so much 
 older than it really is, that one falls to taking 
 for granted that which should be surprising. 
 Wide, shaded streets, handsome residences sur- 
 rounded by spacious grounds, noble public 
 buildings, and the many luxuries of city life 
 tempt one to forget that Denver has gained all 
 these excellences in less than twenty-five years. 
 Every tree that one sees has been planted and 
 tended ; every attractive feature is the result of 
 good judgment and careful industry. Nature 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 3 1 
 
 gave Denver the mountains which the city looks 
 out upon ; but beyond those hills and the bright 
 sky and the limitless plains, she gave nothing to 
 the place, which one has only to see to admire. 
 The site originally was a barren waste, dry and 
 hilly. Never was it green, except perchance in 
 early spring; and not a tree grew, save a few^ low 
 bushes clinging to the banks of the river. 
 
 Surrounded on the east, south, and north by 
 the prairies, and on the west by the mountains, 
 with their treasures of gold, silver, coal, iron, 
 and lead, Denver is the natural concentrator of 
 all the productions of Colorado. From it are 
 sent forth the capital, the machinery, and the 
 thousand and one other necessities of a con- 
 stantly increasing number of people engaged in 
 developing a new country. 
 
 From Capitol Hill, a rounded height formerly 
 on the eastern outskirts of Denver, but now not 
 far from its centre, is obtained the best view of 
 the city. At one's feet the contrast between 
 the present and the past is most marked. Gone 
 are the sanded gardens with their weeds; the 
 cabins of earlier days are nowhere to be found. 
 A city lies grouped around the hill. From the 
 height you can look down upon the score of 
 
32 SHOSHONE. 
 
 church steeples and the flat roofs of business 
 blocks ; and in the distance lie the plains, no 
 longer dry and brown, but dotted with farms 
 and the bright new houses of those who have 
 come to the West and accepted it as their 
 home. 
 
 Denver was born of the first Pike's Peak gold 
 excitement in 1858-59, and in i860 was a strag- 
 gling camp of log-cabins and tents. P'rom this 
 time the population of what is now Colorado 
 rapidly increased. In August, i860, there were 
 as many as sixty thousand people engaged in 
 mining, and one hundred and seventy-five 
 quartz-mills had been erected, at a cost of 
 $1,800,000. Denver during this era became 
 the acknowledged base of supplies. The camp 
 was centrally located, and was, moreover, a sta- 
 tion on the Ben Holliday route across the conti- 
 nent. When the mining excitement subsided, 
 as it had by 1865, Denver was too firmly estab- 
 lished to be materially affected by the change 
 in the fortunes of the State. Its population, 
 indeed, was considerably larger than when the 
 excitement ran highest. While many of the 
 districts failed to meet expectations, there were 
 a few that proved richer than had been antici- 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 33 
 
 pated. Among these was the Clear Creek terri- 
 tory, forty miles west of Denver. The towns, or 
 camps, in that district continued to hold their 
 own, and were the main-stay of the settlement 
 near the junction of Cherry Creek and the 
 Platte. To Central City, Black Hawk, and 
 Georgetown, Denver may be said to owe its 
 continuance during that period when the future 
 of Colorado was most uncertain. Had they 
 failed, and the mines there proved unproductive, 
 it may well be doubted if Denver could have 
 maintained its existence. 
 
 " The Queen City of the Plains," as the Den- 
 verites fondly call their much-admired city, has 
 not escaped its trials. In 1873 the financial 
 shadow in the East swept to it across the plains, 
 and in 1875 and 1876 the grasshopper plague, 
 by which all crops were destroyed, caused large 
 sums of money to be drawn from Denver to pay 
 for wheat and flour. The banks were seriously 
 cramped during this unfortunate time, and all 
 speculation ended. But the failures were un- 
 important, and the faithful only worked the 
 harder to prove that Colorado was the centre of 
 vast v/ealth. 
 
 In 1877 the cloud lifted. The harvest was 
 3 
 
34 SHOSHONE. 
 
 abundant, the export of beeves was the largest 
 ever known. More than $ 1 5 ,000,000 was added 
 to the wealth of the miners, stockmen, and farm- 
 ers. Speculation revived. Money became easy, 
 and confidence wide-spread. Capital poured 
 into the State, and there was a development of 
 industries never known before. Leadville was 
 born, and he who had a dollar to invest sought 
 Colorado securities. Railways fought for right 
 of way to mining towns, and the plains were 
 dotted with wagon trains. For nearly six years 
 the excitement continued ; and Denver, through 
 all the activity alive to her own interests, which 
 she carefully guarded and nourished, throve as 
 never before. 
 
 And then, in 1883, came the inevitable reac- 
 tion. The pulse of trade and speculation had 
 beat too rapidly. Some ventures failed, and 
 others were abandoned because of these failures. 
 The reckless suddenly became conservative. In- 
 vestors hesitated to invest. Loans were called, 
 and a depression of values followed. But con- 
 sidering the advance that had been scored, the 
 retrograde movement was immaterial. In the 
 language of the stock exchanges, it was a 
 " healthy reaction," and eventually did more 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 35 
 
 good than harm. It enabled men to rest and 
 to study the situation. 
 
 By the end of 1886 confidence slowly re- 
 turned. In that year the State again entered 
 upon a season of prosperity; and in sympathy 
 Denver's sun shone once more, and its clouds 
 were dispersed. By January, 1887, the tide 
 had perceptibly turned. The activity in com- 
 mercial circles became greater than ever. Old 
 valuations were more than re-established, and 
 the population was nearly seventy thousand. 
 It was found that the mines had produced a 
 grand total of over $26,000,000 in 1886, and 
 therefore mining received a new impetus. In 
 1885 permits for the erection of four hundred 
 and three new improvements in Denver were 
 issued by the Building Inspector; in 1886 he 
 issued seven hundred and nine permits, the 
 cost of the improvements being $2,000,661. 
 In 1885 the total valuation of the State was 
 $115,450,193.90; in 1886 it was $124,269,710.06; 
 and in 1887 amounted to $141,314,329, the 
 greatest gain being in Arapahoe County. Among 
 the banks of Denver the year 1886 showed that 
 the surplus funds and undivided profits had 
 decreased $128,945.26 as compared with 1885, 
 
36 SHOSHONE. 
 
 while the deposits had increased $2,107,633.02, 
 or twenty-three per cent. The loans and over- 
 drafts had also increased twenty-three per cent. 
 
 The welcome facts, giving assurance of prog- 
 ress, and showing a more healthy condition of 
 affairs in the various trades and mercantile in- 
 stitutions, afforded a promising outlook for the 
 new year. Nor, as it proved, were the signs 
 premature or misleading. The real-estate sales 
 for 1887 amounted to $29,345,451.82, an in- 
 crease of $18,324,242.91 over those for 1886. 
 Six churches, three school-houses, nearly nine 
 hundred dwellings, several new business blocks, 
 and thirty-five miscellaneous buildings were 
 erected. The total value of improvements in 
 the city proper was $2,971,770, and for Denver 
 and its suburbs was nearly $5,000,000. 
 
 It would be untrue to say of Denver that it 
 was " literary to the core," or that it was the 
 '* Athens of the West." So far as I know, it 
 never claimed such distinction. It is not a lit- 
 erary centre, and yet it does not want for litera- 
 ture. A lecture on " Burns " might not prove 
 so attractive as one on ''Our Mines" or "Our 
 Commerce ; " but because this is so the infer- 
 ence need not be drawn that a Denverite never 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER 
 
 37 
 
 reads, or that he does not know who Bobby 
 Burns was. The people of Denver have not yet 
 gotten over being practical. There never has 
 been a Browning craze, and Oscar Wilde was 
 caricatured in the streets. There are ripe schol- 
 ars and diligent readers in Denver, as in other 
 places of equal size. Indeed, the claim is made 
 that there are more resident college graduates 
 
 mjjtj ^\ip-(;, ']^4jji 
 
 l^'M ^'•■^-ikS-i 
 
 THE STATE CAPITOL. 
 
 than in any other city of the same number of 
 people. Therefore one may be safe in believing 
 that the literary sense is keener than would casu- 
 ally appear to be the case. And yet in the 
 
38 SHOSHONE. 
 
 sense that Boston is literary Denver is not. 
 Perhaps in the daily papers there is evidence at 
 times of a lack of careful attention to Addison. 
 But when it comes to news-gathering, let the 
 journals of the East beware. The history of the 
 world's doings is laid beside the plate of every 
 Denverite in the morning, and no question of the 
 day is too profound for the editor to discuss. 
 
 Denver has not yet become so literary as to 
 warrant the establishment of large publishing 
 houses, but there are several wholesale and re- 
 tail bookstores, and in one is a list of books as 
 large as may be found in any New York book- 
 store. This fact is not, perhaps, important in 
 itself, but as evidence of the moral and intel- 
 lectual growth of the city, it is. Denver is young 
 in years, let us remember, and is the outcome of 
 a place having little regard for things of a book- 
 ish nature. It is natural that many crudities 
 should have been buried with the pioneers, and 
 yet it is no less praiseworthy that Denver should 
 so generally have accepted the more modern 
 conditions of life. 
 
 Socially, Denver may be called a charming 
 place. The security afforded by the active en- 
 forcement of good laws has drawn together a 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 39 
 
 class of people such as is found in towns of a 
 much more prosaic origin and greater age. 
 Society, in the truest sense of the word, is cos- 
 mopolitan. There are constant arrivals and 
 departures. No titled foreigner feels he has 
 seen the " States " if he omits Denver, and our 
 own countrymen endeavor to visit the city during 
 their tour of the West. People of refinement 
 make Denver their home for a season, and often 
 adopt it for a lifetime. It is astonishing at times 
 to notice the effect of Western life upon natures 
 long accustomed to self-contemplation and es- 
 teem. It is the air of Colorado, perhaps, that 
 so often changes the Eastern man, and leads 
 him to appreciate the truth of the phrase regard- 
 ing general equality which the signers of the 
 Declaration framed. Or, if not this, then some- 
 thing else works the transformation, and gives 
 us most fortunately a whole-souled being who is 
 glad to see you when you pay him a visit, and 
 who does all in his power to render your stay 
 delightful. 
 
 It must not be imagined, however, that with 
 all the good-fellowship there is not the proper 
 amount of conservatism. One is not waylaid 
 upon the street and presented with the freedom 
 
40 SHOSHONE. 
 
 of the houses he sees. Shoddyism exists, — as 
 where does it not? — and there is a manifest 
 dehght in certain quarters to make a lavish 
 display of newly acquired wealth. But circles 
 within the circle may be found, and those with 
 the shortest diameter are the most agreeable as 
 well as the less conspicuous. Proper presenta- 
 tion means as much in Denver as it does in 
 New York or Boston. 
 
 The three great industries of Colorado — 
 mining, agriculture, and stock-raising — are 
 those from which Denver derives its chief sup- 
 port. As a mining region, Colorado has made 
 an enviable record. The total yield of the State 
 in gold and silver now exceeds $200,000,000. 
 It is estimated that one hundred thousand lodes 
 have been discovered, besides numerous placers. 
 Silver was not found until 1 870, but in 1886 the 
 yield of that metal amounted to $16,450,921. 
 Among the ores produced are gold, tellurium, 
 copper, iron, and lead. At Denver is made 
 much of the machinery used at the various 
 camps, and to its furnaces and smelters is 
 shipped a large proportion of the precious ores. 
 Shipments from the Boston and Colorado Smelt- 
 ing Works at Argo, on the outskirts of Denver, 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 41 
 
 amounted in 1887 to $3,767,685, and those 
 from the Omaha and Grant Smelter in 1886 to 
 $8,053,143. Still another smeltini^ company 
 has been formed, which uses every modern 
 appliance and improvement. These three con- 
 cerns make Denver the largest smelting point 
 outside of Leadville, and afford employment to 
 a small army of men. 
 
 As an ore market, Denver is important. For 
 1887 there were 15,806 car-loads of ore re- 
 ceived in the city. Allowing 13^ tons to each 
 car, the daily receipts amounted to 584 tons. 
 The deposits at the Mint during 1887 had a 
 value of $1,843,891.90, — a gain over 1886 of 
 twenty-eight per cent. The modern practice 
 of buying and selling ore through men known 
 as public samplers is constantly growing in 
 favor. The Denver Public Sampling-Works 
 handled and sold in 1886 over 44,000,000 
 pounds, or nearly 22,000 tons, as against 13,433 
 tons in 1885. The value of the ore sold in 1886 
 was $1,243,360.84, — an average of $56.59 per 
 ton. The ore which is received comes not only 
 from Colorado, but from New Mexico and old 
 Mexico, Montana, Arizona, Idaho, Oregon, Ne- 
 vada, and even from South America. 
 
42 SHOSHONE. 
 
 Agriculture in Colorado is comparatively in 
 its infancy. Not until later days has the indus- 
 try been given much attention. Now, however, 
 by a system of irrigation that renders long-neg^ 
 lected lands productive, it is fairly launched. 
 The area of farming land has been widely ex- 
 tended. Immense tracts of government land 
 have been put under water and cultivation. 
 Wherever it was possible on the Arkansas, Rio 
 Grande, San Juan, Dolores, Gunnison, and other 
 rivers, canals for irrigation have been projected, 
 and water taken out, to reclaim vast areas that 
 were once considered worthless. In his sur- 
 veys Professor Hayden estimated that Colorado 
 contained not less than six million acres of agri- 
 cultural land. From reports made by the Land- 
 Office in Denver up to 1885, over four million 
 acres of that amount had been taken up. In 
 1885 nearly nine hundred thousand more acres 
 were added, and in 1886 fully one million acres, 
 thus making more than the original estimate. 
 The crops for 1886 amounted to 2,100,000 bush- 
 els of wheat, 600,000 bushels of oats, 250,000 
 bushels of barley, and 175,000 bushels of corn. 
 The total value of the agricultural products does 
 not fall much below $12,000,000 annually. Seed 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 43 
 
 is purchased at the Denver markets, agricultural 
 implements are made and sold there, and the 
 cereals are returned to the local flouring mills. 
 
 The third source of Denver's revenue is from 
 cattle and sheep. The herds are raised in nearly 
 every part of the State, and millions of money 
 are invested in the industry. For 1887 the State 
 assessors estimated the number of animals and 
 their valuation as follows : — 
 
 No. Valuation. 
 
 Horses 148,027 $5,042,480 
 
 Mules 7,560 544.865 
 
 Sheep 685,725 877,913 
 
 Cattle 894.439 10,634,355 
 
 Hogs 15,833 51,573 
 
 Other animals 56,963 
 
 According to other estimates there are fully 
 1,500,000 sheep in Colorado, the wool clip from 
 which would be not less than $1,500,000. Ex- 
 act figures are hard to obtain. Cattle are be- 
 ing constantly improved by the introduction of 
 "blooded" stock. In 1886 there were 122,678 
 cattle shipped from Colorado to Eastern mar- 
 kets, as against 75,579 head shipped in 1885. 
 Denver capital is largely invested in the indus- 
 try, and the fortunes of many of her people have 
 been made in it. The city is the chief hide. 
 
44 SHOSHONE. 
 
 wool, and tallow market in the State, and sev- 
 eral of the banks are founded on capital made in 
 former years by the cattle kings. 
 
 In addition to these sources of wealth Den- 
 ver has her home commerce, foundries, street- 
 railway systems, and list of taxable property. 
 The total revenue of the city for 1886 was 
 $452,648.39, the item for taxes alone being 
 $301,362.42. The assessed valuation of Ara- 
 pahoe County, of which Denver is the seat, was 
 $11,093,520 in 1878, $38,374,920 in 1886, and 
 $47,037,574 in 1887. The rate of taxation in 
 that time had been reduced from 20.9 mills to 
 9.7. The growth of Denver's manufacturing in- 
 dustries has been rapid. For 1887 the increase 
 was between twenty and twenty-five per cent. 
 In 1885 the total value of the product of manu- 
 factures in the city was $20,293,650; in 1886, it 
 was $24,045,006, and there were 219 manufac- 
 turing establishments, employing 4,056 men, the 
 annual pay-roll being $2,100,998. As nearly as 
 can be approximated, the statistics for 1887 will 
 be as follows: number of establishments, 240; 
 number of employees, 5,000; amount of wages, 
 $3,000,000; value of product, $30,000,000. 
 
 The water supply of Denver is more than abun- 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 45 
 
 dant. In many instances water for drinking pur- 
 poses is taken from artesian wells, more than a 
 hundred of which have been bored since 1883. 
 Some are sunk to a depth of 1,125 ^^^t. The 
 first flow was struck at 350 feet, the second at 
 525, the third at 555, and the fourth at 625. 
 Six successful wells were bored in 1885, and 
 eight in 1886. Water from these wells is de- 
 liciously pure and cold, and flows from the 
 faucets with sparkling brilliancy. 
 
 For irrigation purposes water is brought by 
 a system of ditches from a source twelve miles 
 south of the city. For other uses it is taken 
 from the Platte, and forced by the Holly system 
 into every building. There are fifty miles of 
 distributing mains, and the annual supply is 
 seventeen hundred millions of gallons, — an aver- 
 age of nearly five million gallons per day. A 
 company now proposes bringing water by grav- 
 ity from Cherry Creek to a reservoir overlook- 
 ing the city, thus obviating the necessity of 
 pumping. 
 
 The material attractions of Denver have not 
 been gained at the expense of the immaterial 
 ones. The city prides itself upon its many 
 churches, schools, and public buildings. Gas 
 
46 SHOSHONE. 
 
 and electricity are both in use, and there is an 
 extended horse-railway system that connects all 
 parts of the city and reaches far into the sub- 
 urbs. As a city of churches, Denver ranks next 
 to Brooklyn. There are sixty-two, all told, — or 
 one for every twelve hundred inhabitants. A 
 new Unitarian church is being erected, which, 
 with the land it occupies, will cost $55,000; 
 the design is Romanesque. The Catholics pur- 
 pose soon to build an imposing cathedral; a 
 corporation with a stock of $50,000 has already 
 been organized for a cathedral fund. St. John's 
 Cathedral (Protestant Episcopal) is one of the 
 prominent buildings of the city; the design of 
 the crucifixion in one of the windows is said to 
 be the largest in the world. 
 
 Next to her churches, the city is proud of her 
 schools. They are numerous and ably man- 
 aged. School district No. i includes that part 
 of Denver lying east of the Platte and Cherry 
 Creek, and extends four miles down the Platte 
 and several miles eastward to the plains. It is 
 of an independent character, and was chartered 
 before the adoption of the State constitution. 
 The property has an assessed valuation of about 
 $29,000,000. A special tax levy of four and a 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 47 
 
 half mills is made for school purposes, and from 
 five thousand to eight thousand children are in 
 daily attendance. A new High-School and Li- 
 brary building is now being erected. It will 
 cost $200,000. There are fourteen schools in 
 district No. i, and one hundred and twenty 
 teachers are employed. 
 
 In West Denver are five school buildings and 
 nearly two thousand pupils. In North Denver 
 the several institutions have an enrolment of 
 about twelve hundred children. Besides the 
 public schools there are the Denver University, 
 soon to have new quarters ; Jarvis Hall, a 
 private school for boys ; St. Mary's School, 
 under the direction of the Sisters of Loretto ; 
 and Wolfe Hall, an advanced seminary for 
 young ladies. 
 
 As a railroad centre, Denver is fast becoming 
 as important as either Kansas City, or Omaha. 
 The new Union Station is one of the largest 
 and handsomest buildings in Denver. It is built 
 almost entirely of native stone, and is five hun- 
 dred and three feet long by sixty-nine feet wide. 
 The central tower is one hundred and sixty-five 
 feet high, and contains an illuminated clock. 
 Two hundred thousand pieces of baggage were 
 
48 SHOSHONE. 
 
 handled there in 1886, and the passenger busi- 
 ness was larger than ever before. 
 
 The railway communication which Denver has 
 with the different productive districts of the 
 State has been considerably extended by the 
 new Colorado Midland Road, extending from 
 Colorado Springs, seventy-five miles south of 
 Denver, to Leadville. It passes through the 
 heart of the State, and when completed beyond 
 its present terminus will enter Utah, and con- 
 nect there with the Utah Midland, — a proposed 
 new line to the Pacific. The Colorado Midland 
 now uses the newly laid track of the Atchison 
 road between Denver and Colorado Springs. 
 Eventually it will use that of the Denver, 
 Texas & Gulf, or possibly become a part of the 
 Missouri Pacific system. Still another road of 
 direct benefit to Denver is the Texas, Santa ¥6 
 & Northern. It connects the Rio Grande and 
 the Atchison at Santa Fe, New Mexico, and 
 gives Denver a nearly direct route into the 
 Southwest, — old Mexico and the cities along 
 the Gulf of Mexico and in Texas. The Fort 
 Worth and Gulf road was finished in the spring 
 of 1888. By it Denver has a broad-gauge route 
 to the Gulf 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 49 
 
 The trade of Denver for 1886, including the 
 product of her manufactories, amounted to over 
 $72,000,000. Of this sum the smelters pro- 
 duced $10,000,000. The real-estate sales, as 
 recorded, were nearly $11,000,000. Following 
 the depression of a few years ago has come no 
 " boom " or unwarranted advance. The sales 
 for 1886-87 were large, but were the result of 
 an active and legitimate demand. 
 
 The business portion of Denver is continually 
 expanding. The centre of trade in the future 
 will be near the County Court-house, and event- 
 ually surround that spacious structure. Lands 
 that a few years ago were far outside the city 
 limits are so no longer. Capitol Hill, which 
 in 1882 contained not more than one or two 
 houses, is now nearly covered with large and 
 expensive residences. Residence streets have 
 been rapidly absorbed by business interests, and 
 there is a continual growth away from the old 
 centre down by the junction of the Platte and 
 Cherry. 
 
 The streets, houses, and public buildings of 
 Denver are most attractive. Bright-red brick and 
 yellow stone are the favorite materials of con- 
 struction, and the effect of this combination gives 
 
50 
 
 SHOSHONE. 
 
 the city a peculiarly pleasing appearance. The 
 number of public buildings is still limited, but is 
 being rapidly increased. The City Hall, Tabor 
 
 
 THE OPERA HOUSE. 
 
 Opera-house, Dufif Block, County Court-house, 
 and mercantile blocks would be a credit to any 
 city. The streets are not paved, and at times are 
 uncomfortably muddy. In the residence quarter 
 
THE CITY OF DENVER. 5 1 
 
 rows of trees line each thoroughfare, and there 
 are streams of water coursing past them. In 
 many cases the houses are surrounded by lawns 
 and gardens. Especially is this true of those 
 on Capitol Hill. 
 
 Besides its County Court-house, Denver will 
 soon have the Capitol Building. It is now be- 
 ing constructed, and will cost a million of dol- 
 lars. Ground for its reception was first broken 
 on the 6th of July, 1886, and the foundations 
 for the stone-w^ork were completed the follow- 
 ing November. The Corinthian order of archi- 
 tecture has been adopted, and the stone for the 
 front walls will be from the sandstone quarries 
 of Gunnison County. Georgetown granite will 
 be used in the foundations, and other portions 
 of the building will be of stone obtained from 
 the quarries at Stout, in Laramie County. The 
 building will be severely simple, having no 
 dome or minarets, and will be three hundred 
 and eighty-three feet long and three hundred 
 and thirteen feet wide. It is to stand on Capitol 
 Hill, and overlook the entire city and its varied 
 surroundings. 
 
 The climatic advantages of Denver, like those 
 of Colorado in general, have often been de- 
 
52 SHOSHONE. 
 
 scribed, and are now tolerably familiar to all. 
 A clear, invigorating air, cool nights even in 
 midsummer, mild days in winter, with now and 
 then a season of extreme dry cold, are the chief 
 characteristics of this highly favored place. One 
 enjoying these blessings is loath to leave the 
 city. Rarely is the sky obscured. Almost to 
 a certainty one may plan for the pleasures of a 
 week ahead. For sufferers from throat and lung 
 troubles, Denver is a natural sanatorium ; and 
 now that it has every comfort of life, and has 
 become staid and conservative, it will add to 
 its population every year, and tempt to itself 
 those who no longer are able or willing to brave 
 the discomforts of older but much less-favored 
 centres. 
 
Chapter III. 
 
 CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 
 
 T)ESIDES its successful attempts to obtain 
 ^-^ control of the country lying south and 
 west, Denver was not so blind to its interests as 
 to neglect the productive territory of its north- 
 western surroundings. It is this district which 
 the Union Pacific controls. The country is the 
 first that was developed in Colorado. The old 
 placer claims there yielded fabulous sums of 
 money, and to-day the mines in and around 
 Georgetown have a yearly output that adds 
 materially to the wealth of Colorado. 
 
 No better illustration of this fact can be given, 
 perhaps, than by taking the report of the United 
 States Mint at Denver for 1886. The total op- 
 erations of that concern for the year aggregated 
 $1,500,000. Of this sum Colorado furnished 
 $1,303,807.87, the largest producing counties 
 being Boulder, with an output of $20,771.46; 
 
54 SHOSHONE. 
 
 Chaffee, $65,602.81; Clear Creek, $18,575.31; 
 and Gilpin, $686,793.15. They were famous 
 long before Leadville was thought of, and to- 
 gether form a district of vast wealth and possi- 
 bilities. The Union Pacific branches give them 
 all necessary transportation facilities, and the 
 nearness of the Denver ore market enables a 
 resident miner to dispose of his product, no 
 matter how small it may be. 
 
 The main lines of the Union Pacific system 
 are the South Park and the Colorado Central. 
 Both the roads are good examples of modern 
 engineering, and the country which they develop 
 is as interesting a bit of Colorado as you can find, 
 or would wish to see. It has no end of pictu- 
 resqueness, and is like an offspring of Switzerland, 
 being overrun with mountains and containing a 
 half score of little villages that are snugly tucked 
 away among the narrow valleys which the ranges 
 have formed. Passing a few days in this district 
 will give one the best possible idea of what Colo- 
 rado is like ; and more than this, it will enable 
 him to visit some of the best-paying mines in 
 the State, and to study the old placer-mining 
 industry, which now, alas ! is nearing the end of 
 its golden existence. 
 
HANGING ROCK, CLEAR CREEK CANON. 
 
CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 57 
 
 The best-known towns of the district are 
 Georgetown, Idaho Springs, Central City, Black 
 Hawk, Boulder, and Fort Collins. The Union 
 Pacific has extended branch lines to these sev- 
 eral centres, and good hotels have been built at 
 places most convenient to outlying regions of 
 interest, such as Middle and Estes Parks. 
 
 An hour's ride from Denver brings one within 
 the very embrace of the mountains. For the 
 first fifteen miles the country is comparatively 
 level. There is a succession of farms, each with 
 its fields of bright green alfalfa, and in the near 
 distance are the foothills, so closely packed to- 
 gether, and with the heights behind them so 
 formidable in appearance, that one questions 
 the ability of the railway to find an entrance to 
 their protected valleys. But long before one's 
 doubts are dispelled the outside world is lost to 
 view. Suddenly, almost mysteriously, the gate- 
 way is entered, and one is fast within the en- 
 chanting region. Towering high above are the 
 stupendous clifis ; near the track rushes a foam- 
 ing mountain stream. The rocks are duU-hued ; 
 the river is alive with light, and is as clear as 
 crystal. The canon echoes with the noise of 
 the on-rushing train ; and the deeper you pene- 
 
58 SHOSHONE. 
 
 trate into the heart of the range, the narrower 
 and more gloomy the httle pathway becomes. 
 
 Just beyond the deepest part of Clear Creek 
 Canon — as this winding road to the country 
 west of Denver is called — is Idaho Springs, a 
 mountain-surrounded hamlet of inviting aspect, 
 and famous for its healing waters and invigo- 
 rating air. Its elevation is seven thousand five 
 hundred feet above sea-level, and the hot springs 
 contain chemical constituents almost identical 
 with those of the celebrated Carlsbad Springs 
 of Germany. The waters range in temperature 
 from 85° to 120° Fahrenheit, and artificial heat 
 is never required. Bath-houses have been 
 erected near the town, and the village is filled 
 with seekers after health. 
 
 Perhaps the most interesting feature of the 
 town is the so-called " hot cavern." This strange 
 formation extends far into the Santa Fe Moun- 
 tain, and is filled with a vapory warmth gener- 
 ated from the waters that ooze from the flinty 
 walls of the gloomy recess. In the centre of 
 the cavern is a large pool of heated water, in 
 which one may enjoy a Turkish bath amid sur- 
 roundings that, if not palatial, are at least strange 
 and phenomenal. Consumptives and those 
 
CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 6 1 
 
 whom rheumatism has afflicted flock to Idaho 
 Springs by thousands. Many of the visitors, 
 whose aihiients have disappeared in the place, 
 are loath to leave its bracing air, and have built 
 themselves picturesque little homes that do much 
 toward making the town attractive. One note- 
 worthy house is fashioned after a castle of the 
 Rhine. Towers of stone guard its corners, and 
 there are quaint gables and narrow windows. 
 
 In the days of its early history, Idaho Springs 
 was a famous mining centre. You can still see 
 where the busy army of workers washed the 
 earth for its golden treasures, and in the moun- 
 tain sides are the tunnels that were bored when 
 the excitement was at its height. Placer mining 
 is no longer attempted to any extent ; but shafts 
 are still sunk, and the yield of ore from mines 
 near the town is not inconsiderable. 
 
 The county seat of Clear Creek County is 
 Georgetown, fifty miles west of Denver. In the 
 neighborhood of this village, which rests in the 
 very lap of high hills, are some of the deepest 
 and richest mines in Colorado. I know of no 
 place in the State where one can gain a better 
 insight into the mysteries of mining than here. 
 The people thrive on the industry, and the 
 
62 SHOSHONE. 
 
 streets are alive with miners. From the hotel 
 one can hear the noise of stamp mills, and at 
 night look up at the lights which denote the 
 location on the mountain slopes of the almost 
 countless claims. 
 
 A mile and a quarter beyond Georgetown is 
 Silver Plume, a rich mining camp which the 
 railroad has reached by means of the justly fa- 
 mous " Big Loop," — an engineering achievement 
 that illustrates the great progress made in later 
 years by the builders of our railways. In Eng- 
 land a roadbed has a nearl}' continuous level. 
 In America, and especially in the West, the 
 opposite is the rule. In 1852 the climbing capa- 
 bilities of a locomotive were first discovered. A 
 zigzag gradient often per cent — that is, ten feet 
 rise in one hundred feet long, or five hundred 
 and twenty-eight feet per mile — was made in 
 that year over a hill about two miles long. A 
 locomotive weighing twenty-eight tons on its 
 drivers took one car weighing fifteen tons over 
 this line in safety. The present average gradient 
 is four per cent. Another invention for moun- 
 tain climbing is the switch-back, b\^ which the 
 gradient is eased by running the line backward 
 and forward in a zigzag course, instead of making 
 
CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 6^, 
 
 a direct ascent. The device was first employed 
 more than forty years ago, and has been used 
 on the Atchison and Northern Pacific Roads 
 until a very recent period. 
 
 With the improvement of brakes and other 
 devices, came the development of the Loop. 
 It was first applied by the Denver and Rio 
 Grande Railroad, and later by the Saint Gothard 
 Road, the Black Forest Railways of Germany, 
 and the Semmering line in the Tyrol. The de- 
 vice, as explained by a recent authority on rail- 
 way construction, is to connect the two lines of 
 the zigzag by a curve at the point of intersection, 
 SO' that the train, instead of going alternately 
 backward and forward, now runs on continuously. 
 By aid of the " loop " it is possible for a line to 
 return above itself in spiral form, crossing the 
 lower level by either bridge or tunnel. One 
 instance of this achievement is at Tehachapi 
 Pass, on the Southern Pacific road in California, 
 and the other is on the Union Pacific between 
 Georgetown and Silver Plume. At Tehachapi 
 the line ascends 2,674 feet in twenty-five miles. 
 There are eleven tunnels and one spiral 3,800 
 feet long. At Georgetown the direct distance 
 is one and a quarter miles, and the elevation 
 
64 SHOSHONE. 
 
 six hundred feet, requiring a gradient of four 
 hundred and eighty feet per mile. By means 
 of spirals the length of road is increased to four 
 miles, and the gradient reduced to one hundred 
 and fifty feet per mile. 
 
 One need not be an expert in railway con- 
 struction, however, to enjoy the ride to Silver 
 Plume. Even those most utterly ignorant of 
 scientific principles will find much to interest 
 them. The valley is very narrow, the hills very 
 high, the air most exhilarating. Ascending, the 
 track lies coiled far below you ; and at Graymont, 
 the actual terminus, you are high above the eight 
 thousand feet level of Georgetown, and almost 
 within the shadow of Gray's Peak, that beacon- 
 like sentinel of the Rocky Mountains which stands 
 cruard over the shaded levels of Middle Park. 
 
 The Colorado Parks are isolated mountain 
 resorts of peculiar attractiveness. In winter 
 they are filled with snow, and deserted. In sum- 
 mer the grasses are green on their levels, and 
 the air is delightful. The Parks west of Denver 
 are Estes, North, Middle, and South. Together, 
 they form a region that has a beauty purely 
 natural. Game abounds in the forests, and the 
 streams are filled with trout. No railways have 
 
CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 65 
 
 dared, or cared, to enter the mountain-surrounded 
 and indescribably picturesque quarters, and the 
 only visitors are those who come to enjoy the 
 restful quiet or the abundant sport. Log-cabins 
 are the rule. In them you live, and from them 
 take your rides across the open fields to the 
 mountains and forests. Nothing is conventional 
 or prosaic. From Middle Park your view of 
 Gray's Peak is unobstructed ; and from Pastes 
 you can see the white crest of Long's, looking 
 down from its superb height of more than four- 
 teen thousand feet. So surrounded are you by 
 snowy summits that you can easily forget you are 
 in Colorado. The country is Switzerland, as full of 
 delightful surprises and as grandly fashioned. 
 
 Those who can, should give a month to the 
 Parks and to that district in which are George- 
 town and the various other settlements that the 
 railway has created. There will never, I prom- 
 ise, be an idle, listless day in all that time. If 
 fond of climbing, you can scale Long's Peak or 
 Gray's, gaining, for }'our trouble, such views as 
 can only be suggested, not described; and if 
 fond of hunting, you can enjoy the sport to 
 your heart's content. Nature's gifts, in fact, are 
 at your disposal to use how and when you will. 
 5 
 
66 SHOSHONE. 
 
 Nor need one forget to study during his month 
 of pleasuring. The country over which he 
 journeys is one of great actuaHties and many 
 possibiHties. Its mines, in many instances, are 
 older than Denver. In the valleys are some of 
 the richest agricultural districts in the State ; 
 the forests are vast and of great value. In time, 
 no doubt, the iron hand of progress and de- 
 velopment will be stretched forth from Denver, 
 and that which now seems so isolated will be 
 brought within the great circle of commercial 
 activity. Places that to-day are towns are very 
 likely to grow into cities. Even the Parks may 
 lose their quiet and become the centres of fash- 
 ionable life. The region has already yielded 
 its many millions ; it will yield as many more. 
 Development is still in its infancy. 
 
 So before the great change comes let us 
 gain an intimate acquaintance with this beautiful 
 district. The scenery will prepare us to enjoy 
 that which we shall find during our idle journey. 
 It will whet our appetite for Nature's gifts. 
 Drinking the healing waters, bathing in the 
 mountain streams, inhaling the pure, fresh air, 
 who is there that will not forget his cares? 
 At Boulder or Georgetown, one is in the im- 
 
CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINCS. 6/ 
 
 mediate neighborhood of as much wildness of 
 nature as is possible to be found in Colorado. 
 In half a day's drive from either town the forests 
 are virgin and the valleys unmolested. 
 
 The Colorado, or Front, Range, which is the 
 first to greet the traveller approaching the city 
 of Denver from the east, may easily be mistaken 
 as representing the entire Rocky Mountain sys- 
 tem. As a matter of fact, however, it is but one 
 of three parallel chains which trend nearly due 
 north and south through northwestern Colorado. 
 Behind it rise the Mosquito and Sawatch Ranges, 
 both having an altitude fully as great as that of 
 the range overlooking the eastern plains, and 
 possessing the same interesting scenic features. 
 
 Were it not for this wise subdivision the in- 
 terior districts of Colorado would be practically 
 inaccessible. As it is they are easily reached 
 by means of the valleys which lie between the 
 several ranges, and one may wander wherever 
 he pleases, either to the Parks already men- 
 tioned, or to the wilder districts surrounding the 
 westernmost chains. The slopes of the Colorado 
 Range are deeply scored by canons similar to 
 that of Clear Creek, and its streams run eastward 
 to the river Platte. In the Mosquito the western 
 
68 SHOSHONE. 
 
 flanks of the mountains are characterized by 
 broken, abrupt, nearly perpendicular walls, from 
 which open deep canons of glacial origin. On 
 the eastern slopes the forests extend from the 
 level of the valley to the line of perpetual snow. 
 The Sawatch Range, from a geologic if not from 
 a picturesque point of view, is the most interest- 
 ing of all the divisions. On its rocky slopes is 
 written the eventful history of the country it 
 dominates. It was an island once, and the vast 
 area occupied by the Mosquito Mountains and 
 the Upper Arkansas Valley was the littoral re- 
 gion of an Archaean continent. The Rocky 
 Mountain chain in this latitude consisted, in fact, 
 of a series of Archaean islands or continents, 
 which have never been entirely submerged. But 
 only on the Sawatch Range is the stor}- clearly 
 told. 
 
 The valley lying between the Mosquito and 
 Front Ranges is knowii as the South Park. It 
 is a broad, basin-like depression, and slopes 
 gently to the southward. Its elevation is eight 
 thousand to ten thousand feet above sea-level, 
 and there are many picturesque effects to be 
 enjoyed. West of South Park is the Arkansas 
 River Valley, less than sixteen miles wide, but 
 
CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 69 
 
 nearly sixty miles long. At its upper end, 
 occupying an elevated site on the Mosquito 
 Range, is the city of Leadville, and farther 
 down the valley is the narrow gateway known 
 as the Royal Gorge, or Grand Canon of the 
 Arkansas. In the ant^e-railroad days the valley 
 was an isolated region shut in by mountains on 
 every side, and with only narrow trails as outlets 
 to the country round about. To-day it is a pop- 
 ulous district, famous for its natural beauty, for 
 its vast mineral wealth, and as the site of the 
 largest young mining city in the world. 
 
 One of the branches of the Union Pacific 
 system extends through the South Park and 
 Platte River Canon to Breckenridge and Lead- 
 ville, and over the Alpine Pass to the Gunnison 
 country, — a Pennsylvania-like region of coal, 
 wood, iron, and other natural products. Lead- 
 ville has lost none of its interest since the days 
 when it was famous throughout the world. It 
 is still the largest mining camp in Colorado, 
 and its yield of ore is fabulously great. Its in- 
 dustries are on so large a scale that one may 
 derive much profit, and even pleasure, in study- 
 ing them. Great as the production has been, it 
 promises to be still greater; and while the work 
 
yo SHOSHONE. 
 
 of development is continued the city itself is 
 busy grappling with the many difficulties arising 
 from a growth so sudden as its own, and is 
 gradually bringing order out of chaos. Many 
 of the early crudities still remain, but much has 
 been done to better the appearance of a place 
 whose rise was almost as sudden as a thought. 
 The immediate surroundings of the place, how- 
 ever, are unsightly. The hills have Jost their 
 forests and arc covered with smoky furnaces, 
 and the outlook is upon a field shorn of what- 
 ever beauty it may once have had. 
 
 Not so, however, is the scenery through South 
 Park or over the Alpine Pass. There Nature 
 again asserts herself. Mountains are everywhere, 
 — crowded together in the distance and lifting 
 their crov/ned heads far above where you stand. 
 Except in the South American Andes, the 
 Alpine Pass is the highest railroad point ever 
 attained. It is 11,623 feet above the level of 
 the sea. At one end of the tunnel you are on 
 the Atlantic slope ; at the other you are on the 
 Pacific. Two years were spent in boring this 
 narrow passage-way through the mountain, Op 
 erations were carried on from both ends, and all 
 tools and the California redwood linings were 
 
CLEAR CREEK AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 7 1 
 
 brought up the steep slopes over trails that 
 never before had been used except by the wild 
 sheep oT the elevated region. 
 
 The best views are those just beyond the tun- 
 nel, where the train, leaving the gloomy depths, 
 passes out upon a narrow shelf of rock blasted 
 along the perpendicular mountain-side. Timber 
 line is far below ; around you lie banks of never- 
 melting snow. In the far distance are the 
 whitened peaks of the Gunnison country; in the 
 east rise the bluish tops of the mountains over- 
 looking Denver. From your elevated point of 
 lookout the rivers are mere shining threads, and 
 the valleys are but tiny patches of green or 
 brown. 
 
 The more one sees of Colorado, and the more 
 intimately its varied attractions are known, the 
 greater becomes his admiration for the Rocky 
 Mountain State. You cannot dull its charm. 
 The air and the light tempt one to those re- 
 mote fastnesses where stand the grand creations 
 of a master hand. The colorings are beauti- 
 ful : the rocks red and yellow, the forests green, 
 the grasses brown. Wandering at will through 
 the valleys, you gain a bodily strength that 
 gives you resolution to climb the highest peaks 
 
72 SHOSHONE. 
 
 and take the longest rides. Life, by degrees, 
 becomes ideal : you are newly created. 
 
 I shall leave to the local guide-books the 
 more specific instructions as to how one may 
 reach the scenes I have here so lightly touched 
 upon. Those best acquainted with the field will 
 understand how much one must leave unsaid 
 who attempts in a single chapter to tell of all 
 there is to see. At the most, I can but suggest, 
 and must leave to others that minute description 
 which should be given a region so worthy of 
 one's praise. Our few days of idle pleasure 
 have flown like the wind ; and now, afar off, are 
 tempting beauties that bid us say adieu to Den- 
 ver and farewell to the snowy mounds that watch 
 that city of the Western plains. 
 
Chapter IV. 
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF FHvE'S PEAK. 
 
 N EARING the State of Colorado, one might 
 easily imagine that it would be a very 
 simple matter to get directly into the shadow 
 of Pike's Peak, which is seen rising high, white, 
 and solitary above all its fellows. But the 
 mountain that Lieutenant Pike named during 
 his early travels in the then distant West is a 
 landmark as deceptive as it is alluring. Though 
 it appears very near the foothills, which are fre- 
 quently visited and very accessible, it in reality 
 keeps well away from them, and fortifies itself 
 with a group of mountains, like the giant that 
 it is. Even when one reaches Colorado Springs 
 and gazes at the tall white shoulder, rising above 
 the deep blue and purple hills around it, there 
 are fifteen miles of space intervening, although 
 one would take oath that the peak is not over 
 a mile away. The clearness of the Colorado 
 atmosphere is one cause of the optical delusion. 
 
74 SHOSHONE. 
 
 and the other is in the mountain itself. It is so 
 big and massive, high and white, that it always 
 seems near one, even when a hundred miles 
 away ; and the " fifty-niners," toiling slowly 
 across the plains on their way to the new El 
 Dorado, thought every day that on the next 
 they would reach the Peak and make their 
 camp at its base. 
 
 So, when the word *' shadow" is used, it must 
 be taken with limitations. One may think him- 
 self in the shade of the natural beacon, but 
 probably he will not be. Colorado Springs and 
 Manitou are generally said to be in the shadow 
 of Pike's Peak; and I have adopted the local 
 phrase, though the real shadow is several miles 
 away. And yet, if one does not mind a hard 
 ride and a rough camp and a few hardships, 
 he may rest for a day or so in the real shadow, 
 or climb to the top of the Peak itself, and from 
 it look down upon a good portion of Colo- 
 rado, with its ranges and valleys and vast plains 
 stretching far away, even as do the waters of. a 
 mighty ocean. And if any one will come with 
 me, afoot and horseback, into the mysterious 
 regions of the Rockies, I can promise him many 
 a day of enjoyment and as varied a selection of 
 
WW 
 
IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S PEAK. J"] 
 
 views and experiences as he could ^^^ct in the 
 Alps or in the Apennines. And we sliall never 
 lose sif^ht of Pike's Peak in all our wanderings, 
 nor get far away from its shadow. 
 
 Had one looked for Colorado Springs or 
 Manitou in 1871, he would not have found 
 them. The site of both w^as a desert. Where 
 the one now stands was a rolling prairie, and 
 where the other is were a few sulphur and 
 soda springs, with now and then an Indian 
 camp-fire lighting up a group of swarthy faces. 
 But to-day Colorado Springs is a city of seven 
 thousand people; and Manitou, while not so 
 large, has a resident population of at least five 
 hundred, and a floating population of several 
 thousands. During the summer months the 
 little mountain hamlet is overrun with visitors, 
 and the scenes are as animated as those at Sara- 
 toga or Newport. Many visit the place propos- 
 ing to stay a week, and remain a month ; while 
 those who come for a month often stay six, or 
 a year. The attractions of Manitou are, first, 
 its climate, and secondly, its situation. Pictu- 
 resquely tucked away at the very base of Pike's 
 Peak, it looks eastward, through a gap in the 
 foothills, over a vast stretch of plains, brown 
 
78 SHOSHONE. 
 
 and rolling, and dotted with sun-patches as the 
 light is broken by passing clouds. 
 
 In order that we may know a little better 
 where we are, stand with me on the summit of 
 Pike's Peak. It has been a long, hard climb, 
 but what of that? We have toiled through dense 
 forests, crawled along the edge of dark ravines, 
 tumbled over lava-strewn fields. But after all 
 the hardships, are we not repaid now, when 
 we look abroad far down upon the country at 
 our feet? Who minds the past exertion? One 
 may complain while climbing a mountain; but 
 when he stands upon the summit, with a clear 
 sky above him, the air intoxicating with its 
 purity, he ceases lamentations, and is mute and 
 enraptured. 
 
 For how broad the prospect, and how grandly 
 beautiful ! There, toward the east, are the 
 plains, stretching to the horizon, touching the 
 Missouri. Westward are mountains, tossed to- 
 gether in wild confusion. At our feet is Man- 
 itou, its houses dwarfed, the stream near by 
 a noiseless thread. Near at hand is Colorado 
 Springs, looking no larger than one's hand, — a 
 toy village, a mere speck upon the plains. We 
 can see Denver, eighty miles away, and Pueblo, 
 
IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S PEAK. 79 
 
 forty, and Lcadvillc, a hundred. Colorado is 
 unmasked. Companion peaks to this of Pike's 
 Hft their whitened heads far above the Rocky 
 Range; dense masses of cloud cover some of 
 the neighboring hills, or lie packed in deep 
 gorges. A chill, sharp air blows upon us, while 
 the sunlight scorches our faces. We are nearly 
 fifteen thousand feet above the level of the sea. 
 To the towns below, the distance is seven thou- 
 sand feet. Every hour the colorings change. 
 We are above the clouds. Nature is wild, but 
 yet harmonious. Bare, sharp ledges reach to- 
 ward us from the trees below; gaunt, basaltic 
 rocks are piled about us. At our side mighty 
 rivers have their source in tiny springs born of 
 melting snow; in the distance we can see the 
 streams winding through deep and narrow 
 canons. There is the Ute Pass trail, lead- 
 ing from Manitou up and into the mountains; 
 here other paths, extending to secluded nooks, 
 open invitingly before us. Noticing the shaded 
 fastnesses scattered among the hills, we grow 
 anxious to visit them. They are tempting bits 
 of nature. Many are as wild' to-day in their 
 surroundings as when their only visitors were 
 the Indians. Civilization has crept to the base 
 
8o SHOSHONE. 
 
 of tlic Rocky Mountains in Colorado, but onl)- 
 in places has it found entrance into the heart of 
 the range. 
 
 Colorado Springs is seventy-five miles south 
 of Denver. Five miles west of it, nearer the 
 mountains, is Manitou. Strangely enough, the 
 medicinal springs are at Manitou, and Colorado 
 Springs, being a strictly temperance town, is 
 obliged to look to Manitou for even the water 
 which the people drink. The town was founded 
 as a colony in 1871, and has enjoyed an almost 
 uninterrupted prosperity. It has had its seasons 
 of dulness, but as a rule has steadily gained in 
 size and population, and is now one of the pop- 
 ular resorts of the West. Being so easy of 
 access the town is a convenient stopping-place 
 for all transcontinental travellers, and is on the 
 direct road to Salt Lake. Coming down from 
 Denver, one follows the irregular contour of the 
 Rockies, and has at all times a view of their 
 brightly colored monuments of sandstone and 
 of the canons that open upon the plains. 
 
 The *' Springs," as Colorado's model town is 
 familiarly called, is attractive to look at, and its 
 varied charms render one's life there a pro- 
 longed season of rest and pleasure. While not 
 
IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S PEAK. 8 1 
 
 the less enjoyable as a summer residence, it is 
 emphatically a winter resort, and as such is 
 chiefly celebrated. Protected by the mountains 
 from chilly western and northern winds, the 
 weather is rarely cold, and the fall of snow is 
 light. Clear, sunshiny days are the rule and 
 not the exception. For weeks at a time the sky 
 is cloudless and the sunshine bright and warm. 
 The elevation is nearly six thousand feet, and 
 the air, in consequence, is dry and bracing. 
 Many have visited Colorado Springs worn out 
 with the battle against consumption, and have 
 lived for years to enjoy the out-of-door life 
 which the place affords. 
 
 One lives, in fact, in the open air. There are 
 picnics in mid-winter in the secluded canons 
 near by, and horses are cheap, so that all can 
 afford to ride. The fashion of the day is to dress 
 as one pleases, to ride and walk and lounge. 
 The existence, indeed, is somewhat demoraliz- 
 ing to a well man : he cannot work, seeing so 
 many idle ; and if he does, it is by fits and 
 starts. There is much that one may do for 
 amusement. There are the long canters over 
 the plains, brown in winter and brilliant with 
 wild-flowers in the spring; the tramps to Chey- 
 6 
 
82 SHOSHONE. 
 
 enne Canon, a high-walled gorge made noisy by 
 a brightly flowing stream that falls into the canon 
 from the edge of a high, black ledge; the visits 
 to ManitoLi, full of life and gayety; the long 
 rides into the Parks nestled among the moun- 
 tains. Nature is ever enticing, and day by day 
 the town is held in higher regard. 
 
 At first there is a feeling that the vastness 
 and dryness of the surrounding country can 
 never be agreeable. The plains seem ever in 
 need of water; the mountains are rocky, and 
 one longs to remould them into hills of living 
 green ; the canons have high ledges of red and 
 yellow stone, that one has an itching palm to 
 soften. But soon all desire to change the 
 existing order of things passes away. One 
 gazes upon what is and is satisfied. It is use- 
 less to attempt an analysis of the cause that 
 forces one to so love these creations of Nature. 
 The prosaic and the brilliant visitor are alike 
 affected : men who before never noticed the 
 coloring of a mountain or a ledge or a rock, 
 begin to observe and speak of it when in Colo- 
 rado Springs. The hues are heightened in effect 
 by the clearness of the air and the brilliancy of 
 the sky. When the sunlight first touches the 
 
IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S PEAK. 83 
 
 top of Pike's Peak early in the morning, the 
 snow-banks there sparkle Hke blocks of marble 
 held in granite ledges, and the foothills, bare 
 here and tree-grown there, are bold and hard 
 and rugged. 
 
 But after midday, when the sun begins to 
 sink behind the range, all the mountains grow 
 softly outlined. Where the canons are, the 
 shadows are deep and dark ; while the rounded 
 shoulders of the hills are a rich, warm blue. 
 Many a weary eye has gazed at the Rocky 
 Mountains from the little town beneath the 
 shadow of the Peak, watching the ever-changing 
 colors there, wondering when the soul, freed 
 from its weary body, would climb the steep 
 slopes and escape, over the mighty wall, into 
 that '' other world ;" and many a lover, too, rid- 
 ing slowly over the plains toward the towering 
 fronts bathed in the liquid rays of sunset, has 
 felt the magic charm of their beauty, and has 
 wooed the stronger for the heart of the fair one 
 riding silently at his side. The mountains that 
 guard Colorado Springs have much to answer 
 for. They have driven many hearts to flutter- 
 ing, have opened many a pair of lips that never 
 would have dared to speak. A girl should 
 
84 
 
 SHOSHONE. 
 
 never believe the story of devotion her Romeo 
 tells in Colorado. His mind is affected by 
 
 ^M 
 
 THE ANTLERS. 
 
 the beauty of nature, 
 and every object, includ- 
 ing Juliet by his side, 
 
 ; ^ is glorified and made 
 
 perfect. 
 Of late years Colorado Springs has lost much 
 
 of its olden ease and primitiveness, and has 
 
IN THE SHADOW OF PHvE'S PEAK. 85 
 
 grown more fashionable. The new houses have 
 too strong a suggestiveness of the Newport villas 
 to be altogether pleasing to those who knew the 
 " Springs " -in early days, when a stone house 
 was something unknown. It must be said, how- 
 ever, that they add much to the attractiveness 
 of the place. From the rear balconies of these 
 new abodes the mountains are seen marshalled 
 in full view, and the Peak looms grandly above 
 all its fellows. I doubt if a better or more 
 extended prospect could be desired by any 
 lover of natural scenery; and surely no street 
 is so fortunate as this Cascade Avenue of the 
 " Springs." 
 
 Of course the ** Springs " has its hotels, and 
 fortunately one of the many is an excellent 
 tavern. Everybody knows the " Antlers." It 
 was built half-a-dozen years ago by private sub- 
 scription, and has always enjoyed a liberal pat- 
 ronage. Its rear faces the mountains, and north 
 of it are the new houses. 
 
 Manitou, neighbor of the " Springs," and its 
 " right bower," — if I may be so disrespectful as 
 to designate the self-conscious little town other- 
 wise than in the stereotyped phrases usually 
 employed, — is very quaint, very far from pic- 
 
86 SHOSHONE. 
 
 turesque in itself, and very original as a Western 
 Saratoga. It clusters at and around a group of 
 highly medicinal springs, which the Indians of 
 Colorado were wont to visit whenever they felt 
 the need of tonics, and has grown from a collec- 
 tion of a few log-cabins to its present respectable 
 size. Leaving the "Springs" by train, one is 
 instantly aware of being conducted to a most 
 remarkable place. The little engine, hauling 
 its train of narrow-gauge cars, fairly hisses with 
 impatience. Even the conductor is concerned, 
 and is alert to impress upon you the importance 
 of what you are soon to see. 
 
 As the distance is less than five miles the 
 journey soon ends; and Manitou, the great, 
 stands ready to give you greeting. It lies in a 
 little valley formed by the foothills, and is at 
 the very base of Pike's Peak, whose luminous 
 top may be seen outlined against the blue sky 
 above. Not far beyond the station the hills are 
 so crowded into the valley as to give the im- 
 pression that none can leave the town in that 
 direction, and eastward are other hills. Alto- 
 gether, you feel much shut off from the outside 
 world. This, indeed, is what you are expected 
 to feel while at Manitou. One must never dare 
 
IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S TEAK. 8/ 
 
 think of another place while there; it would 
 mortally offend the people if he did. The town 
 is rather unattractive, as I have mentioned. The 
 houses are planted at random on the hill-sides 
 and on either bank of the stream flowing down 
 the valley ; and the hotels are window-studded 
 monstrosities that do not make the slightest at- 
 tempt at conformity with their surroundings. 
 On our arrival the station platform was covered 
 with hotel porters, excited, of course, and mak- 
 ing one deaf with their cries ; and near by were 
 open carriages into which we entered, and were 
 driven rapidly up the one main street of the 
 town to the hotel we had chosen. It was all 
 very like Saratoga, or Nice, or Napa, or Santa 
 Barbara; and the number of darkies constantly 
 suggested sleepy St. Augustine or sandy Jack- 
 sonville, in Florida. 
 
 If the local guide-books may be trusted, one 
 has but to visit Manitou to gain eternal life. 
 The air, one can truly say, is delicious. To 
 many the waters are delicious, too. Not being 
 ill I have always refrained from tasting them. 
 The local belief is that they will cure such slight 
 annoyances as blood-poisoning, rheumatism, dia- 
 betes, and derangements of the liven I have no 
 
88 
 
 SHOSHONE. 
 
 doubt they will, if indeed there is efficacy in any 
 natural waters. Famous chemists have tested 
 
 A SPRING HOUSE. 
 
 these at Manitou, and, for a consideration, have 
 pronounced them equal to any of the European 
 
IN THE SHADOW OF PHvE'S PEAK. 89 
 
 springs. Visitors gather at the fountains and 
 copiously imbibe, evidently sure that quantity, 
 if not quality, will gain for them the desired 
 relief. The fact that the Utes were believers in 
 the Manitou waters is to me their strongest rec- 
 ommendation. An Indian is not easily imposed 
 upon, and the public is. Not that I think the 
 public has been imposed upon at Manitou. Too 
 many cures have been effected to leave much 
 doubt regarding the curative properties of the 
 springs. They are wonderful ; and, better yet, 
 they are abundant. And Manitou, having them, 
 is doubly blessed ; for with them she has her 
 climate and her surroundings, which, once enjoy- 
 ing, one never forgets. 
 
 To recall Manitou and not the " Garden of the 
 Gods " is impossible. The two are inseparably 
 connected in one's thoughts. ** H. H.," whose 
 home was once at Colorado Springs, and whose 
 grave is on Cheyenne Mountain, called the Gar- 
 den a '' symphony in yellow and red." The 
 place is a fantastic creation. It lies between 
 the Springs and Manitou, and is a hill-guarded 
 retreat crowded with strangely fashioned rocks 
 of red, gray, and yellow sandstone. The gate- 
 way to the Garden is formed by two sharp- 
 
90 SHOSHONE. 
 
 edged ledges rising abruptly from the ground 
 and approaching each other like the prows of 
 gigantic ships. They are of bright-red sand- 
 stone, much worn by time and weather. Between 
 them runs the roadway. One of the cliffs is 
 three hundred feet high, and the other slightly 
 more than this. 
 
 A short distance from the gateway, looking 
 through w^hich one sees into the Garden and 
 beyond it to Pike's Peak, is another ledge ris- 
 ing like a slab of stone from the ground, whose 
 color is a brilliant yellow. The contrast be- 
 tween the red and yellow is odd and striking, 
 yet prepares one in a measure for the scenes 
 beyond. Passing the gate one is in the Garden. 
 Westward, at the end of a circular enclosure 
 sloping gradually into the valley leading to 
 Manitou, are the mountains, blue now in the 
 distance and guarded by Pike's Peak, while all 
 around are red and yellow masses of rock, scat- 
 tered about in wild confusion and carved by 
 Nature into strange, weird shapes. Here a pillar 
 of red sandstone strongly resembles a headless 
 giant ; here a yellow pinnacle bears the likeness 
 of a man with his hat set jauntily on one side, 
 and his nose of huge proportions. There are 
 
IN THE SHADOW OF PIKE'S PEAK. 9 1 
 
 pulpits and castles, domes and animals, while 
 the colorings are as varied as the figures. By 
 moonlight the place is doubly weird, and yet is 
 strangely fascinating. In the uncertain light of 
 night every object is softened ; but yet the fig- 
 ures are more real, and one seems lingering in a 
 garden filled with departed heroes of gigantic 
 frame. 
 
 The popular recreation at Manitou is riding. 
 Many ride who evidently never rode before. It 
 is not a question where one shall go ; it is rather 
 how he shall find time to see all there is to see. 
 There are the passes leading into the range and 
 through the forests; Glen Eyrie, the romantic 
 nook w^here General Palmer has built his castle- 
 like house ; Crystal Park, set in a verdant ravine 
 among the foothills ; and Ute Pass, the old-time 
 path by which the Indians came down to the 
 valley from their mountain home. In early 
 spring the air of the Pass is heavy with the per- 
 fume of myriads of wild-flowers, while at all 
 times the pines send forth a delightful fragrance. 
 The trail to Crystal Park is steeper than the Pass, 
 and is not wide enough for carriages. In places, 
 indeed, there is barely width enough for a single 
 horse to pick his way. Climbing higher every 
 
92 SHOSHONE. 
 
 minute, the way at last leads out of the forests 
 to where patches of snow lie among ledges of 
 rock, and past the brink of deep valleys, far 
 down in the bottom of which rush angry streams. 
 And when the Park is reached at last, one finds 
 cool shade, and there is an extended prospect of 
 the plains. 
 
 But did I not say so? Here we have been 
 wandering about the base of Pike's Peak, seem- 
 ingly ever near the great white cone, and still 
 not once within its shadow. And are w^e never 
 to get there? Well, possibly. We can, if we 
 wish; but the way is long, the path is rough. 
 But if hardship is not feared, let us go. Riding 
 out of Manitou past the Iron Spring, our course 
 leads at once into the midst of a thick forest. 
 The path we follow winds in serpentine course 
 among the tall trees and by the side of moun- 
 tain streams. Onward we go, and ever upward, 
 and at last are out of the forests and picking 
 our way over a barren waste, above which rises 
 the Peak. Now we are in the shadow of the 
 monarch ; now we can see how deep the gorges 
 are that run down from the summit, and how 
 deep the snows are that glitter so brightly in 
 the strong sunlight. How alone we are ! From 
 
IN THE SHADOW OF PHvE'S PEAK. 
 
 93 
 
 where we stand the silence is unbroken save by 
 the whistHng of the sharp winds as they howl 
 
 ON THE ROAD TO PIKE'S PEAK. 
 
 about us. In ages past some terrible earthquake 
 has heaved the rocks into the confusion now 
 
94 SHOSHONE. 
 
 existing. There could not be greater disorder. 
 The granite bowlders are tossed into every con- 
 ceivable position, while here and there are deep 
 gulfs into which we dare not look. As we move 
 along toward the summit of the Peak the sun 
 scorches our faces, but the wind is cold and 
 biting. The progress is slow and tedious ; but 
 our ponies are well trained and careful, knowing 
 as well as we do where a misstep would send 
 them. 
 
 But at last, crossing the lava-strewn hills gath- 
 ered around Pike's Peak, we cross the snow 
 region and gain the summit. We have been in 
 the shadow, and now have escaped from it and 
 look down upon it. From where we stand we 
 can see the black shadow of the Peak creep- 
 ing slowly but surely over the surrounding foot- 
 hills, over the forests, over the bare rough 
 ledges. But before it reaches Manitou down 
 there in its narrow valley, the night has come 
 upon us, the air grows cold even in mid-August, 
 the stars shine like diamonds in the clear 
 heavens, and the shadow of Pike's Peak is seen 
 no more. 
 
Chapter V. 
 
 THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 
 
 IT is literally through the heart of Colorado 
 that one is led who patronizes the Rio 
 Grande Road between Denver and Salt Lake 
 City. The line is a most remarkable one, in 
 many respects, and in its early days was sur- 
 prisingly active and ambitious. When Leadville 
 was discovered and became the objective point 
 of Colorado Roads, it waged a fierce war with 
 the Atchison for the right to run through the 
 Grand Canon of the Arkansas, and gained its 
 end. Then, in after-years, it rapidly formed a 
 net-work of lines over the most promising sec- 
 tions of the State, and at last pushed westward 
 across the mountains to the valleys of Utah. 
 
 To-day the Rio Grande is one of the great 
 transcontinental routes, and because of its attrac- 
 tive scenery is in great favor among all trav- 
 ellers in the middle West. What one may see 
 in going from Denver or Colorado Springs 
 
96 SHOSHONE. 
 
 to Salt Lake City would take a volume to de- 
 scribe. On no other road in the country is there 
 to be found so much of scenic interest. The 
 road cuts its way through deep, gloomy canons, 
 climbs high mountains, winds through narrow 
 valleys, reaches seemingly impossible heights, 
 and in the end follows the peaceful Jordan River 
 to the city of Mormon faith. 
 
 From Colorado Springs the course of the Rio 
 Grande is due south along the face of the Rock- 
 ies, to Pueblo, a busy city of recent growth 
 and more important as a commercial centre 
 than it is attractive to the eye. From here the 
 line is westward, and keeping within sight of the 
 Arkansas River plunges at last into the Grand 
 Canon, through which the turbulent mountain 
 stream cuts its way. You cannot well describe 
 this Royal Gorge, as the canon is called in the 
 guide-books of the road ; for in reality it is in- 
 describable. You may not appreciate its gran- 
 deur, its awful sublimity, at first. Very likely 
 you will not. Acquaintance renders it more and 
 more impressive ; at first it does not seem so 
 remarkable as it really is. 
 
 As a fact, however, the narrow, twisting defile, 
 hemmed in by abruptly rising cliffs of solid. 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 97 
 
 dark-colored rock, is the deepest and naturally 
 most impassable canon which any railway in 
 the world has ever attempted to penetrate. It 
 varies from one thousand to two thousand five 
 hundred feet in depth, and even now, after many 
 obstructions have been removed, has barely 
 width enough for the passage of the river and 
 train. Formerly it was absolutely impassable 
 except one, at times, took to the river. But 
 when it was decided that Leadville must be 
 reached man set about the work of widening the 
 narrow places and removing the obstructing 
 ledges. Daring workmen lowered themselves 
 into the pass from the cliffs above, placed their 
 explosives, and then, with scarcely time to get 
 away, waited for the moment to come when the 
 rocks would be shattered. The road through 
 the gorge was built, and when finished was the 
 marvel of the age, and the admiration of en- 
 gineers ; for it extends into the very depths. 
 Its pathway is often sunless, forever wrapped in 
 gloom. The cliffs shut out the light of day, and 
 the loud rumble of the river, lashed into foam, 
 fills the place and echoes from wall to wall. 
 The gorge is like an entrance to some infernal 
 region, — full of Rembrandt shadows, treeless, 
 7 
 
98 SHOSHONE. 
 
 harsh, and wild. High above you see the deep- 
 bhie Colorado sky; at your side is the river; on 
 either hand the cliffs, high, unbroken, the sum- 
 mits capped with pinnacles, the lower walls 
 smooth and bathed with the gleaming damp- 
 ness of hidden springs. 
 
 For an hour or more the road runs through 
 this strange, weird chasm, this uncanny channel 
 deep-set among the hills of the Rocky Moun- 
 tains. Then, leaving the place as suddenly as 
 it was entered, a wider valley is reached. You 
 are well up among the mountains, and after your 
 detour southward are nearly due west of Den- 
 ver and well on the way to Salt Lake. In the 
 distance are passing visions of mountains; 
 some snow-capped, others with brown slopes 
 and forest-crowned tops. Valleys are every- 
 where, and of varying width and length. Fol- 
 lowing one there are glimpses of others. In 
 some are cattle, feeding; in others flat-roofed 
 cabins or diminutive settlements. The air is 
 delicious, cooled as it is by the snow on the 
 mountains and rarefied by the elevation you 
 have attained. 
 
 At Salida, not far beyond the Grand Canon, 
 the Rio Grande branches, one line extending to 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 99 
 
 Leadville and the other passing westward .beyond 
 Poncho Springs toward Marshall Pass, — still 
 another of those scenic features which give the 
 road its well-deserved reputation. As you ad- 
 vance, the busy puffing of the two engines tells 
 the story of the high grades they are working to 
 overcome. The path is narrow, the surround- 
 ing mountains are high, and at last, defying, so 
 you say, all further progress, rises a vast mound 
 which is eleven thousand feet high. 
 
 Now for hours comes the tug of war. The 
 road lies in coils on the mountain-side, track 
 above track, and the grade so steep that the 
 nervous are afraid. Half-way to the top the 
 prospect broadens. Far away, their peaks ex- 
 tending southward to the San Luis Valley, are 
 the Sangre de Christo Mountains, their whiteness 
 outlined in bold relief against the background of 
 wooded hills. Then follow other curves and still 
 steeper grades, and at last the summit is reached. 
 You are on a water-shed of the country. On 
 the one hand is the Atlantic, on the other the 
 Pacific slope. Patches of winter snow lie in 
 the crevices among the dark, basaltic rocks ; 
 the trees are bent by fierce winds ; the height is 
 as weird and uncanny as that of the Brocken. 
 
lOO SHOSHONE. 
 
 West of Marshall Pass is the Gunnison coun- 
 try. Looking down upon it you can count its 
 hills and valleys, and can trace the course of 
 Tomichi Creek, which, born at your side, flows 
 down the mountain-side through the forests and 
 thence into and along the valley that, later on, 
 you yourself pursue on your fascinating journey. 
 It is very extended, this prospect which Marshall 
 Pass commands. You are above the world of 
 man ; below you are mountain-tops and dense 
 forests. The view is very beautiful, all fair and 
 natural. No towns are to be seen. The forests 
 are green on the hill-sides and in the valleys. 
 
 Gunnison City, the metropolis of the county 
 whose name it bears, stands in the centre of a 
 vast circular basin surrounded by hills, which in 
 turn are guarded by mountains. To the north 
 of the city is Crested Butte, famous for its coal 
 deposits ; and beyond it are the mining districts 
 of Ruby and Irwin. If you have time, give a 
 week or more to the several camps of these dis- 
 tricts. You will be well repaid. There is a 
 railroad to Crested Butte, but beyond there you 
 travel by stage or on horseback, the roads lead- 
 ing over the mountains to a region full of inter- 
 est. If of a practical nature, you will study the 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 10 1- 
 
 mines and the work of mining. If not practical, 
 — if a sportsman or a naturalist, — you will find 
 infinite amusement, unlimited opportunities for 
 enjoying quiet forests and fast-flowing streams 
 and views of mountains piled together in inde- 
 scribable confusion. Does a ride of ten miles 
 tire you now? Is your vitality exhausted? If 
 so, remain a month in the Ruby or Irwin dis- 
 tricts, and you will not know you ever were so. 
 The air is a tonic ; the scenery an inspiration. 
 You can fish and hunt and live out of doors to 
 your heart's content. Nothing is conventional; 
 all is novel. 
 
 Beyond Gunnison the railway traverses the 
 valley of the same name, closely following the 
 Gunnison River and encountering nothing but 
 meadows and low, grayish cliffs. Soon, how- 
 ever, the channel of the river becomes narrower. 
 The cliffs are higher and steeper, the vegetation 
 is less abundant, and suddenly the sunlight is 
 cut off by broken summits, and the Black Canon 
 of the Gunnison holds one in its grim embrace. 
 It is grander and often deeper than the Royal 
 Gorge. It is thrice as long, but has more ver- 
 dure; and although the walls are dark-hued 
 enough to give the place its name, still they are 
 
I02 SHOSHONE. 
 
 of red sandstone in many places, and from their 
 crevices and on their tops shrubs, cedars, and 
 pinons grow in rich abundance. The river has 
 a deep sea-green color, and is followed to 
 Cimarron Creek, up which the road continues, 
 still through rocky depths, to open country 
 beyond. 
 
 The Black Canon never tires, never becomes 
 commonplace. Here a waterfall starts from a 
 dizzy height, is dashed into fragments by lower 
 terraces, and, tossed by the winds, reaches the 
 river in fine white spray ; there another cataract 
 leaps clear of the walls, and thunders unbroken 
 upon the ground beside us. In the cliffs are 
 smaller streams, which trickle down and are lost 
 in the river below. At times the canon narrows, 
 and is full of sharp curves, but again has long, 
 wide stretches, which enable one to study the 
 steep crags that tower heavenward two or three 
 thousand feet. Currecanti Needle, the most 
 abrupt and isolated of these pinnacles, has all 
 the grace and symmetry of a Cleopatra obelisk. 
 It is red-hued from point to base, and stands 
 like a grim sentinel, watchful of the canon's soli- 
 tudes. At the junction of the Gunnison and the 
 Cimarron a bridge spans the gorge, from which 
 
CURRECANTI NEEDLE, BLACK CANON. 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 105 
 
 the beauties of the canon are seen at their best. 
 Sombre shades prevail ; the streams fill the space 
 with heavy roars, and the sunlight falls upon the 
 topmost pines, but never reaches down the dark- 
 red walls. Huge bowlders lie scattered about; 
 fitful winds sweep down the deep clefts; Nature 
 has created everything on a grand scale ; detail 
 is supplanted by magnificence, and the place 
 appeals to one's deepest feelings. Long ago 
 the Indians of the region built their council fires 
 here. By secret paths, always guarded, they 
 gained these fastnesses, and held their grave 
 and sober meetings. The firelight danced across 
 their swarthy faces to the cliffs encircling them. 
 The red glow lit the massive walls, the surging 
 streams, and clinging vines. The Indians may 
 not have known the place had beauties, but they 
 realized its isolation ; and fearing nothing in its 
 safe retreat, spoke boldly of their plans. 
 
 Emerging from the Black Canon, the railway 
 climbs Cedar Divide. From here the Uncom- 
 pahgre Valley, its river, and the distant, pic- 
 turesque peaks of the San Juan are within full 
 sight of the traveller. Descending to the valley, 
 and following the river past Montrose, the Gun- 
 nison is again encountered at Delta. Thence 
 
I06 SHOSHONE. 
 
 traversing the rich farming land of the Ute res- 
 ervation, the road passes through the lower 
 Gunnison Caiion, with its varied and attractive 
 scenery, to Grand Junction, where it enters 
 Grand River Valley. The space of over one 
 hundred miles intervening between the Grand 
 and Green Rivers resembles a billowy desert ; 
 and while the most uninteresting part of the 
 route, is far from dreary or monotonous. Close 
 by on the north are the richly colored Book 
 Cliffs, while away to the southward the snowy 
 groups of the Sierra la Sal and San Rafael 
 glisten in the distance. Between them may be 
 distinguished the broken walls which mark the 
 Grand Canon of the Colorado, scarcely fifty 
 miles away. 
 
 The belt of country lying between the merid- 
 ian of Denver and the Pacific, and between the 
 thirty-fourth and forty-third parallels, has been 
 divided by Major Powell into geologic provinces, 
 each distinguished by characteristic features. 
 The easternmost he calls the Park Province. It 
 lies in Central and Western Colorado, and ex- 
 tends north to Wyoming and south to New 
 Mexico. The next province westward is the 
 Plateau, occupying a narrow strip of Western 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. 10/ 
 
 Colorado, a similar strip of Western New Mexico, 
 a large part of Southern Wyoming, and rather 
 more than half of Utah and Arizona. Still west 
 of the Plateau Province is the Great Basin, cov- 
 ering Western Utah, the whole of Nevada, and a 
 small portion of Oregon and Idaho. The Grand 
 Canon district is a part of the Plateau Province. 
 Nearly four fifths of its area of thirteen thousand 
 square miles is in Northern Arizona. The other 
 fifth is in Southern Utah ; and it is this remain- 
 ing portion which lies w^ithin sight of the point 
 at which the Rio Grande Road crosses Green 
 River and turns toward the mountains overlook- 
 ing the Great Basin. 
 
 It is difficult to form the slightest conception 
 of the general features of the Plateau Province. 
 The region is one of tables and terraces, of 
 buttes and mesas, of cliffs and canons. In its 
 coloring all gentler tints are lost, and in their 
 place are belts of brilliant yellow, red, and white, 
 intensified by alternating belts of gray. The 
 brilliantly colored cliffs stretch in tortuous course 
 across the land in all directions, and the canons 
 form a labyrinth of interlacing gorges from five 
 hundred to six thousand feet deep, which lead 
 down to the chasm of the Colorado and to the 
 
I08 SHOSHONE. 
 
 cailon of its principal fork, the Green River. 
 Standing upon any elevated spot where the 
 radius of vision reaches out fifty or a hundred 
 miles, one beholds a strange spectacle. The 
 sculpture of the canon walls and of the cliffs is 
 very wonderful. There is an architectural style 
 about it which must be seen to be appreciated. 
 The resemblances to architecture are real and 
 vivid, and cause one to question whether the 
 creations can be those of the blind forces of 
 Nature. Even the most experienced explorers 
 are filled with amazement by the apparition of 
 forms as definite and eloquent as those of art. 
 
 The dividing barrier of the Plateau Province 
 is the Uinta Range, which trends east and west 
 and projects from the eastern flank of the Wa- 
 satch Mountains to the Park Ranges of Colorado, 
 — a distance of one hundred and fifty miles. At 
 its southern base is the arid desert which the 
 Rio Grande traverses, and across which Green 
 River flows. That portion of the province lying 
 north of the Uinta Mountains is a celebrated 
 field for the study of the Cretaceous strata and 
 the Tertiary lacustrine beds, but otherwise is un- 
 attractive. The country to the southward, how- 
 ever, has the sublimest scenery on the continent. 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. IO9 
 
 Its surrounding ranges are from nine thousand 
 to twelve thousand feet high, and the altitude of 
 the region itself varies from five thousand to 
 seven thousand feet. From Green River cross- 
 ing you can faintly see the outlines of the cliffs 
 and buttes that rise above the canons which the 
 Colorado and its tributaries have worn through 
 the very heart of the old ocean bed. Were we 
 to follow the river, winding lazily past, it would 
 lead us to the flaming gorges and lose us in the 
 channels that are so weird and yet so beautiful. 
 Geologists who have traced the course of many 
 of the canons, and who have entered that of 
 the Colorado, longest and grandest of all, have a 
 strange story to tell. To them the Plateau is 
 an open book, the cliffs being the pages on 
 which is written the history of the region. In 
 his report on the Canon district Captain C. E. 
 Button gives an exhaustive description of its 
 geologic features and history. From the begin- 
 ning of the Carboniferous period to the close of 
 the Cretaceous, the province accumulated nearly 
 fifteen thousand feet of strata. At the close of 
 the latter period important changes occurred. 
 The marine area of former days became a lacus- 
 trine one, and for a time Eocene lacustrine strata 
 
no SHOSHONE. 
 
 were deposited over a greater part of the sur- 
 face. Then new displacements began by faulting, 
 flexing, and upheaving, draining the lacustrine 
 area and forming a river system, the configura- 
 tion of which was determined by the form of the 
 emerging surface. The new-made land was at- 
 tacked by the atmospheric agencies of degrada- 
 tion. The present Grand Canon of the Colorado 
 dates its origin from the close of the Miocene 
 period. Prior to that time the river was engaged 
 in cutting through eight thousand to ten thou- 
 sand feet of strata. The excavation of the 
 present chasm is the work of the Pliocene and 
 Quaternary periods. 
 
 All who have seen the Grand Canon itself 
 pronounce it the most sublime of earthly spec- 
 tacles. It is more than two hundred miles long, 
 five thousand to six thousand feet deep, and 
 from five to twelve miles wide. To the concep- 
 tion of its vast proportions one must add some 
 notion of its intricate plan, the nobility of its 
 architecture, its colossal buttes, its wealth of 
 ornamentation, and the splendor of its colors. 
 It is not a mere canon, as the word is commonly 
 understood ; not simply a dark, deep gash in the 
 earth, with nearly vertical walls. It is vastly 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. Ill 
 
 more than this ; more complex, more beautiful, 
 and filled with exquisite colors. Underneath 
 the pale-gray summits of the measureless walls 
 are pale-pink cross beds of sandstone ; and be- 
 low these are belts of brilliant red a thousand 
 feet deep, and projecting ledges of brown and 
 vermilion and purple. The hues deepen or 
 grow faint with every passing hour of the day, 
 while at sunset the splendors are more than 
 earthly. The canon grows in beauty, power, 
 and dimensions. The grand becomes majestic, 
 the majestic sublime. The expanse within is a 
 deep, luminous red, and the clouds above shine 
 with orange and crimson. Then, gradually, the 
 shades deepen and ascend, hiding the sculptured 
 walls, and leaving their tops floating on a sea of 
 blackness. 
 
 The Colorado flows with great rapidity through 
 its canon, the average fall being 7.56 feet to the 
 mile. In one of the divisions into which the 
 gorge is subdivided, it is 12.07 feet to the mile. 
 The water is rarely clear, but is filled with a 
 sandy sediment that greatly increases the corrad- 
 ing strength of the on-rushing streams. There 
 are few points where the river level can be 
 reached. As a rule you are high above it, the 
 
112 SHOSHONE. 
 
 cliffs rising overhead and descending far beneath 
 the mid-way shelf on which you stand. As for 
 these colored walls, which so shut in the Colo- 
 rado, who shall attempt a description of their 
 towers and domes and colonnades? Some are 
 almost without a break from top to base ; others 
 contain a succession of shelves, each supporting 
 some quaint ornamentation of brilliant color. 
 In one instance is a row of towers, more than 
 three thousand feet high, quarried out of the 
 palisade and well advanced from its face; in 
 another is a domelike mass, white as chalk and 
 streaked with ribbons of carmine. Temples and 
 cathedrals are everywhere, flashing their rich 
 tints upon the region above which they rise, and 
 their bases extending into the depths where the 
 river runs. Wherever he goes one will see the 
 same beautiful creations ; and to relieve the gen- 
 eral features of any possible monotony he will 
 here and there, far down in the levels of the 
 canons, find narrow patches of bright-green ver- 
 dure, fringed with brown banks of talus thrown 
 down from the cliffs above. In all the West 
 there is no district so well worth one's study as 
 that of the Colorado Canon ; and the geological 
 reports about it are fascinating reading. 
 
CASTLE GATE. 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. II5 
 
 Beyond Green River and Castle Valley com- 
 mences the steep ascent of the Wasatch Moun- 
 tains, and the beautiful in nature again appears, 
 the first effect being Castle Gate, guarding the 
 entrance to Price River Canon, through which 
 the railway runs. Castle Gate is similar in many 
 respects to the gateway to the Garden of the 
 Gods. The two huge pillars, or ledges of rock 
 composing it, are offshoots of the cliffs behind. 
 They are of different heights, one measuring 
 five hundred, and the other four hundred and 
 fifty feet, from top to base. They are richly 
 dyed with red ; and the firs and pines grow- 
 ing about them, but reaching only to their 
 lower strata, render this coloring more noticeable 
 and beautiful. Between the two sharp promon- 
 tories, separated only by a narrow space, the 
 river and the railway both run, one pressing 
 closely against the other. The stream leaps 
 over a rocky bed, and its banks are lined with 
 tangled brush. Once past the gate, and looking 
 back, the bold headlands forming it have a new 
 and more attractive beauty. They are higher 
 and more massive, it seems, than when we were 
 in their shadow. Church-like caps hang far 
 over the perpendicular faces. No other pinna- 
 
Il6 SHOSHONE. 
 
 cles approach them in size or majesty. They 
 are landmarks up and down the canon, their 
 lofty tops catching the eye before their bases 
 are discovered. 
 
 It was down Price River Canon, and through 
 Castle Gate, that Sydney Johnson marched his 
 army home from Utah. For miles now, and 
 until the mountains are crossed, the route chosen 
 by the General is closely followed. The gate- 
 way is hardly lost to view by a turn in the canon 
 before we are scaling wooded heights. The 
 river is never lost sight of The cliffs which 
 hem us in are filled with curious forms. Now 
 there is seen a mighty castle, with moats and 
 towers, loopholes and wall ; now a gigantic head 
 appears. At times side canons, smaller than the 
 one we are in, lead to verdant heights beyond, 
 where game of every variety abounds. 
 
 From Castle Gate to the Utah Valley, the 
 Railway winds among the mountains of the 
 Wasatch Range. From the summit down to 
 lower levels again, the route is through canons 
 illumined with vari-colored pinnacles of rock. 
 Then, almost without warning, the mountains 
 are left behind. Before you stretch the great 
 central valleys of Utah. In the far distance is the 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF COLORADO. II7 
 
 Salt Lake; and at its side is the Mormon city. 
 The road passes through Utah Valley, oblong 
 in shape, lighted by its lake, and rendered fair 
 to look upon by its continuous meadows and 
 orchard-surrounded towns. Eastward the basin 
 is shut in by the Wasatch Mountains ; and on 
 the west is the Oquirrh Range. Northward are 
 low hills, or mesas, crossing the valley and 
 separating it from that of the Great Salt Lake ; 
 while in the south the east and west ranges 
 approach each other and form blue-tinted walls 
 of uneven shape. To the left of this barrier 
 Mount Nebo, highest and grandest of the Utah 
 peaks, rises majestically above all surroundings. 
 Its summit sparkles with snow ; its lower slopes 
 are wooded and soft, while from it, and extend- 
 ing north and south, run vast, broken, vari- 
 colored heights. The valley is like a well-kept 
 garden, and you leave it with regret. 
 
 The Rio Grande road advertises itself as the 
 " Scenic Line." Those who have followed me 
 in the brief, spasmodic glances at its attractions 
 will grant the title, I think. As you pass out of 
 Utah Valley and enter that of the river Jordan, 
 extending northward toward Salt Lake City, 
 one's thoughts are of the past, conjuring up the 
 
Il8 SHOSHONE. 
 
 pictures of the strange gorges through which 
 you have passed, and the heights you have 
 climbed. The reahty, so wonderful, seems al- 
 most an unreality; and in the enthusiasm of the 
 hour you are ready to acknowledge the little 
 narrow gauge Road to be anything and every- 
 thing which its owners claim. 
 
Chapter VI. 
 
 GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 
 
 UTAH is the great middle West Territory. 
 Isolated for years, and only lately begin- 
 ning to receive the attention so richly deserved, 
 it was long considered an utterly worthless por- 
 tion of our country, and was left severely alone. 
 When the Mormon emigrants, led by Brigham 
 Young, looked upon the valley of the river 
 Jordan, now teeming with life and cultivation, 
 they saw only a region which had never felt the 
 plough or the spade, but which still appeared 
 to the little band of outcasts the very spot where 
 for them there were rest and peace and safety. 
 Sick and footsore from their long tramp across 
 the trackless wastes of the wide West, they 
 hailed the central valley of Utah, which they 
 have since so beautified and adorned, as a mod- 
 ern paradise ; and rushing down from Emigra- 
 tion Canon, as the gorge by which they entered 
 
I20 SHOSHONE. 
 
 Utah is called, they began to erect cottages and 
 to cultivate the fields which have become famous 
 to-day for their fruitfulness and attractiveness. 
 
 Had a Mormon been told when he first came 
 to Utah that he ever would be disturbed in his 
 new possession ; had it been imagined even that 
 railways would ever be built into Utah, or that 
 the Gentiles from the East would seek the 
 mountain-guarded valleys of the Territory, — it 
 may be doubted if the disciples of the Latter 
 Day Saints' Church would have been willing, or 
 would have dared, to do for Utah and with it 
 what they have. But the future had no terrors. 
 Even Brigham Young, ablest of his people, then 
 and for many years believed that the newly 
 acquired country to which he and his followers 
 had been led was safe from invasion by enemies 
 of the Church, and would never see a Gentile. 
 Infusing this belief into subjects ever ready to 
 follow his advice, Young urged the settlement 
 and cultivation of the valley, and lived to see it 
 blossom and bear fruit, and his city to attain 
 proportions that called forth the highest enco- 
 miums of the world. 
 
 Long before Utah was generally visited, Salt 
 Lake City was a thriving metropolis, a city of 
 
GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 121 
 
 large and handsome buildings, wide streets, pub- 
 lic halls, and energetic inhabitants. Indeed, it 
 was the city which attracted visitors to Utah, 
 Its fame became international ; and as for the 
 valley, at the head of which the city is located, 
 it was likened to a modern Arcadia, and was 
 sung of by poets and praised by all. Every one 
 wanted to see the wonderful region which had 
 been a desert, but had become a garden ; and 
 little by little foreigners to the Church came 
 over the high mountains and overran the Mor- 
 mon land. During the past years especially, 
 the invaders have rapidly increased in numbers ; 
 and to-day Utah, with its verdant valleys and 
 sunny basins, its snow-capped peaks and culti- 
 vated fields, has railways and mills and Gen- 
 tiles, and the old-time authority of the Mormon 
 Church is menaced on every hand. The isola- 
 tion of the Territory is a thing of the past. The 
 deserts have proved of no avail. The new era 
 has come. Capital from Gentile pockets has 
 opened the mines, laid rails throughout the val- 
 leys, become a power whose future mastery is 
 inevitable. The country is still a Mormon 
 stronghold ; but the outer walls of the Mormon 
 castle are down, and over the ruins storms that 
 
122 SHOSHONE. 
 
 restless army of men whose aim is wealth, and 
 whom no obstacles deter or frighten. 
 
 Utah, by which is generally meant that por- 
 tion of it lying around and to the south of Salt 
 Lake City, is at its best rather early in the sea- 
 son, in May and June, or late, in September 
 and October. In May the snow has left the 
 valley, which lies between two parallel ranges 
 with whitened tops, and the trees are green. 
 Then the fields are ploughed and the sunshine 
 is warm in the sheltered region. The season 
 is like a New England spring-time, soft, dreamy, 
 and half-awake, and odorous with the perfume 
 of budding leaves. 
 
 Later in the season, when the crops are gath- 
 ered, the fruits picked, and the broad fields, 
 watered by the river Jordan, lie yellow in the 
 clear bright air, the shrubs on the mountain- 
 sides are a wilderness of color. Then the days 
 are sharp and crisp, and distant summits lose 
 their August haziness and stand like sentinels 
 guarding the flowery land. Fresh from the 
 dreary plains surrounding Utah, one feels on 
 reaching the Jordan Valley that he has found 
 a veritable garden. Even the half- finished ap- 
 pearance, so characteristic of other Western 
 
GLIMPSES OF UTAH, 1 25 
 
 scenes and towns, is conspicuous by its absence. 
 The Mormons, whatever else they may have 
 omitted doing or becoming, have good taste 
 and are busy workers. Their cottages are neat 
 and trim, and are enshrined in the midst of 
 traihng vines and blossoming flowers ; their 
 roads are wide and smooth; and their fields 
 are carefully cultivated and extend throughout 
 the length and width of the valley. 
 
 Salt Lake City is a curious town, quaint in 
 its architecture, and in its general appearance 
 having a strange commingling of the beautiful 
 and commonplace. It is divided into large 
 square blocks of ground, some occupied by 
 large stores, and others by pretentious houses 
 of yellow brick or wood, with gardens all 
 around them. The one main street of the city, 
 which has a width and length apparently out 
 of all proportion to the business requirements 
 of the place, runs nearly due north and south 
 from the mountain back of the city toward the 
 valley beyond. Facing this are the largest 
 shops of the town, including the co-operative 
 establishment belonging to the Mormon Church, 
 and the high adobe walls behind which are the 
 Temple, Tabernacle, Tithing-yard, and resi- 
 
126 SHOSHONE. 
 
 dence of the Mormon president. Branching 
 east and west from this thoroughfare, down the 
 sides of which run two streams of clear water, 
 acting as scavengers of the city, are the less 
 important streets, containing the smaller stores 
 and residences. 
 
 Were it not for the fact of there being such 
 variety in the architecture of the several dwell- 
 ings. Salt Lake might appear angular and pro- 
 saic. But hardly two houses are alike, and the 
 gardens separating -them give one the impres- 
 sion, at times, that he is sojourning in a New 
 England village, where, as here, there are green 
 trees hanging over picket fences, and cool, fresh 
 lawns, with gravelled walks leading through 
 them to spacious porches. There is an air of 
 solid comfort about these Utah houses which 
 invites one's good opinion and entices him to 
 linger. They are large and light and cheerful, 
 and one looks in vain for evidences of that Mor- 
 mon family redundancy which so many suppose 
 is glaringly present in a city founded and ruled 
 by disciples of polygamy. So far as there is 
 external indication, the homes one sees at Salt 
 Lake City might be those of well-to-do people 
 in the East, who had .gained a competency and 
 
GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 12/ 
 
 who now proposed enjoying their remaining 
 days in peace and comfort. 
 
 Brigham Young was a good deal of an auto- 
 crat in his day, and loved ease and comfort and 
 luxury better, possibly, than he did his numer- 
 ous wives. His old home, now occupied by his 
 successor, stands at the right of the Tithing- 
 yard, and enjoys the suggestive name of the 
 Bee Hive. Well for the peace of mind of 
 the departed Brigham if there were not times 
 when his many helpmates rendered the abode 
 worthy the name of Hornet's Nest. Either the 
 former president was an amiable man of most 
 pronounced type, or he was a stern disciplina- 
 rian. Otherwise, w^ith so many wives, his life 
 could hardly have been a joyous one. 
 
 Looking to-day at the home he occupied, 
 with its large porch in front, its three stories, its 
 dormer windows, suggestive of many rooms, one 
 tries to imagine what his life at home was like, 
 and what his power was. But there the *' pal- 
 ace " stands, with its windows all intact; and 
 Brigham sleeps hard by, at rest at last, whether 
 he ever was in life or not. The mansion is a 
 comfortable old place, wide and spacious, and 
 sedate in its appearance; and by it stands the 
 
128 SHOSHONE. 
 
 smaller house where the former ruler had his 
 office, and from which he directed the affairs of 
 this people. The passing years have brought 
 but little change to the places. Time has 
 chipped the yellow bricks here and there, and 
 mellowed the door-posts; but the outer wall sur- 
 
 THE TEMPLE AND TABERNACLE, SALT LAKE. 
 
 rounding the buildings is still high and strong, 
 and the office looks as it did when the ablest 
 man the Mormons will ever see sat in his arm- 
 chair and ruled like a king of the realm. 
 The enclosure containing the Temple and 
 
GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 1 29 
 
 Tabernacle is the pride of every Mormon, and 
 the Mecca of all strangers. Entering it through 
 a wide gateway opening upon the main street, 
 one stands at once before the unfinished walls 
 of the new Temple, which even now afford a 
 realistic suggestion of what the structure is to 
 be like when the work is finished. Millions 
 have already been expended on the Temple, 
 and it has been in process of construction ever 
 since 1868, and will require a dozen years of 
 labor yet before the work is done. Made with 
 solid blocks of native granite, quarried in the 
 canons of the Wasatch Range, the walls are 
 fifteen feet in thickness, and the building is 
 massive in every particular. It is designed to 
 contain the several offices of the Church, and the 
 polygamous marriages will be celebrated there. 
 Its architecture is purely Gothic, and its outlines 
 are full of grace and strength. The money for 
 its erection was raised by the imposition of 
 certain taxes, and the structure will cost, when 
 finished, nearly $6,000,000. It will be made 
 entirely of granite and brick, to the utter ex- 
 clusion of wood-work of any description. 
 
 Just behind the new Temple is the Tabernacle, 
 its huge rounded roof resting on circular walls 
 
130 
 
 SHOSHONE. 
 
 of brick enclosing the spacious interior. From 
 a distance the structure resembles an upturned 
 boat, and a nearer acquaintance fails to dis- 
 close any remarkable beauty in the far-famed 
 church. It has a seating capacity on the floor 
 
 PULPITS AND ORGAN. 
 
 of the house of twelve thousand, and four 
 thousand people can be accommodated in the 
 gallery, which extends around three sides of 
 
GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 131 
 
 the hall, and is supported by seventy-two pil- 
 lars. The length of the building is two hundred 
 and fifty feet, and its width is one hundred and 
 fifty. There are twenty doors opening at once 
 into outer air, and the interior can be cleared 
 of people in five minutes. In the centre of the 
 auditorium stands a stone fountain, at which 
 baptisms take place. In front of this is the 
 great organ, and before it are the pulpits and 
 president's desk, and seats for the choir singers. 
 
 Opposite the Tabernacle stands a solemn- 
 looking building of Gothic design, in which 
 services are held during the winter months when 
 the larger house is too cold to be available. It 
 is not so commodious as the Tabernacle, but has 
 a seating capacity of some eight thousand, and is 
 in most respects a finer structure than its neigh- 
 bor across the way. It is built of stone, and 
 graced at its outer corners by four small towers. 
 The interior is elaborately frescoed in pictures 
 illustrative of the new religion of which Joseph 
 Smith is the founder and patron saint. There 
 is an ideal representation of Maroni showing 
 Joseph where the tablets were hid in the hill of 
 Cumorah ; a view of the pioneers entering the 
 valley in 1847; and an inscription announcing 
 
132 SHOSHONE. 
 
 the fact that the " Church of Jesus Christ of 
 Latter Day Saints" was organized in 1836. 
 
 The Endowment House, where polygamous 
 marriages were performed, stands in the north- 
 west angle of the Temple enclosure. Admit- 
 tance to the place is never given a Gentile, and 
 one is left to stand outside and imagine what 
 there is within. A heavy penalty is attached to 
 whoever discloses the secrets of the Endowment 
 House, and it is questionable how much reliance 
 may be placed in the stories which from time to 
 time have been given the believing public. 
 
 Taken as a whole. Salt Lake City is prepos- 
 sessing. Famed for its almost universal clean- 
 liness, it has also a commanding situation, 
 well-arranged streets, large public and private 
 buildings, and attractive, even beautiful, sur- 
 roundings. Directly behind the city, overlook- 
 ing it and the valley, is Ensign Peak. From its 
 top one has the best of Utah at his feet. From 
 below comes the murmuring sigh of busy life. 
 There to the right is the lake, motionless and 
 cold; there are the mountains faintly outlined 
 in the distance, but nearer showing their rough 
 sides and gaping canons. Flowing down the 
 valley is the Jordan, sweeping past farm and 
 
GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 1 33 
 
 village ; to the left is Camp Douglas, with its 
 cannon-guarded plaza, its cottages, and its 
 waving flag. The coloring, if the season is 
 favorable, is exquisite, — dark-blue on the dis- 
 tant hills, green in the valley, brown on the 
 foothills, rich with golden hues where the frosts 
 of early fall have touched the maples and the 
 quaking asps. One looks from garden to wil- 
 derness, upon fresh streams and upon a salty 
 inland sea. There is picturesqueness here and 
 grandeur there ; softly outlined peaks of blue, 
 and granite ledges bare of trees ; while near by 
 is the city, perched on its quick-sloping bench 
 of land, and commanding the varied prospect. 
 
 The most important suburban attraction of 
 Salt Lake is that famous inland sea lying to the 
 west of the city, and to which the Union Pacific 
 Railroad has extended a branch line. Garfield, 
 the terminus of the road, is to Salt Lake what 
 Coney Island is to New York. During the long 
 summer season the place is the resort of thou- 
 sands who flock there to enjoy the delicious 
 coolness, and to bathe in the lake. A monster 
 pavilion, with bath-rooms, cafe, spacious balco- 
 nies, and a long promenade extending two hun- 
 dred and seventy feet from the shore, has lately 
 
134 SHOSHONE. 
 
 been completed. At the end of the promenade 
 is a smaller pavilion for the accommodation of 
 dancing parties. With its extended view of the 
 placid lake and valley, Garfield is an ideal re- 
 sort. Tired with sight-seeing and travel, one 
 finds there a perfect rest. Sitting on the balcony 
 at sundown, a new insight is had into the beau- 
 ties of Utah. The lake, usually so colorless, is 
 crimsoned by the setting sun, and in the far dis- 
 tance westward the mountains become heaps of 
 purple, clearly outlined against the brilliant sky. 
 Every color is intensified, and only the tiny 
 waves rolling in upon the whitened sands dis- 
 turb the restful quiet. 
 
 At the height of the season the pavilion is 
 crowded. An orchestra plays on the balcony, 
 and one may dine as he watches the daylight 
 fade away and the moonlit evening steal over 
 the enchanting picture. Those so desiring may 
 live at Garfield while making the acquaintance 
 of Salt Lake. Frequent trains are run between 
 it and the city, and the hotel accommodations 
 are excellent. 
 
 Few who notice the general dryness of the 
 Utah climate, or who regard the lake as an in- 
 significant body of water, shallow, salt, and list- 
 
GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 1 35 
 
 less, will at once be able to appreciate the fact 
 that at one time, and more than once indeed, 
 the present lake had a depth of over a thousand 
 feet, and covered the lowlands which to-day 
 have their towns, railroads, farms, and people. 
 Lake Bonneville, as the geologists call this vast 
 inland sea of long ago, had an area as great as 
 that of Lake Huron to-day. At first the waters 
 were shallow as those of Salt Lake are now. 
 Then they gradually rose and spread, flooding 
 the region and forming high upon the mountain 
 sides those clearly marked '* shore lines," which 
 one can still trace and by which the eventful 
 history of Bonneville is unfolded. Later, the 
 waters receded, and the lake not only dwindled 
 in size but utterly disappeared, leaving a plain 
 even more desolate than the Great Salt Lake 
 Desert of to-day. Then again came the flood, 
 the lake rising even above its former height and 
 eventually overflowing the basin at its northern 
 edge and sending a tributary stream to the 
 Columbia River. Following this flood came a 
 second recession, and the water diminished in 
 volume until nothing remained but the present 
 salty lake. There were volcanic movements 
 during the periods of the great flood, and the 
 
136 SHOSHONE. 
 
 high mounds that now stand in the midst of arid 
 plains were created beneath the surface of the 
 lake. The history of the epoch, as told by 
 geologists, is replete with interest ; and the facts 
 deducted from the careful studies now being 
 made, lead one to question how long the present 
 era will last, and when there will come another 
 period of humidity during which Great Salt 
 Lake will again caress the mountains and hide 
 all evidence of the present civilization beneath 
 its wind-swept waters. 
 
 In a paper published with the report of the 
 Director of the United States Geological Survey, 
 Mr. G. K. Gilbert gives a full description of the 
 so-called *' shore lines," by which is measured 
 the height that the waters of Lake Bonneville 
 reached, and analyzes the causes which pro- 
 duced the overflow and the manner in which 
 the present information was gained. The story 
 has been learned from the shore line upon the 
 mountain sides, from the waters of the present 
 lake, from the alluvial, clay, and marl deposits 
 at the base of the cliffs, and from the arid des- 
 erts and volcanic creations. The very stones 
 have been made to speak ; and the deductions 
 are so logical that Bonneville seems of the pres- 
 
GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 1 37 
 
 ent rather than of the past, and is easily thought 
 of as still bathing the heights which are far above 
 the lake at whose side we stand. The structural 
 formation of the earth's surface was never inter- 
 rupted by the floods. The islands we see were 
 mountains once, and the isolated buttes, standing 
 in the midst of arid plains, were islands. Before 
 Bonneville existed, its basin had not even the 
 water it now contains ; and even after the first 
 flood it became dry once more, and the salty 
 sediment was buried beneath the layers of earth 
 that were washed to the basin by the inflowing 
 rivers. So deep was this coating of alluvium, 
 that the second flood could not dissolve it, and 
 Bonneville was a fresh water lake. It is facts 
 such as these that the cliffs and deposits of clay 
 and marl are made to tell. The story is full 
 of strange surprises, and the deductions drawn 
 render the great basin more interesting to the 
 student than it can be even to the most ardent 
 admirer of its grandeur and picturesqueness. 
 
 Briefly stated, the changes which Lake Bonne- 
 ville experienced imply that there were two dis- 
 tinct climatic epochs in its history, both being 
 of excessive moisture or cold, and which were 
 separated by an interval of superlative dryness 
 
138 SHOSHONE. 
 
 and preceded by a climatic period comparable 
 with the present. The first epoch of humidity 
 was by far the longer, and the second, which 
 caused an overflow of the lake, the more intense. 
 The phenomena occurred during the Quaternary 
 time, which is the geologic yesterday, and were 
 coincident with the volcanic activity of the Ter- 
 tiary period, which presumably has not }^et 
 ended. 
 
 The " shore lines " on the mountains are dis- 
 tinctly visible. The level tracings have the 
 characteristics of ocean shores subject to wave 
 action, — by which all sea cliffs and beaches are 
 formed, — and extend all about the lower slopes 
 of the ranges which enclose the Utah Basin. 
 The two best-defined ones are respectively one 
 thousand and four hundred feet above the level 
 of Great Salt Lake, and are named the Bonne- 
 ville and the Provo. Between them are four or 
 five other lines to which no particular names are 
 given. The Bonneville shore line owes its dis- 
 tinction to the fact that it marks the limit be- 
 tween the wave-wrought surface below and the 
 rain-sculptured forms which rise above. The 
 shore lines are so clearly defined that they at 
 once led to the belief that Lake Bonneville, 
 
GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 1 39 
 
 which created them, had an outlet, since a body 
 of water dependent upon evaporation alone could 
 not have maintained its level sufficiently long to 
 make so clearly defined wave lines. Search was 
 therefore made for the supposed outlet, which 
 at last was found at the northern extremity of 
 Cache Valley. The sill over which the waters 
 were first discharged was soft and soon wore 
 away, permitting the lake to be rapidly lowered. 
 The second sill was harder and held the lake at 
 a constant level, until its overflow was stopped 
 by the climatic changes that finally diminished 
 the w^ater supply. The level of the first sill has 
 been found to be that of the Bonneville *' shore 
 line," and the level of the second sill to be that 
 of the Provo ''shore line," — facts that satisfac- 
 torily correlate the history of the overflow with 
 the history of the most conspicuous '* shore 
 lines." 
 
 That Bonneville twice rose until its size was 
 ten times that of the present lake ; that its bed 
 was once a dry basin with a climate similar to 
 that of the present time, — the geologists have 
 little difficulty in proving. The successive up- 
 risings are shown by the yellow clay and white 
 marl precipitants on the mountain sides. The 
 
I40 SHOSHONE. 
 
 one was deposited at one period, and the other 
 at another; and dividing the two is a layer of 
 alluvium which could only have been formed 
 during a season of dryness, and after the flood 
 which had precipitated the lower stratum of 
 yellow clay had subsided. 
 
 The evidence of rain-sculpture everywhere 
 observed on the slopes of the mountains, now 
 half submerged by the alluvial deposits, proves 
 the Bonneville basin to have been absolutely 
 waterless before the lake itself first had an 
 existence. On this supposition alone can the 
 peculiar formations which are produced by the 
 action of rain upon the most enduring surfaces 
 be explained. Had there been a lake, the rain 
 sculpture could not have been created beneath 
 the surface. It is possible, to be sure, that the 
 basin had a lower outlet than that of the Bonne- 
 ville "shore line;" but during the period re- 
 quired for the burial of the mountain bases 
 barriers must have existed, or the desert could 
 not have retained the detritus. 
 
 The erosion subsequent to the time when 
 Bonneville was depositing its marl and clay has 
 been immaterial. The sea cliffs, the embank- 
 ments, the sand bars, and beaches, are almost 
 
GLIMPSES OF UTAH. 141 
 
 as perfect as though the lake had but just left 
 them. There are bowlders of quartzite and 
 other enduring rock which still retain the 
 smooth, glistening surfaces which the waves 
 gave them so long ago. 
 
 Great Salt Lake has an altitude of 4,260 feet, 
 and covers an area of nearly four thousand 
 square miles. The water contains about fifteen 
 per cent of salt in perfect solution, and is of 
 such specific gravity that bathers find it almost 
 impossible to sink. The lake, like the Dead Sea, 
 has now no outlet. Though several rivers empty 
 into it, there is never any overflow. Evapora- 
 tion alone prevents inundation. At Garfield the 
 beach is hard and shelving. Year by year the 
 shore becomes more popular as a resort, and 
 in time will have, like Newport, its villas and 
 animated life. 
 
Chapter VII. 
 
 SHOSHONE. 
 
 AUGUST was lazily counting its last days 
 before we were ready to leave the king- 
 dom of Mormonism. We had already decided 
 to go north to the Shoshone Falls (Sho-sho-nee) 
 in Southern Idaho, and from there to the Yel- 
 lowstone. September, we were told, was the 
 best of all months in which to see the famous 
 Park. 
 
 Getting out of Utah is nearly as interesting as 
 entering the Territory. The journey northward 
 toward Ogden is not so picturesque, perhaps, and 
 the scenery en route is not so varied and sub- 
 lime ; but the views one has of valley and hill 
 are pastoral, and for an hour at least the road 
 closely follows the curving shore of the lake. 
 Looking upon the vast expanse of water, so 
 quiet and mysterious, one recalls the strange 
 history of the salty sea which sleeps so serenely 
 
SHOSHONE. 145 
 
 in the midst of a waterless desert. There are 
 no fish in Salt Lake, and but few boats are 
 ever seen. As a rule the shores are flat and 
 sandy, white with layers of salt; but far away 
 to the westward are high mountains, wonder- 
 fully colored and having the roughest possible 
 contour. 
 
 It is very customary to regard the middle 
 West as utterly lacking in historical interest. 
 That Its modern history is meagre one cannot 
 deny ; and the story of the time when the Indians 
 held it and waged their barbarous battles against 
 the invaders from the East is soon told, and is 
 now too well known to bear repeating. But 
 in view of what vv^e already know through the 
 geologists, one will feel that our deserts are not 
 so barren of interest as might be supposed. Not 
 every country in the world has once been the 
 bed of an ocean. There was a vast amount 
 of irresistible force employed in the dim past, 
 — a force that drank the sea dry and that 
 levelled mountains and fashioned the strange 
 objects that to-day gaze down upon us from 
 their crumbling heights. Plough the desert 
 sands, and you will turn up monster sea-shells ; 
 and wherever you go there will be heard the 
 
146 SHOSHONE. 
 
 piping notes of birds you are accustomed to 
 find , along our New England coast. I have 
 always taken a melancholy pleasure in hearing 
 the plaintive notes of these little exiled sand- 
 pipers of the desert. The disappearance of 
 the sea must have been most unexpected and 
 sudden to have left these water-loving birds 
 stranded where the waves may never come 
 again. 
 
 Mormon farm-houses are scattered along the 
 entire way between Salt Lake and Ogden. Each 
 has its orchard and garden and ample hay-stack, 
 while a few are so large that one mentally fills 
 them with a numerous family. Much of the 
 land bordering the lake is very productive. 
 The long wide fields we saw were all yellow 
 with stubble, and piles of rosy-red apples were 
 scattered about the orchards. 
 
 The town of Ogden, one of the termini of the 
 Union Pacific, and a place well remembered by 
 all transcontinental travellers, is not an interest- 
 ing town, nor a picturesque one. It might have 
 been both, for the site of the city afforded great 
 opportunities. The mountains encircle it on 
 three sides, and southward is a delightful view 
 down the valley to the lake. Nature's sugges- 
 
SHOSHONE. 147 
 
 tions have been in vain, however, and the houses 
 are provokingly ugly. 
 
 Of the mountain ranges contained in the 
 Great Basin none compare either in height or 
 beauty with that of the Wasatch. From Ogden 
 the view of the range is particularly satisfying. 
 Its canons, opening upon the valley which the 
 city occupies, are watered by mountain streams, 
 and the rocky walls are of red-tinged sandstone 
 relieved by strata of pale yellow and gray. 
 From the higher limits of the gorges the outlook 
 is over many miles of country. Far southward 
 is Mount Nebo, the highest peak of the range ; 
 nearer at hand is Great Salt Lake, and in the 
 distance are the sharp-pointed or flat-topped 
 buttes which the Bonneville waters have left 
 stranded in the midst of treeless wastes. The 
 area of the Great Basin, larger than that of the 
 Middle and Eastern States combined, lies all 
 around you. Looking upon it the history of 
 its formation comes vividly to your mind, and 
 its extended limits teach once more the utter 
 impossibility of trying to see all the West in 
 one season. 
 
 The geological survey of the Basin involves 
 the study of many topics. Each mountain has 
 
148 SHOSHONE. 
 
 a variety of strata and a history of its own, and 
 the district as a whole contains every known 
 group of formations. You cannot fully study it 
 in sections, for the various geologic systems — 
 the Archaean, the Paleozoic, the Mesozoic, and 
 the Tertiary — are each developed in so many 
 localities that no one can be understood until 
 the whole area is traversed. Volcanic rocks are 
 everywhere, and the phenomena attending the 
 growth and decay of mountains are always 
 present. 
 
 If the restricted areas that owe their configu- 
 ration to the recent action of lakes or oceans or 
 to the passage of glaciers are excepted, it may 
 be said that the whole surface of the. land exem- 
 plifies the " plastic art of rain." Other causes 
 produce the hills and mountains, but rain is the 
 agent which develops the forms that, in the 
 West, are such noticeable features of the land- 
 scape. Its work is untiring and systematic, de- 
 structive and constructive. It tears down and 
 builds up. In summer the heavy showers wage 
 yearly war upon the crumbling headlands ; and 
 in winter the frosts in the crevices force bowl- 
 ders from their long resting-place. The curious 
 forms of red or yellow sandstone are not the 
 
SHOSHONE. 149 
 
 result of accident but of design. Every object 
 that we shall see, wherever we travel now, is an 
 example of rain-sculpture. Some will be more 
 wonderful than others. In the Yellowstone they 
 will have surprising beauty ; but whatever their 
 degree of perfection they are still the exempli- 
 fication of a force in Nature that is, in a great 
 measure, the moulder of continents. 
 
 The only direct road from Ogden to the town 
 of Shoshone, the nearest railway point to the 
 Great Falls, is the Utah & Northern. It is op- 
 erated by the Union Pacific, and from Ogden to 
 Pocatello, in Southern Idaho, is narrow gauge. 
 From Pocatello north to Butte and other Mon- 
 tana points, it is broad gauge. At the first- 
 named town it connects with the Oregon Short 
 Line, extending westward across Idaho to the 
 leased line by which the Union Pacific enters 
 Portland. Leaving Ogden at noon one reaches 
 Pocatello at six. After supper there the Oregon 
 Short Line train is taken for Shoshone, — a 
 straggling little village whose lights greet you 
 on your midnight arrival. The long journey 
 of the day has not been an eventful one; nor 
 has the scenery been very attractive. From 
 Ogden the Road leads past the high fronts of 
 
150 SHOSHONE. 
 
 the Wasatch Range, through winding valleys 
 containing a succession of Mormon farms and 
 villages. Later on the mountains are seen only 
 in the distance, and in their place are dark-hued 
 volcanic ledges that skirt the edge of far-reaching 
 plains. 
 
 Shoshone being so very dead, one cannot 
 with propriety speak of it otherwise than kindly. 
 In itself it is unimportant. The country sur- 
 rounding it is covered with layers of dark-col- 
 ored lava, and is so barren that the Shoshone 
 cows eye every empty tomato-can with greedy 
 interest. I doubt if the town, small as it is, 
 would have even its present proportions were it 
 not that south of it are the Shoshone Falls, and 
 on the northwest the Wood River mining coun- 
 try. Tourists seek the one attraction, and for- 
 tune-hunters the other; and so far both have 
 been well paid for their trouble. There is a 
 branch of the railroad from Shoshone to the 
 mines, and to the Falls is a wagon road twenty- 
 five miles long, over which we drove, and over 
 which I strongly urge every lover of what- 
 ever is indescribably beautiful and grand and 
 sublime in Nature's handiwork to drive. After 
 seeing the Falls we were ready to forgive the 
 
SHOSHONE. I^I 
 
 town anything-, — even the dismal welcome it 
 gave us the night of our arrival, or the prospect 
 it revealed in the morning when we for the first 
 time looked upon the surrounding fields of lava. 
 
 The conveyances used in going to the Falls 
 are decidedly primitive. Ours was an old Dead- 
 wood coach, lined with faded plush, and deco- 
 rated on the outside by a bundle of hay, — a 
 tempting bit of luxury which half-a-dozen cows 
 were hungrily eying. The sun was hardly up 
 before we were, and had only begun his work 
 of lighting the country when we took stage-and- 
 four and rattled smartly out of town. The lava 
 beds stretched all around us, and only in the far 
 distance could we see any hills. Southern Idaho 
 is strikingly different in general appearance from 
 the northern portion of the Territory. In the 
 latter, mountains are omnipresent, and there are 
 heavy forests of pine, fir, and balsam. In the 
 south the levels are continuous, — treeless, nearly 
 grassless, and so barren and deserted that during 
 our entire drive there were no houses to be seen. 
 Jack-rabbits and occasionally a passing horse- 
 man were the only living features. All was 
 dark and silent, — so still indeed that the wind, 
 which whistled through the creaking sides of 
 
152 SHOSHONE. 
 
 the old coach, was Hke that which at sea sighs 
 through the rigging of a ship. 
 
 It is not a hard drive to the Falls, — if one 
 forgives the joltings he gets when too rapid time 
 is made over certam parts of the road, — and 
 the few hours of our journey were soon gone. 
 Looking ahead, in the direction of the river we 
 were soon to reach, we could see no sign of it. 
 To all appearance the levels were unbroken. 
 At last W., who acted as guide, pointed to a 
 solitary piiion that stood boldly outlined in the 
 distance, and said the river ran at its base. 
 Keeping the tree in view, and sure of our in- 
 formation, we were still unable to find even the 
 suggestion of the near presence of a river. To 
 our eyes there was nothing beyond our imme- 
 diate surroundings, — solitary plains, listless and 
 bare. 
 
 Then, at last, came the revelation and the 
 indescribable view of the erratic, rock-bound 
 river. Reaching the tree, we left the coach and 
 crawled out upon the blackened rocks. Below 
 us opened the canon through which, a thousand 
 feet below the upper levels, the river Snake 
 has its course. The distance from where we 
 stood to the water below seemed measureless. 
 
SHOSHONE. 155 
 
 The caiion was like a mighty rent in the earth, — 
 an opening cut deep into the surface and with 
 sohd walls of rock rising ^lbruptly from the 
 river's edge. In a dark night, if unacquainted 
 with the country, one would drive headlong in- 
 to this gorge ; and the river, at the bottom, would 
 sweep away all trace of the tragedy. Even by 
 day one might easily stumble into the canon. 
 There is nothing to herald its nearness ; nothing 
 to save one who makes the first false step. 
 
 The Snake River is a tributary of the Colum- 
 bia, joining the latter in Eastern Washington. 
 It is born in Wyoming, of the many streams 
 that have their source among the mountains 
 there, and flows westward through a canon that 
 for length and depth, and beauty of a rugged 
 order, is one of the marvels of the world. 
 Standing on its brink, or gazing upward from 
 the level of the river, the impression upon one's 
 mind is the same. You are oppressed by a 
 sense of the awfulness of the creation ; and 
 watching the river moving along so calmly as 
 it does just before the Falls are reached, you 
 wish you could give it the green banks of some 
 of the streams you know. There was never a 
 day during our Shoshone visit that, for a mo- 
 
156 SHOSHONE. 
 
 ment, the region did not become a hideous 
 reahty from which I longed to escape. But 
 all such moments were followed by hours when 
 the very height of the walls that hemmed us 
 in, and the wild noise of the falling river fas- 
 cinated and exhilarated. You should see the 
 river gather itself together for its leap into the 
 lower depths of the canon ; should listen to 
 the roar it makes : should feel the earth tremble 
 with the shock ; should watch the rising mists, 
 ghost-like in the moonlight; should give days 
 to the isolated place, to know the fascinations 
 of Shoshone Falls. Telling one how high the 
 Falls are, how deep the canon is, gives no idea 
 of the place itself, of its coloring, and of its 
 weirdness. The canon is a world by itself, full 
 of novelties and strange sights. Night-loving 
 bats live in the caverns that honeycomb the 
 cliffs ; and on the top of a high, slim pinnacle 
 of red rock, rising amid-stream, an eagle has 
 her nest and rears her brood. There are points 
 overlooking the Falls where, unless strong, you 
 will feel ill and dizzy; and there are others 
 where you will delight to sit and read. 
 
 Above the Falls, at the ferry crossing, the 
 river is wide, deep, and smooth. The cliffs are 
 
SHOSHONE. 159 
 
 reflected 011 its surface as clearly as though the 
 Snake were a mirror. It is there that one takes 
 his daily row, calling for echoes as he glides 
 past the overhanging ledges, and gaining a 
 point at last where there is a view up the stream, 
 beyond a series of rapids, to the Twin Falls, 
 light and feathery against their background of 
 rock. In a meditative mood one seeks this 
 quieter part of the river for the restfulness it 
 offers. Bushes and tufts of grass cling to the 
 water's edge, and there are isolated caves which, 
 deep-set and rock-bound though they are, still 
 have their sense of peace and quiet and repose 
 that is most welcome after the wild tumult of 
 the canon below^ 
 
 To meet the demands of the constantly in- 
 creasing number of tourists visiting Shoshone, 
 a rough wagon trail has been constructed down 
 the north wall of the caiion to the level of the 
 river. The path is long and steep, and com- 
 mands an extended view of the upper canon. 
 At the river-side is a short stretch of sand, 
 occupied by a solitary cottage belonging to 
 Mr. Walgamott, the guide under whose care 
 one visits the various objects of interest. A 
 stone's-throw beyond his little cottage is the 
 
l60 SHOSHONE. 
 
 ferry, — a flat-bottomed boat guided by wire 
 cables and worked by a windlass. Driving 
 upon this we crossed the river to the south 
 bank. There, a few rods from the landing, is 
 the little hotel that has lately been built. It 
 stands on a high bluff directly over the Falls, 
 and has an outlook both up and down the wind- 
 ing length of the cailon. The house is well 
 managed, as we found to our delight, and the 
 rooms and table are excellent. Stages make 
 daily trips from Shoshone to the hotel ; and the 
 Falls, at last, have publicly made their bid for 
 the approval of the multitude. 
 
 The actual length of the Shoshone Canon is 
 seventy miles. Thirty miles below the entrance 
 to the gorge the principal scenic features begin. 
 From near its source to the eastern end of the 
 canon the Snake flows above-ground through 
 an area that is unparalleled for the height, num- 
 ber, and beauty of its mountains. It has nearly 
 forty tributaries, — some of them fed by geysers 
 and others by melting glaciers, — and its waters 
 are the coldest of any known river. 
 
 The American Fall, forty feet high, is the 
 first cataract of the river as it flows down 
 stream. It is here that the Oregon Short Line 
 
SHOSHONE. l6l 
 
 crosses the Snake. " Far beneath the bridge one 
 sees the boihng waters, their whiteness reheved 
 by uprising ledges of volcanic rock. Were it 
 not for Shoshone, the American Falls would be 
 famous. As it is, they are neglected for the 
 more wonderful cataracts farther westward. 
 
 Seventy miles beyond the railroad crossing 
 the grand canon begins. The river, ever rest- 
 less, sinks deeper and deeper into the surface of 
 the earth. Now it lashes itself into foam, now 
 tumbles over obstructing ledges. Here placid 
 as a mill-pond and scarcely moving, it again 
 rushes madly onward, deaf to all entreaty. It 
 is like a fiend, I think, loving darkness rather 
 than light, battling with its walls, raging at its 
 confinement. Sometimes the water is emerald- 
 green, light and transparent ; then it is dark, and 
 the froth floating on its surface is as eider down, 
 by contrast. 
 
 The first cataracts within the canon are the 
 Twins, or Upper Shoshone Falls. They have 
 a single leap of one hundred and eighty feet. 
 A huge rock, caught in mid-stream, divides the 
 river into two channels, each seventy feet wide, 
 and through these the water flows. The basin 
 which receives the Falls is nearly circular in 
 II 
 
1 62 
 
 SHOSHONE. 
 
 shape, and is like a boiling caldron, filled with 
 troubled waters and sending forth dense masses 
 of spray. 
 
 Below the Twins is a half-mile of rapids. 
 Farther down, the river grows tranquil again, 
 
 THE TWIN SHOSHONE FALLS. 
 
 and then, a few rods from the ferry-crossing, 
 contracts to a width of less than six hundred 
 feet, and makes noisy preparation for its great- 
 est fall. At the ferry is heard the loud roar of 
 the water as it strikes the hidden ledges below ; 
 while, shrouding the long white line marking the 
 
SHOSHONE. 163 
 
 point of actual fall, are the heavy mists which 
 rise high toward the tops of the cliffs and are 
 tossed about by the winds. 
 
 Near the brink the river widens to a quarter 
 of a mile, and is divided by three rocks, corre- 
 sponding to the islands in the rapids at Niagara. 
 Just below these a smaller island forces the 
 water to the left in a small cataract about fifteen 
 feet high. To the right is Cedar Island, between 
 which and its mate are small falls, or rapids, 
 whose waters, uniting, sweep past a crescent- 
 shaped beach to the final plunge. To the right 
 of Cedar Island the river is obstructed by red- 
 tinged rocks, with sturdy little pines clinging 
 to their tops, that form a most picturesque 
 series of falls. Between two of these islands is 
 the Bridal Veil Fall. Next to it is the Bridal 
 Train. Both have a leap of eighty-two feet, 
 and bear a wonderful resemblance, as the water 
 glistens in the sunlight, to the faultless lace of 
 a royal bride's veil and train. *' While watch- 
 ing this enchanting spectacle," says a writer, 
 '' one can fancy the gothic arch of the cave to 
 the right the entrance to a chapel, and in the 
 delicious murmur of the jewelled drops trickling 
 from the rocks near by can detect the soft 
 
1 64 SHOSHONE. 
 
 strains of Mendelssohn, or in the roar of the 
 Great Falls below imagine the thunders of 
 Wagner, in Lohengrin." 
 
 At Niagara the river falls two hundred and 
 twenty-five feet in twenty-five miles. At Sho- 
 shone the Snake descends five hundred feet in 
 four miles. The Great Fall of Shoshone is 
 crescent-shaped, and is two hundred and twenty- 
 five feet high by nine hundred and fifty feet 
 wide. The plunge is unbroken. Facing it one 
 sees a quivering wall of water that stretches 
 from one side of the canon to the other. The 
 roar is deafening, and its force so great that 
 the displaced air is as fierce as a tornado. 
 The earth trembles from the blow it receives. 
 You yourself are drenched with spray; and the 
 rising mist is like a fog at sea, blown hither 
 and thither, and so catching the sun's rays as 
 to form arch upon arch of glorious color. 
 
 The high bluff on which the hotel stands 
 makes quick descent to the river at the brink of 
 the Great Fall, and is overgrown with juniper- 
 trees. Through the grove are pathways to vari- 
 ous points of observation. From one of these, 
 named Lookout Point, the view embraces the 
 river both above and below the Great Fall, 
 
UNDER THE GREAT FALLS, SHOSHONE. 
 
SHOSHONE. 167 
 
 whose crest is at your feet. Up-stream the 
 Snake is a mass of cataracts, milky-white, while 
 for their background are the tall black cliffs of 
 the canon, their sombre coloring making the 
 whiteness whiter and the lace-like appearance 
 more pronounced. Between the upper cascades 
 and the Great Fall the river is full of anima- 
 tion. It fairly glistens with anticipation of its 
 wild leap. Its waves, nearing you, beat upon 
 the rock which is your foothold, and noisily roll 
 upon the little stretch of sanded beach which 
 extends in crescent line from the brink you 
 overlook to the Mill Race Cascade, a short 
 distance away. 
 
 But fascinating as this view is, one must not 
 neglect that down the canon. It has not the 
 varied beauty of the other, perhaps, but its 
 sublimity is fascinating. Rising from the awful 
 depths are clouds of mist, through which you 
 see the river nearly five hundred feet below, still 
 fretful and strewn with foam, but resolutely rush- 
 ing onward to whatever new dangers it may en- 
 counter. Its width is less now than it was, and 
 the caiion walls are higher. As you look, the 
 waters round a projecting angle, and beyond 
 there is nothing but the solid walls of rock. 
 
1 68 SHOSHONE. 
 
 The beauty of Shoshone Falls is that they bear 
 study. The more you know of them, the better 
 acquainted you become with them, the more 
 strongly they appeal to you. We viewed them 
 from every point. If desirous of picturesque 
 effects, we selected Lookout Point; if anxious 
 for more startling features, we sought the narrow 
 level that clings to the cliffs below the Great 
 Fall. It is there that one gains a full conception 
 of the size and power of this Western rival of 
 Niagara. 
 
 Besides those I have mentioned, the caiion 
 of the Snake has many other attractions. In 
 the cliffs at the foot of the Great Falls are 
 curiously fashioned caves. In one the roar of 
 the waters reverberates in sounds like the paddle- 
 wheels of a steamer run at full speed ; in another 
 — an ear-shaped grotto two hundred feet high, 
 and named '' Diana's Bath-room " — cold drops 
 of water trickle from the ceiling walls, and are 
 caught by a stone-rimmed basin set in the 
 floor of the vaulted chamber. The trail to the 
 river level below the Falls is down a steep 
 embankment nearly one thousand feet high. 
 The descent and the returning climb form no 
 inconsiderable labor for the inexperienced ; and 
 
SHOSHONE. 171 
 
 yet I am sure that none will regret the exertion. 
 At the base of the trail the ground is covered 
 with water-soaked timber that has been hurled 
 over the Falls and tossed upon the shore ; and 
 in the crevices of the high vertical walls of the 
 gorge are moss-grown cedars, dripping with 
 moisture. 
 
 Among the more prominent landmarks around 
 the Falls are Dewey's Blufif, one thousand and 
 fifty feet high, Sentinel Rock, Lover's Leap, — 
 that never had a tragedy, — Creighton's Bluff, 
 Walgamott Island, and the Natural Bridge. Be- 
 neath the latter, as through a frame, one sees 
 the silvery front of the Great Fall, and in the 
 distance the bold outlines of Dewey's Bluff. The 
 walls of the canon are everywhere cut into gigan- 
 tic basaltic and trachytic columns, whose coloring 
 is red, yellow, brown, and black. 
 
 The scenery near the Twin Falls is made inter- 
 esting by the geological features. You can trace 
 the course of the canon for a mile or more, and 
 your best view of the cataract is from the high 
 embankment at the base of which the river 
 speeds. In our pilgrimage to the Twins we 
 drove along the south side of the river to the 
 entrance to Adams' Canon. Leaving our team 
 
1/2 SHOSHONE. 
 
 there we walked through the rock-strewn gorge. 
 It is full of fitful shades, and is shut in by tower- 
 ing cliffs. It is wonderfully impressive, and 
 Dante, I am sure, would have revelled in its 
 dark beauty. The huge blocks of stone are 
 often set with great precision, much as though 
 human hands had done the work. But again, 
 the walls are full of rough projections and pene- 
 trated by mysterious-looking caves. 
 
 At the end of Adams' Caiion is an open space 
 extending to the brink of the river. You can, 
 if inclined, reach the base of the Twin Falls ; 
 but the path is steep, and at the end of your 
 labor you are wet with spray, and your ears are 
 deafened by the noise. It is better to remain 
 on the top of the bluff; for from there the view 
 is extended, and you can see the river gather 
 for its plunge and, after its fall, hurry away 
 down the winding gorge. 
 
 It is not known who discovered the Shoshone 
 Falls, nor when they were first visited. No 
 mention is made of them by the emigrants, who 
 must have passed near the canon on their way 
 to Oregon, and it is doubtful if they knew of 
 their nearness to the wonderful place. The only 
 man to lend historical interest to the Falls was 
 
SHOSHONE. 173 
 
 Tom Bell. He was a miner who worked a 
 claim on the island separating the Bridal Veil 
 Falls. His custom was to cross the river by 
 boat. One day, when in mid-stream, his oar 
 broke. It is needless to picture the result. 
 Poor Tom went over the brink, of course, and 
 Shoshone had its tragedy. If local information 
 may be relied upon, one or two Chinamen have 
 since shared Bell's fate. It is said that the sand- 
 bars around the islands above the Falls are rich 
 with gold, washed down by the river. If this 
 is so, we may expect any number of casualties ; 
 for miners will go wherever gold exists, and 
 the Shoshone is no respecter of persons, but 
 gathers in whoever dares to come within its 
 reach. 
 
Chapter VIII. 
 
 A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 
 
 HE who reads the story of early days in the 
 far West, and especially that portion relat- 
 ing to the adventures of the men and women 
 who made the hazardous journey across coun- 
 try to Oregon and California, will find frequent 
 mention of a certain region where there was an 
 abundance of green grass and water. It was 
 here that the footsore people rested. The place 
 was to them a blessed sanatorium, an oasis in 
 the desert where the springs poured forth Vichy 
 and Apollinaris that could be had for the 
 taking. 
 
 The present name of this famous camping 
 ground is Soda Springs. Leaving Shoshone we 
 returned to Pocatello, and from there went east- 
 ward to the little settlement that has sprung up 
 around the series of ice-cold, medicinal waters. 
 The springs are in Bingham County, Idaho, 
 sixty miles east of Pocatello, and are on the 
 Oregon Short Line. They occupy a depression 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 77 
 
 among the Wasatch Mountains and have an ele- 
 vation of six thousand feet. In summer the 
 days are warm and the nights are cool. Near 
 by are some of the best hunting and fishing 
 grounds in the West. Blackfoot Creek, ten 
 miles distant, is famed far and wide for its trout, 
 A new hotel has lately been built, which is not 
 only very comfortable, but from which the pros- 
 pect is exceedingly attractive. The hill-sides 
 were gorgeous with color when we saw them, 
 and on some of the higher peaks of the range 
 were patches of newly fallen snow. The plain 
 surrounding the house is wide and level ; and 
 guarding it are low-browed foothills, back of 
 which rise the mountains. 
 
 The many springs at this isolated little re- 
 sort contain medicinal properties that render 
 them as efficacious in the cure of disease as the 
 more celebrated springs of Germany or Saratoga. 
 The waters are charged with bi-carbonate of 
 soda and potash, chloride of sodium and potash, 
 sulphates and carbonates of magnesia and lime, 
 carbonate of iron, free carbonic acid gas, and 
 a multitude of other ingredients. The springs 
 are scattered at random over the valley, and 
 the waters bubble forth from the earth in such 
 12 
 
178 SHOSHONE. 
 
 abundance that they form numerous rivulets 
 which flow across country until lost in the plains 
 beyond. 
 
 At one of the springs a bottling company 
 has begun active work. The product shipped 
 away is better, according to competent judges, 
 than the imported Apollinaris. In its natural 
 state the water is as sparkling as champagne and 
 has a delicious flavor. This is true of the other 
 springs ; their taste is never disagreeable. 
 
 From the time when Brigham Young visited 
 Soda Springs and blessed its healing waters, 
 to the present day, the valley has been the 
 Mecca of Mormons. They visit it religiously 
 and are unwilling to let the summer season 
 pass without camping for a week or more in the 
 near proximity to that which they are sure will 
 give them renewed vitality. 
 
 The ride from Soda Springs to Pocatello does 
 much to interest one in Southern Idaho. The 
 country is well watered, and is a succession of 
 fertile valleys, each filled with cattle and comfort- 
 able farm-houses, that are suggestive, in a meas- 
 ure, of those in the East. At Pocatello, however, 
 the freshness is lost, and there are vast areas of 
 dryness. 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 79 
 
 It is very well known, I presume, that there is 
 a Yellowstone National Park somewhere in the 
 West, and that a direct route to it is over the 
 Northern Pacific road from St. Paul to Cinnabar, 
 on the outskirts of the so-called '' Wonderland." 
 As a rule all visitors select this route. In taking 
 another, the features of which afforded us infinite 
 gratification, we were influenced in part by 
 chance, and in part by the desire to escape the 
 more beaten tracks of travel. Recalling our 
 experiences I would suggest that our followers 
 take advantage of our knowledge and do as we 
 did : go to the Yellowstone via the Beaver 
 Canon route of the Union Pacific, and leave it 
 via the Northern Pacific. By so doing, two im- 
 portant advantages will be gained. Plrst, you 
 will save the annoyance of " doubling on your 
 tracks," which all good trav^ellers are anxious 
 to avoid doing ; and secondly, you will find fea- 
 tures along the hundred-mile ride from Beaver 
 Canon to the Park which do not exist in the 
 Yellowstone. If fond of hunting or fishing, if 
 not afraid of a few discomforts, if liking the 
 free companionship of Nature, take the Beaver 
 Canon route. Its present simplicity will not 
 last forever. The old log-cabins where you 
 
l8o SHOSHONE. 
 
 rest to-day will soon be gone, replaced by 
 ** hotels," with their modern luxuries but utter 
 lack of that quaint flavor which the present 
 homely houses have ; the winding trails you 
 follow now, and which lead through woods of 
 virgin freshness, and by the side of quiet rivers, 
 will be the road-bed of a railroad. The West, 
 as seen from the window of a car, is not the 
 country introduced by the stage-coach. With all 
 additional comfort, there is a loss of something 
 which you cannot define, perhaps, but which 
 will be understood by those who have driven 
 at a ten-mile-an-hour pace through almost un- 
 broken solitudes. 
 
 There is a regular line of stages from Beaver 
 Canon to the Park. From the railroad to Firehole 
 Basin, near the southern end of the Yellowstone, 
 the distance is a little less than one hundred miles. 
 Leaving Beaver early in the morning. Snake 
 River Crossing is reached at evening. Resting 
 there over night, the journey is continued the 
 following day, a noon halt being made at Man- 
 ley's Cabin, in the Madison Valley, and the drive 
 ended at Firehole in the evening. Portions of 
 the road are rough, and the accommodations are 
 primitive. But he who does not object to im- 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. l8l 
 
 material annoyances need have no fear. If 
 tired, you have but to rest at either Snake River 
 Crossing or Manley's or at Henry's Lake ; and 
 those who prefer may engage their own teams 
 of the Stage Company, and make camp along 
 the road wherever the beauties of Nature tempt 
 them to linger. 
 
 Beaver Canon station is a night's ride north 
 of Pocatello, on the Utah & Northern Road. 
 Parallel ranges of hills guard the little town on 
 the east and west, and past it flows a creek that 
 winds down a valley which the stage line follows 
 a few miles before turning directly east toward 
 the Park. Our stage-and-four was ready on our 
 arrival, and long before the sun was fairly above 
 the hills we had taken our seats and were clatter- 
 ing down the canon. The day was perfect, — a 
 cloudless sky above, the air fresh, the dust set- 
 tled by a rain of the night before. In a team 
 that followed us were our boxes and trunks ; 
 and snugly stowed away among them sat the 
 artist, with camera ready for work, and con- 
 tentment shining from above blond beard and 
 beneath the artistic broad-brimmed hat. 
 
 Once out of the canon the prospect broad- 
 ened. Away to the southeast rose the moun- 
 
1 82 SHOSHONE. 
 
 tains of the Wind River country, In Wyoming, 
 and due east were the peaks surrounding the 
 Yellowstone. Nearer at hand bush-grown slopes 
 and tree-covered ridges rose abruptly from out 
 the levels and extended far north to the moun- 
 tain ranges of Montana. Cattle were feeding 
 on the sun-dried tufts of grass scattered over 
 the plains, and there was a happy mingling of 
 harmonious colors. 
 
 You cannot photograph the far-reaching vistas 
 of the West ; they must be seen to be appre- 
 ciated. Their lights and shadows are ever 
 changing. To-day the more distant peaks are 
 the faintest possible blue, and you can scarce 
 distinguish their outlines. Again, the same 
 mountains stand boldly forth, their rough sides 
 clearly revealed and their colors most pro- 
 nounced. The peculiar character of the atmos- 
 phere is the cause, in a great measure, of this 
 ever changing appearance of natural objects. 
 The neutral gray of the east rarely exists; in- 
 stead there is a pale blue tint, deeper at one 
 time than at another, but forever forming a vast 
 sea of visible air through which the white moun- 
 tain peaks and the dark green forests reveal 
 their individual hues. You will notice this fact 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 83 
 
 wherever you may be among the Rockies. Dis- 
 tant hills are seemingly brought within your very 
 reach ; and the shadows in the canons are black 
 as night. As we drove slowly along over the 
 brown levels stretching far southward, our minds 
 were affected by the benign influences which the 
 region exerted. The delicious air, neither hot 
 nor cold, the extended views, the brilliant color- 
 ings, the sense of freedom from all prosaic con- 
 ventionality, were conditions by virtue of which 
 life was given a new meaning. Its dull realities 
 were felt no more. If tired of one view we had 
 but to look in another direction to find a differ- 
 ent one. The low hillsides at our left were cov- 
 ered with scattered groups of pines and asps, 
 brilliant with color, and in the depressions of 
 the mountains were dreamy gorges opening 
 upon broad grassy meadows. 
 
 Twenty-five miles from Beaver are the Camas 
 Meadows, long wide levels enclosed by hills and 
 mountains and covered with grasses as brown as 
 those of the plains. Here we had our luncheon, 
 eating it in the open air, the fields surrounding 
 and the mountains guarding us. Near us ran a 
 little stream, clear as crystal, and on its left bank 
 stood the log-cabin of a pioneer, — a rude shel- 
 
1 84 SHOSHONE. 
 
 ter, but one not without its interest and phase 
 of Hfe away out here in the wilderness. In a 
 corral near the house were a score of fresh 
 horses, four of which our driver selected for 
 the afternoon journey. 
 
 Our camera was an object of peculiar interest 
 to the lonely woman who lived in the cabin. It 
 was rarely that she saw so good a chance to have 
 her children photographed, she told the artist, 
 and she wanted his terms at once. Not being 
 able to give her immediate results, the trade fell 
 through. The family consisted of the father, 
 mother, and two children, the latter being the 
 picture of health. The parents had moved to 
 Camas from Missouri, and were not enthusiastic 
 over their new quarters. The winters were terri- 
 bly cold, they said, and there was little time in 
 the year for farming. They ** guessed " they 
 should move in the fall. Just before we left, the 
 small boy brought his gun for us to see. There 
 was fine hunting, he said. The meadows were 
 full of sage-hens and rabbits, and he always 
 could catch as many trout as he liked. Both 
 the children were talkative, but the older mem- 
 bers of the family were heavy and taciturn. 
 
 Getting well away from Camas we found the 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 85 
 
 country less level than before, and our road ran 
 nearer the mountains. In the southeast were 
 the " Three Tetons," now standing out in majes- 
 tic prominence, their sharp peaks white with 
 snow, and the sides of deepest blue. Directly 
 eastward, in the direction of the Park, chain 
 after chain of hills appeared in sight, some soft 
 with haze, but others as clearly outlined as 
 though they were ten, instead of a hundred or 
 more, miles away. 
 
 It was now that we began to meet the several 
 tributaries of the Snake River. They were mere 
 brooks, as a rule, wide but shallow, and coursed 
 through grass-grown fields. The names given 
 to the streams and their different valleys were 
 suggested by the few events that have happened 
 in the neighborhood. Bottle Creek, for instance, 
 is so called from the fact that Generals Sherman 
 and Sheridan happened to meet and make camp 
 on its banks. On the departure of these two 
 famous men, the number of bottles left behind 
 gave the creek its name. This story of our 
 driver may not be true, but locally it is thought 
 to be. Antelope Creek and Shot Gun are names 
 of equally uncertain origin. Near the latter lives 
 a trapper whose log-cabin is decorated on roof 
 
1 86 
 
 SHOSHONE. 
 
 and sides with sun-bleached trophies of the hunt. 
 Huge antlers are suspended over the narrow 
 doorway, and skins of animals are tacked to 
 every sunny place. 
 
 It was nearly sunset before we caught sight of 
 the Snake, and the day had ended before we 
 reached and forded it. Just across the stream 
 
 
 SNAKE RIVER CROSSING. 
 
 stood the row of cabins which some adventurous 
 landlord has built for the accommodation of 
 passing travellers. The forests come close down 
 to the rear of the houses, and a few tall pines 
 stand guard in front. The Snake at this cross- 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 8/ 
 
 ing is less than twenty rods wide, but flows 
 with considerable swiftness and is of crystal 
 clearness. A foot-bridge of logs connects the 
 two banks, and there is a flat-bottomed boat 
 which one may charter if desirous of making 
 a trip to the quiet coves where trout are to be 
 found. 
 
 It was like meeting an old friend to see the 
 river again. Throwing a chip into the current, 
 I wondered how soon it would reach Shoshone. 
 Not long, indeed, if it went so swiftly all the way 
 as at first. Possibly it would escape the drift- 
 wood below the Falls, and would sail on and on 
 until it reached the Columbia and the Pacific. 
 There is a sort of fascination in watching rivers 
 like the Snake. They are full of courage, poor 
 innocents ! and are ever hurrying on to what they 
 cannot foresee is their destiny. I am sure this 
 by which we rested would never have been in 
 so great haste had it known of its long, dark 
 canon far beyond, and of its wonderful leap into 
 a misty gulf. 
 
 After supper we adjourned to the dimly 
 lighted kitchen to talk with the trappers, who 
 had just come in with their load of game. The 
 spokesman w^as a most voluble individual, and 
 
l88 SHOSHONE. 
 
 SO fired our enthusiasm that we were more than 
 half inchned to abandon our teams and take to 
 the woods. If there was game in the world, he 
 said, it was here in the forests that surrounded 
 us. Bear? Yes. Elk? In abundance. Deer 
 and antelope? Yes. He had seen a dozen elk 
 in a week, and had that day killed a few. He 
 could not begin to tell us of the sport there was. 
 He had been a hunter in the region for years, 
 and knew every nook and corner in the place. 
 Far away to the south the country is covered 
 with dense forests and a succession of moun- 
 tain ridges. North of the Snake the valley is 
 without timber. The hills are low and covered 
 with sage brush and scattered tufts of tall grass. 
 Here is the paradise of bird shooting, the creeks 
 and sage being the resort of countless wild duck 
 and prairie hens. Among the mountains that 
 border the northern side of the valley is found 
 the larger game. Numerous hunting parties 
 make the cabins at First Crossing their camp, 
 and from it take long tramps into the wilderness 
 of backwoods. The trappers we talked with 
 support themselves by their rifles, and have 
 hardly known any other life than the one they 
 now lead. During the Indian wars they acted 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 
 
 89 
 
 as scouts for a season, but when the troubles 
 ended went back to the woods. 
 
 The twenty-five mile drive from the crossing 
 of the Snake to Manley's Cabin was so attract- 
 
 FORDING THE SNAKE. 
 
 ive that we gave a day to it. For the first few 
 miles the road led through the woods. On our 
 one side were had occasional glimpses of the 
 river, but to the right were thickly growing 
 trees. Later we crossed the stream, stopping 
 midway to enjoy its great beauty. Each bank 
 was heavih' fringed with trees, drooping over 
 
IQO SHOSHONE. 
 
 the water and mirrored in the placid surface. 
 In a Httle cove near by stood a soHtary heron 
 industriously fishing for his breakfast, and be- 
 yond were some ducks paddling contentedly 
 about and unmindful of our presence. Not a 
 sound, save the quiet murmur of the trees and 
 river, disturbed the silence, and the air was 
 heavy with the perfumes of the forest. The 
 view was our last of the Snake. On gaining 
 the opposite bank our route would be north- 
 ward, while that of the river was due east. It 
 was well, I thought, to see the stream as it 
 now appeared. Placid itself, its surroundings 
 were all in harmony ; and the river at last was 
 beautiful, with no suggestion of having an evil 
 spirit or of being boisterous and in haste. 
 
 A few miles beyond we left the forests and 
 entered a great circular basin, level and grassy, 
 and enclosed by tree-covered hills. Directly 
 across this ran our road, its course easily marked 
 and the point where it climbed the hills clearly 
 seen. The basin is known as Henry's Lake 
 Bottom. It is ten miles wide by as many long, 
 and at its upper end is Henry's Lake, — a 
 bright-blue body of water filled with fish and 
 fed by mountain streams. A cabin that stands 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 
 
 91 
 
 on the shores is a favorite camp for hunters, and 
 Ls rarely without its visitors. In the meadows 
 through which we drove were scores of wild 
 herons. Listening, we could hear their melan- 
 choly cries, and seeing us they took wing and 
 leisurely flew away. 
 
 Midway across the valley we had a taste of 
 winter. Before aware that the sky was overcast, 
 a violent storm swept down 
 upon us. The rain fell in tor- 
 rents, and hailstones pelted 
 
 TYGHEE PASS. 
 
 our wagon-top. In half an hour the ground was 
 whitened, and a biting wind was blowing. Then, 
 
192 SHOSHONE. 
 
 as suddenly as it came, the storm subsided, and 
 the sun came out; and, as we slowly toiled up 
 the steep slopes of Tyghee Pass, by which the 
 road leads out of the basin, we could see the 
 surrounding mountains robed in their dress of 
 winter. To the east, from the top of the Pass, 
 we looked into Madison Valley ; and westward 
 could trace our long course and look down upon 
 the lake and its remarkable surroundings. The 
 asps and maples on the mountain-sides were all 
 gold and crimson, the grasses were brown, and 
 the lake a transparent blue. The air was like 
 a tonic, and our blood flowed free and fast. 
 Surrounding us was a glorious wilderness, all 
 undisturbed by man, and so beautiful in concep- 
 tion and creation that one felt it a sacrilege to 
 speak. Forest and intervale, dark pines and 
 trees alive with color, snowy peak and wood- 
 crowned hill, were all crowded into view. 
 
 A few years ago the most direct way to reach 
 the Yellowstone Park from the West was by 
 stage from Virginia City, Montana, to Henry's 
 Lake, and thence by the road which is now fol- 
 lowed. ■ The line was established during the 
 Star Route period, and was heavily subsidized. 
 When the frauds were discovered, the stages 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 93 
 
 were taken off. The present route passes within 
 a mile of the south shore of the hike, and not 
 far from the log-cabin w^hich has long been the 
 favorite camp of sportsmen. The house is open 
 for visitors at all times. It overlooks the wide 
 basin lying to the south, and commands an ex- 
 tended view of the graceful hills and Sawtell's 
 Peak, a high, flat-topped mountain rising to the 
 west of the valley. The lake is fed by several 
 streams flowing into it from the mountain gorges, 
 and is filled with fish. In all the West there is 
 not a prettier body of water, and I know of no 
 valley with greater attractions for all lovers of 
 Nature. It resembles the isolated bits one now 
 and then finds tucked away among the Allegha- 
 nies. All its streams are of fresh, clear water, 
 and the slopes are carpeted with grasses that 
 grow in the shade of pines, ash, and maple. 
 
 From the top of Tyghee Pass we drove at 
 once into the forests w^hich completely cover 
 the long slopes of the western side of Madison 
 Valley. For an hour or more the monotony 
 was unrelieved. The trees surrounding us hid 
 all outlines of the valley. At last, however, 
 there were more extended outlooks, and from 
 the grass-grown areas which had lost their pines, 
 13 
 
194 SHOSHONE. 
 
 or which had never had them, we could trace 
 the outhnes of the far-away range which forms 
 the eastern Hmits of the Madison Valley. It 
 was forest-covered to its very top, and in the 
 north joined the higher peaks of the great Gal- 
 latin Mountains, which fill Eastern Montana and 
 extend to the head-waters of the Missouri. Be- 
 tween us and the range lay the great level, filled 
 with forests, through which the river takes its 
 course. The Madison is one of the great tribu- 
 taries of the Missouri, and was named. by Lewis 
 and Clarke. It has its source at the southern 
 end of the Yellowstone Park, where it is known 
 as the Firehole River, or South Fork of the 
 Madison, and just before entering the canon by 
 which it reaches the valley, receives the waters 
 of the Gibbon River, one of the important 
 streams of the Park. From the valley it flows 
 northwesterly to a point north of the Gallatin 
 Range where, with the Gallatin and the Jeffer- 
 son, it forms the Missouri. Few rivers of the 
 Northwest are longer than it or so tortuous, and 
 none have birth in so strange a place ; for 
 where the Madison rises the ground is covered 
 with geyser cones, and its waters arc hot with 
 the overflow from boiling springs. 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 95 
 
 Toward sunset we reached Manley's Cabin. 
 It stands on the left bank of the river and is 
 built of rough-hewn logs, the spaces between 
 which are plastered. On one side the house is 
 flanked by an open corral, where Manley keeps 
 his cattle. On the other extend the open fields 
 across which we had driven, and all around 
 which grow the forests. Tired with our long 
 drive, the simple house seemed a palace of 
 comforts. In the evening we sat around the fire, 
 and Manley told us of his life. It was very un- 
 eventful, he said, and in winter was most dreary. 
 The storms were frequent and severe, and he 
 was absolutely cut off from the outside world. 
 In summer the visitors were numerous. Many 
 made the cabin their head-quarters while on 
 hunting trips about the country, and others 
 stopped, as we had, for a night. For a living, 
 Manley supplies the Park hotels with meat, eggs, 
 and milk. In the future he hopes a railroad will 
 reach his land and render it worth a tidy for- 
 tune. At present, he told us, life was a struggle, 
 and the income was discouragingly small. 
 
 Our last day's drive was begun early and 
 ended late in the afternoon. The air was crisp 
 and cool on leaving Manley's, and patches of 
 
196 
 
 SHOSHONE. 
 
 frost-work lay upon the grasses. It was well 
 into September now, and winter comes early in 
 this mountain country. From the cabin we 
 drove across the Madison, and were soon among 
 the forests. It is not over ten miles from one 
 
 
 ;.':V/<.. 
 
 MANLEY S CABIN. 
 
 side of the valley to the other; but the road 
 follows the course of an old trail, that was made 
 for the especial benefit of those who wished to 
 keep near the river, and greatly increases the 
 distance. We rarely lost sight of the Madison, 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 97 
 
 and at times drove along its banks. It is a 
 pretty stream, this far-away tributary of the 
 great Missouri. Its valley is heavily wooded 
 and has a series of parks, or intervales, which 
 are as level as a floor and thickly carpeted with 
 grasses. Some of these openings have been 
 caused by fire, which has swept away the trees, 
 and others are purely natural, free, even, from 
 underbrush, and as neat and trim as though 
 given daily care. Why they should have been 
 left in the very depths of the forests, is a mys- 
 tery. That they have been is a blessing, for 
 they greatly relieve the monotony of a forest 
 drive. We were constantly driving into and 
 across them, and in one we stopped for lunch- 
 eon and to give the tired horses a rest and bite 
 of the grass. The pines in the Madison Valley 
 are small in circumference, but are of great 
 height. The country round about is overrun 
 with game. Once, on gaining the top of a low 
 ridge, we came upon a band of half-a-dozen 
 antelope. The wind being from them to us, 
 they were taken completely by surprise. But 
 on seeing us they were off on the instant, — 
 rapidly moving flashes of dull-red and white. 
 Half-way across the valley is the western line 
 
198 SHOSHONE. 
 
 of the National Park. Reaching it we came 
 upon the miHtary camp established there. The 
 commanding officer and his men were away, 
 but the cook gave us welcome. The post is not 
 at all formidable to look at, and life there must 
 prove rather a dull existence. The duty mainly 
 consists in protecting the game within the Park 
 limits from molestation. You can hunt and 
 fish up to the very borders of the Yellowstone ; 
 but woe betide you if, in your enthusiasm, you 
 chase a deer across the line, or allow your trout 
 to entice you over the border ! If caught tres- 
 passing, you will be arrested, your hard-earned 
 game confiscated, your rifle taken away, and 
 you yourself escorted to head-quarters at the 
 Mammoth Hot Springs. There you may tell your 
 story. If believed, your sentence will be light: 
 a fine, perhaps, or a reprimand. If not be- 
 lieved, you will be forwarded to higher officials 
 and dealt with as they please. 
 
 Dividing the western outskirts of the Park 
 from Firehole, or Lower Geyser Basin, is a high, 
 narrow ridge of land over which the wagon 
 road climbs by an ascent so steep that, in pity 
 for the horses, we sent the teams ahead and 
 followed them afoot. At first the view was 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 1 99 
 
 obstructed by the forests ; but later they were 
 left far below us, and at the top of the divide 
 the valley could be seen from end to end. 
 Down its centre ran the Madison, winding in 
 and out among the trees ; far away in the dis- 
 tance was the clearing that surrounds Manley's 
 Cabin. The view was panoramic, embracing 
 a vast area of levels and hills, high peaks and 
 dark-green forests. In all the broad expanse 
 not a house could be seen. There was not a 
 trace, not even a suggestion, of civilization. 
 In spots the forests were dead and the trees 
 white and ghost-like ; but as a rule there was 
 a continuous mass of green, lighted by the 
 river and overlooked by mountain-peaks freshly 
 sprinkled with newly fallen snow. 
 
 To the north of this last climb is the famous 
 canon of the Madison. Through it the river 
 flows on its way from Firehole to the valley. 
 In time it is proposed to extend the stage road 
 through this winding, romantic pass, and thus 
 save the hard pull over the divide. If ever the 
 Union Pacific is built to the borders of the 
 Park, its terminus will be in the Madison Valley, 
 and the only stage-ride will be that through the 
 canon. Surveys to this end have already been 
 
200 SHOSHONE. 
 
 made, and Government has been asked to aid 
 in making the road-bed that will follow the 
 river to Firehole. 
 
 With a last long look at the country westward, 
 we turned to the east and drove rapidly down- 
 grade toward the Park whose strange features 
 give it the name of "Wonderland." The Madi- 
 son and its valley were soon lost to sight. 
 We had reached the end of the Beaver Canon 
 road. Once more the forests surrounded us, and 
 the old jolting stage creaked and groaned be- 
 neath the pressure of the brakes. Our driver, 
 noticing our silence, said he " guessed we kind 
 o' felt sorry to have th' drive end." 
 
 He was an admirable man, in his way, this 
 driver of ours. He had his peculiarities, as we 
 all have ; but his temper was so serene that I 
 envied him. If a leader became balky, he was 
 never worried ; if the climb was hard, he never 
 thought of easing the load by walking. To 
 all appearances he was a part of the seat he 
 occupied. He talked little, and did not know 
 one mountain from another. But he could tell 
 in a moment when we, seated behind him, were 
 having luncheon, and was always ready to join 
 us. For a day I thought him rough and un- 
 
A NEW ROUTE TO WONDERLAND. 201 
 
 couth and, possibly, worse than this. But at 
 Snake River Crossing I found him seated in a 
 corner holding a bright-haired little girl on his 
 lap. *'It's mine," he said, in answer to my 
 look of inquiry. Later he told me of his young 
 wife, a cook at one of the hotels, and of his 
 baby girl. *' 'T ain 't no easy work in this coun- 
 try feedin' 'em," he said, '' an' they can't dress 
 much. But they 're a heap o' comfort, an' th' 
 little one just dotes on taking a ride with me." 
 After this, whenever I saw the man giving the 
 horses their own way, I was sure his thoughts 
 were wandering away to the coming winter, 
 when, as he told me, he was " goin' to settle 
 down an' have th' fam'ly with him." 
 
Chapter IX. 
 
 AMONG THE GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 
 
 A CHAPTER on the Yellowstone must be 
 about as satisfactory as a magazine article 
 on America. In neither can you do full justice 
 to the subject. I can suggest the features of the 
 Park, but must leave to the guide-books all 
 statistical description. As a matter of fact, the 
 Yellowstone is so filled with natural curiosities, 
 so overburdened with strange creations that 
 have no counterpart anywhere in the world, that 
 I doubt if any one who does not himself visit 
 the place can form the least conception of its 
 appearance. In certain portions it is a strange, 
 weird storehouse of natural wonders ; in others 
 it is so beautiful that an artist cannot repro- 
 duce the gorgeous colorings. The geysers, the 
 volcanic and calcareous formations, the Grand 
 Canon, the Falls of the Yellowstone, the Hot 
 Springs, are all unique. The inspiration of stu- 
 
FALLS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 205 
 
 dents, they are likewise the source of unbounded 
 dehght to every beholder. They captivate the 
 ignorant as well as the learned, and to the 
 majority of beholders are wonderfully incom- 
 prehensible and full of fascinating interest. 
 
 On recommendation of Dr. E. V. Hayden, the 
 eminent geologist and explorer, the Yellowstone 
 National Park was wisely set apart by Congress, 
 in 1872, for the ''benefit and enjoyment of the 
 people." The reservation, as the Park may 
 more properly be termed, lies mainly in the 
 northwestern corner of Wyoming, and extends 
 slightly into Idaho and Montana. It is fifty- 
 five miles long by sixty-five wide, and includes, 
 therefore, 3,575 square miles, or 2,288,000 acres. 
 The surface features present a great diversity of 
 character, the lowlands bearing a general resem- 
 blance to the parks of Colorado, and the ranges 
 enclosing the vast region having the indescri- 
 bable grandeur so characteristic of the Rocky 
 Mountain system. The peaks rising high above 
 these encircling walls dominate the entire land- 
 scape. From them the valleys of the Yellow- 
 stone and of the Gardiner may be traced for 
 miles through the broken country which they 
 traverse, and the Park, with its undulating table- 
 
206 SHOSHONE. 
 
 lands, dark forests, and countless thermal springs, 
 is visible from end to end. 
 
 It is a mistaken idea that the Yellowstone 
 abounds in grand scenery. All its central area 
 consists of forest-grown table-lands that are ex- 
 ceedingly monotonous, and from which the views 
 are restricted. The only large mountain masses 
 within the limits of the Park Plateau, as this 
 area is called, are the Red Mountain and Wash- 
 burne Ranges. Both have steep, but rounded 
 outlines, with rudely conical summits which rise 
 from three thousand to four thousand feet above 
 the Plateau. The ranges are heavily wooded, 
 and their lower slopes are covered with nutri- 
 tious grasses which serve as food for the wild 
 game that now abounds within the limits of the 
 reservation. The average elevation of the Plateau 
 is 7,500 to 8,500 feet, and its geological forma- 
 tions are entirely volcanic, composed for the 
 most part of light-colored rhyolites. Volcanic 
 conglomerates reach in places a depth of two 
 to four thousand feet, and two of the ranges, 
 the Yellowstone and the Washburne, are almost 
 entirely composed of them. The older sedi- 
 mentary groups, from the Cretaceous to the 
 Silurian, occupv but limited areas now, but 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 20/ 
 
 once extended over the entire district. A num- 
 ber of specimens of fossil plants, obtained in the 
 Park in 1872, indicate the existence of the Lara- 
 mie, or Fort Union group. In a map published 
 in one of Dr. Hayden's reports on the Yellow- 
 stone, the ancient outlines of the Great Lake, 
 now occupying the southern end of the Park, 
 are shown to have extended over a major por- 
 tion of the country, thus proving that the water 
 area near the sources of the largest rivers in the 
 most elevated section of the West has dimin- 
 ished more than one half. The country has so 
 changed since the period of its lake occupancy, 
 that were it not for the erosion of the Yellow- 
 stone Valley no parts of the sedimentary strata, 
 except those forming the higher summits of the 
 East Gallatin Mountains, would appear. The 
 geologic history is most interesting. The story 
 of the glacial period and of the great displace- 
 ments, synchronous with the general Rocky 
 Mountain uplift, will explain the greatly di- 
 versified appearance of our Wonderland more 
 clearly than can one who now sees the results 
 that were accomplished. Glaciers existed on 
 an extensive scale, and in exploring the deep 
 valleys of the higher ranges geologists are con- 
 
208 SHOSHONE. 
 
 stantly finding the rounded rocks which the great 
 rivers of ice have left to mark their course. 
 In the Wind River and Teton Mountains gla- 
 ciers still exist, and at times descend to an ele- 
 vation of less than five thousand feet. That they 
 once covered the entire Park Plateau area is 
 asserted with assurance by many students of 
 glacial effect. 
 
 The lowest elevation in the Park is 5,360 feet, 
 at the mouth of Gardiner's River; the highest 
 is 11,155 feet, Electric Peak, in the Gallatin 
 Range. The continental water-shed crosses the 
 Park in the southwestern part, and is flat and ill- 
 defined. It enters west of the Lower Geyser 
 Basin, and leaves at a point south of the south 
 arm of the Yellowstone Lake. On its one side 
 are the sources of the streams that join the 
 Snake River; on its north are those that are 
 tributaries of the Missouri. Few visit the south- 
 ern slopes of the divide, but confine their atten- 
 tion to that portion of the Park bordering the 
 Yellowstone, the Madison, the Gardiner, and the 
 streams of smaller size that flow through the for- 
 ests and down the many canons until reaching 
 the great Missouri. The Yellowstone alone has 
 a drainage area of nineteen hundred square 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 209 
 
 miles, and possesses the most beautiful and 
 picturesque features of any river in the Park. 
 It flows at the base of the i^reat Yellowstone 
 Range, forming the eastern barrier of the Park, 
 and is bordered on the west by the mountains 
 of the Washburne group. Its course is nearly 
 northwest until reaching the huge shoulders of 
 the Gallatin Range, filling the northern end of 
 the reservation and extending over into Mon- 
 tana, when it turns due north down a wide valley 
 enclosed by white-capped peaks that are land- 
 marks for miles around. 
 
 The season during which the Yellowstone Park 
 may be visited extends from the last of June to 
 the middle of September. At other times the 
 hotels are closed and the roads obstructed by 
 deep snow. In winter the region is Arctic in 
 temperature and in appearance. Mountains and 
 hills, valleys and minor streams are buried, and 
 the cold is intense. The rising vapors of the 
 boiling springs cover the trees with fantastic 
 decoration, and terrible avalanches tear their 
 way through the forests. The place is deserted 
 by all save the keepers at the hotels and the 
 wild animals who make the Park their home. 
 Mr. Haynes, the official photographer of the 
 H 
 
2IO SHOSHONE. 
 
 Yellowstone, was successful in reaching the 
 Lower Geyser Basin a few winters ago; but, 
 with that one exception, I know of no explorer 
 who has dared brave the Arctic weather of the 
 snow-bound place. 
 
 The first authentic information regarding the 
 National Park is derived from the report of 
 Captain W. W. De Lacy, who conducted a party 
 to the Lower Basin in 1863. The region was 
 then comparatively unknown. Even the trap- 
 pers of the Northwest had little faith in the ex- 
 istence of its natural wonders, and all pretending 
 to have acquaintance with them were regarded 
 as unreliable romancers. The first white man 
 to explore the district was undoubtedly a man 
 named Coulter, who belonged to the Lewis and 
 Clarke expedition. On the return of that ex- 
 pedition Coulter, at his own request, was dis- 
 charged near the mouth of the Yellowstone, and 
 immediately returned to the country above the 
 forks of the Missouri. There his companion 
 was killed by the Blackfeet Indians, and Coulter 
 himself made a captive. On his escape, some 
 time later, he joined the Bannocks, a tribe 
 whose range then included the Park area. It 
 was either during his captivity or voluntary life 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 211 
 
 with the Bannocks that Coulter gained his 
 knowledge of the country of hot springs and 
 geysers; for in 1810, on his return to St. Louis, 
 he is reported as telling strange tales that were 
 interesting, but of course highly improbable. 
 Even so late as 1859 none really believed that 
 there was anything really remarkable in the Yel- 
 lowstone, and all reports regarding the phenom- 
 ena were considered but idle tales. The region 
 had its visitors, no doubt ; but the man who could 
 tell what he saw without exaggeration, seems 
 to have been lacking. In his report for 1878 
 Colonel Norris mentions finding a block house 
 near the Grand Caiion, and elsewhere of a cache 
 of marten traps and other relics of early trappers. 
 The report of Captain De Lacy attracted little 
 attention. In 1869 two prospectors entered the 
 Park and went as far south as the lake, crossing 
 from there to the Geyser Basins. Their story at 
 once became widely known, and created much 
 excitement. The following year a large party 
 of Montana settlers, under the lead of General 
 Washburne, then surveyor-general, made an ex- 
 tended survey of the Park, visiting most of the 
 places known to-day. When near the head of 
 the lake Mr. Evarts, a member of the expedition. 
 
212 SHOSHONE. 
 
 became separated from his companions and was 
 lost. After suffering great hardships he was 
 found near the Mammoth Hot Springs. It is in 
 his honor that the name Mount Evarts is given to 
 the high peak which overlooks the narrow valley 
 containing the great lime terraces that are now 
 so often visited. In 1871 Dr. Hayden made his 
 memorable journey, the report of which was 
 presented to Congress, and since that year the 
 Park has rarely been without its visitors. Count- 
 less descriptions of its beauties and wonders 
 have been published, and the reports of the 
 Government Geologists, issued from time to 
 time, have given the scientific explanation of 
 whatever is strange and phenomenal. In 1877 
 the Nez Perces Indians raided the Park, killing 
 several people and destroying whatever property 
 they could find. They we,re pursued by General 
 O. O. Howard, who followed nearly the exact 
 course of the Beaver Canon route through 
 Tyghee Pass, and across the Madison Valley. 
 In 1878 the Bannock Indians entered the Park, 
 and were captured by General Nelson A. Miles. 
 At present the Indians are under complete con- 
 trol, and the Park is without dangers of any kind. 
 It is under the charge of a general superintend- 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 213 
 
 cut, and careful watch is placed over the most 
 frequently visited places to see that none of the 
 formations are mutilated. 
 
 The so-called lower, which is really the north- 
 ern, end of the Yellowstone contains the famous 
 lime formations known as the Mammoth Hot 
 Springs. A day's stage-ride due southward are 
 the Lower and Upper Geyser Basins. Midway 
 between these two features of interest, but lying 
 to the eastward, are the Canon and Grand Falls 
 of the Yellowstone River. Directly northeast of 
 the Geyser Basins is the Yellowstone Lake. An 
 ordinary tour of the Park means a visit to these 
 several places. The Government has built a 
 series of roads connecting them ; and large 
 hotels, all under one management, have been 
 erected at Norris and the two more southerly 
 Geyser Basins, at the Canon, and at the Hot 
 Springs. The latter hotel is of huge size, and 
 has many of the modern conveniences. The 
 others are smaller, and make little attempt at 
 either beauty or comfort. They serve the brief 
 demands made upon them, however, and one 
 need fear no material privations while visiting 
 the Wonderland country. In time the Govern- 
 ment roads will be so extended as to make the 
 
214 SHOSHONE. 
 
 stage-ride less long and hard than at present; 
 and one may then have the additional pleasure 
 of going to the lake, now rather remote and in- 
 accessible to all save those who do not mind 
 rough riding and primitive accommodations. 
 
 As we descended the wooded ridge over which 
 we had cHmbed from the Madison Valley, there 
 were views eastward through the trees of the 
 Firehole Basin, toward which our road led. 
 The air was filled with the strong sulphurous 
 odor which is peculiar to the region, and scat- 
 tered over the grass-grown levels were rising 
 clouds of mist, born of the boiling hot springs. 
 Far beyond the limits of the valley the hill-sides 
 were thickly overgrown with forests, and in the 
 extreme distance were tall white peaks. The 
 wood through which we passed led down to the 
 very edge of the basin, and there were even 
 scattered masses of trees in the valley itself 
 But the long, wide stretches of grass were every- 
 where dotted with the geyser springs, here gath- 
 ered into groups and sending forth dense volumes 
 of steam, and again completely isolated and hav- 
 ing a field all green and fair except the one weird 
 spot from which the heated waters poured their 
 rising clouds. 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 2l^ 
 
 Looking for the first time upon the geysers 
 and hot springs of the Park, one experiences a 
 pecLiHar sensation. He grows distrustful of the 
 very ground beneath his feet, feeling that even 
 there may be mysterious caverns where the air 
 is filled with sulphur gases, and where heated 
 waters are ready to burst through the walls that 
 hold them down. Both the Upper and Lower 
 Geyser Basins are fairly honeycombed. In what- 
 ever direction you look are the same masses 
 of cloud-like vapor, outlined against the forests 
 behind them ; the same brilliantly colored pools, 
 with delicately tinted rims ; and, far away, the 
 silent, white-robed peaks. You may tire of the 
 geysers, and grow indifferent to the cause of their 
 existence; but the general features of the Park 
 landscape — its vastness, its varied coloring, its 
 bold mingling of the grand and of the pictur- 
 esque — you can never forget nor cease to appre- 
 ciate and enjoy. The air at all times, and particu- 
 larly in the early fall, is wonderfully pure, bracing, 
 and clear, and the sky is rarely overcast. As the 
 sunlight falls upon the great unbroken forests 
 and strangely fashioned geyser cones, the effect 
 is indescribably charming. Each hue is intensi- 
 fied, as on the ground-glass of a camera; and 
 
2l6 SHOSHONE. 
 
 day by day the Park grows more fascinating and 
 replete with interest. Its scenery is often sug- 
 gestive of that of other parts of the Rocky Moun- 
 tain country. But as surely as you are ready 
 to say this is so, the sudden appearance of a 
 boiling hot spring, or the ghost-like uprising 
 of a geyser stream will enforce the fact that, 
 notwithstanding the occasional similarity, the 
 Yellowstone is still a region peculiar to itself, 
 strangely fashioned and impressive to a marked 
 degree. 
 
 The ten-mile drive from P'irehole to Upper 
 Geyser Basin has, in addition to its other features, 
 the charm of certain novelty. To one fresh from 
 the comparatively prosaic outside world, the 
 sight of acres of steaming pools, of blood-red 
 basins, and of incrusted fields from which comes 
 a noise as of hissing serpents, and over which 
 hovers a white shroud of mist, is a revelation. 
 And when you at last come within range of the 
 many active geysers that give the Upper Basin its 
 name ; when you hear them, now low murmuring, 
 now giving out a loud, despairing cry ; when you 
 see the tall columns of water, smoking-hot, leap- 
 ing skyward and filling the air with vapor, — you 
 are ready to acknowledge that all preconceived 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 21/ 
 
 ideas of the Park were but vague and shadowy, 
 and that the reality far surpasses even your wildest 
 expectations. 
 
 Nearly midway between Firehole and the Up- 
 per Geyser Basin is a bit of lowland that has the 
 most appropriate name of " Hell's Half Acre." 
 Forests, still green and fresh, enclose the noisy, 
 vapory place, but the half acre itself is one of 
 wailing spirits. The treacherous crust, through 
 which numerous springs find a vent, is burning- 
 hot, and one never know^s when it will give way 
 beneath his weight. The air is filled with sul- 
 phur fumes, and the whitened trunks of once 
 stately pines, now being slowly buried beneath 
 the incrustation, are like the giant arms of the 
 doomed, vainly reaching forth for help, but 
 relentlessly held by unseen hands. 
 
 The scientific name of the springs to which 
 the local guide-books give the Satanic title I 
 have quoted, is the Half Way Group, or Egeria 
 Springs. There are thirty-nine different springs 
 altogether, and two of them are among the most 
 famous in the Park. The Grand Prismatic Spring 
 is the largest, and measures two hundred and 
 fifty by three hundred and fifty feet. Its color- 
 ing is wonderfully and indescribably brilliant 
 
2l8 SHOSHONE. 
 
 and varied. The outer rim of the huge opening, 
 from which rise dense clouds of steam, is of a 
 bright red deposit, and between it and the blue- 
 green water are circles of yellow, orange, brown, 
 purples, and grays. Each hue is distinctly 
 marked, and is intensified by a ground-work of 
 grayish white. Next to the Prismatic is Tor- 
 quoise Spring, intensely blue and overflowing 
 through a long trough which is white on the 
 bottom and has edges of salmon color and 
 brown. Close to it is the Cliff Caldron, or Ex- 
 celsior Geyser, three hundred and thirty feet in 
 length and two hundred feet wide, the largest 
 orifice in the Yellowstone. Until the year 1880, 
 when its first eruption was witnessed, no one 
 knew that the geyser was more than a spring. 
 In that year, however, it manifested its power, 
 and earned the right to its present reputation. 
 The eruptions continued at irregular intervals 
 from September 27 to October 7. The greatest 
 height which the column of ejected water at- 
 tained at any one time was three hundred feet. 
 Rocks weighing many pounds were hurled high 
 above the rising stream, and the Firehole River, 
 which runs near by, became a foaming flood of 
 boiling water. At present the geyser is enjoying 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 219 
 
 a long period of rest, and the water is twenty 
 feet below the walls of the steaming cavern. It 
 is constantly boiling over, however, and has 
 formed a series of terraces traversed by deep, 
 beautifully tinted channels. 
 
 One of the stories told in early days was to 
 the effect that the Yellowstone Park had great 
 areas of petrified sage, '* with all the leaves and 
 branches in perfect condition, while the rabbits 
 and sage hens were still there, perfectly petrified 
 but as natural as when living; and more won- 
 derful yet, the petrified bushes bear the most 
 wonderful fruit, — diamonds, rubies, and emer- 
 alds as large as walnuts." " The story," says Dr. 
 Hayden in one of his reports, '' has a large basis 
 of fact, absurd as it sounds. There are fields 
 of sage, as well as bits of forest, which, lying in 
 the immediate vicinity of springs, have been 
 petrified while standing. The hot, silicious 
 water is drawn up through the pores of the 
 wood, and between the wood and the bark, by 
 capillary attraction, and, depositing silica wher- 
 ever it goes, transforms the tree or brush into 
 rock." As for the fruit, it is borne on the out- 
 side and inside of the trunks of the trees, rather 
 than on their branches. The trunks are con- 
 
220 SHOSHONE. 
 
 verted into crystalline quartz, — amethystine or 
 yellow, — and it is this which gives the *' moun- 
 tain man " his diamonds as large as walnuts. 
 Some of the crystals on the trees near Excelsior 
 were gorgeously colored, and for a moment we 
 rather regretted not being able to take a few of 
 them away with us. 
 
 It was a relief to reach the living forests again. 
 The road led along the banks of Firchole River 
 and made frequent crossings of the stream over 
 rustic bridges. With few exceptions there was 
 no suggestion of the near presence of geysers 
 and boiling springs. Now and then a thin cloud 
 of vapor could be seen far in the quiet seclusion 
 of the forest; but as a rule there were only 
 sylvan shades and the fast-running river, bright 
 and clear as those among the mountains. 
 
 Gaining an elevated point of lookout, the 
 scene changed again. Directly before us was 
 spread the long, narrow valley, which is to-day 
 the marvel of the world. The Upper Geyser 
 Basin has no counterpart. Its spouting foun- 
 tains, its colors, and its formations are all un- 
 equalled phenomena. Through nearly the centre 
 of the valley speeds the winding river; and on 
 its either bank are grouped the geysers, — some 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 221 
 
 with castle-like cones of chalky whiteness, others 
 mere circular bowds in whose depths one may 
 see the troubled waters preparing for their sud- 
 den leap high into mid-air. Within the place — 
 which ever seems enchanted — you are encircled 
 by wooded hills, — a dull-green background to 
 the white cones and whiter water-spouts ; and the 
 ground, save for its scattered basins of blue and 
 pink, gold and red, is like a chalk-bed, —soft to 
 the touch and crumbling with chemical action. 
 
 Here, surely, is the Wonderland whose fea- 
 tures the guide-books so minutely describe. 
 The entire area of the basin is nearly four square 
 miles. It is well timbered, and the soil where 
 there are no spring deposits is a dark volcanic 
 sand. Near the river the formation is calca- 
 reous, and rises above the level of the stream 
 to a height of from ten to twenty feet. The 
 first descriptions of the springs and geysers were 
 given by members of the Washburne expedi- 
 tion ; later information has been gained through 
 the Government Geologists who visit the basin 
 nearly every year. More than four hundred 
 and fifty springs have already been named, and 
 of these are many which are distincdy geysers. 
 From the balcony of the hotel a score of th 
 
 em 
 
222 
 
 SHOSHONE. 
 
 may be seen. Some send forth high spiral 
 columns; others are mere fountains, rising and 
 falling in obedience to the unseen forces. One 
 famous geyser, Old Faithful, has an hourly 
 
 OLD FAITHFUL. 
 
 eruption. Its cream-white cone forms the apex 
 of a low mound near the hotel, and from 
 this, preceding every action, issue loud, hoarse 
 groans and waves of heated air. Far down 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 223 
 
 the chimney-like opening you can see the surg- 
 ing waters, now filHng the gloomy depths, then 
 disappearing, and finally bursting forth in a 
 torrent and shooting skyward like a rocket. 
 For five minutes the gorgeous spectacle lasts, 
 and the slopes of the mound are overrun with 
 steaming rivulets. Then the eruption ceases. 
 With a few despairing efforts the waters return 
 to their caverns, and the cone is only an empty 
 shell, bluish-white within, and like a block of 
 incrusted marble on the outside. The actual 
 height which the waters attain is two hundred 
 feet. The stream itself is six feet in diameter, 
 and falls in a graceful arc that ends in a glit- 
 tering shower. The eruptions occur at regular 
 intervals of every fifty-seven minutes. 
 
 Among the largest and best-known geysers of 
 the Upper Basin are the Bee Hive, with a cone 
 of such shape as easily to suggest the name, and 
 from which the fountain rises 200 feet; the 
 Giant, — diameter 7 feet, height 140 feet, dura- 
 tion 3 hours; the Giantess, — diameter 18 feet, 
 height of extreme jet 250 feet, duration 20 
 minutes; the Grand, — diameter 20 to 25 feet, 
 height 250 feet, duration 20 minutes ; the Grotto, 
 — diameter 4 feet, height 60 feet, duration 30 
 
224 SHOSHONE. 
 
 minutes ; the Castle, — diameter 5 feet, and 
 height 50 feet; and the Fan, — 60 feet high, 
 and duration from 10 to 30 minutes. The 
 cones of the Castle and Grotto are indescriba- 
 bly beautiful. They are of pearly whiteness, and 
 are lined with mother-of-pearl tints that glow 
 like masses of opal. The Giantess has no rim 
 to its bowl, and when inactive the waters are 
 out of sight. During its period of eruption, 
 however, the bowl is filled to overflowing ; and 
 when the moment of greatest activity arrives the 
 waters are hurled forth in a body, the major 
 portion rising only a few feet and then falling 
 back, but slender jets shoot far above the open- 
 ing, and rise higher with every loud pulsation of 
 the heavily breathing monster. Standing near 
 this throbbing creature, then manifesting its 
 enormous strength, we felt the earth tremble, 
 the air was filled with groans, and the river- 
 banks were deluged with the steaming floods. 
 For days the pool had shown signs of distress, 
 the waters boiling and the steam rising in dense 
 clouds. At times the agitation grew more pro- 
 nounced ; and visitors, leaving the other geysers, 
 rushed to it, hoping that the time of the great 
 eruption had arrived. At last, toward sundown. 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 225 
 
 the moment came. From its hot resting-place 
 there arose a tremulous wall of water that grew 
 in height before our very eyes. Like a wind- 
 swept lake, shot into mid-air, it hung suspended 
 above the pool. Then, thrusting forth its tall 
 spires of minute particles, it fell to earth again 
 and swelled the volume of the river. 
 
 One who has never seen them can form no 
 conception of the cones from which the waters 
 of the several geysers escape. In the distance 
 they resemble white-walled castles ; and a closer 
 inspection reveals a multitude of brilliant colors. 
 The walls vary in height from eight to eleven 
 feet above the crest of the formation which they 
 crown, and are composed of hardened cream- 
 white silica. The Castle Geyser cone stands on 
 a mound forty feet higher than the river, and is 
 the most picturesque feature of the Upper Basin. 
 A thin column of steam continually escapes from 
 the orifice of the cone, and at intervals small jets 
 of water spurt high above the clear, white walls. 
 Few are fortunate enough to see a complete 
 eruption. The Earl of Dunraven was one of 
 the favored, however, and in his description of 
 the scene he says that the column reached an 
 altitude of two hundred and fifty feet. Immense 
 15 
 
226 SHOSHONE. 
 
 quantities of hot water were ejected, and the de- 
 scending spray ran in torrents down the geyser 
 sides. The noise was Hke that heard on the 
 sea chffs, when the ocean is lashed by a storm, 
 and the ground trembled from the shock. For 
 twenty minutes the spectacle continued, and fol- 
 lowing the water came hissing steam, expelled 
 in regular beats and making a continuous roar. 
 
 The walls of the Grotto are not so high as 
 those of the Castle, but its crater is hollowed 
 into fantastic arches beneath which are the rents 
 through which the water and steam escape. 
 During eruption the two main cones are del- 
 uged and nearly concealed by fine white spray, 
 through which spurt small jets that shoot up- 
 ward from twenty to forty feet. On the outside 
 the walls are very white, but on the inside they 
 are of light sea-green, reminding one of blocks of 
 ice, — only they are hot to the touch and smell 
 of sulphur. We did not see these two geysers at 
 their best, we were told ; but they seemed very 
 beautiful, and the forests gave them a back- 
 ground that intensified all their colors. They 
 were less noisy than the others, less terrible, 
 and less suggestive of a force that could, had it 
 pleased, break away from all bounds and scatter 
 
^GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 22/ 
 
 a broadcast desolation. The spray that now and 
 again poured forth from the openings was as 
 light and graceful as a veil, filled with colors 
 where the sun's rays shone upon the quivering 
 drops, and draping the geyser sides with shim- 
 mering sheets. A master hand has chiselled 
 the walls of these cones. There are countless 
 little towers and turrets and loopholes, from 
 which escape tiny jets of steam ; and at the 
 Grotto you can step within the gloriously tinted 
 caverns and imagine them rooms of an actual 
 castle. 
 
 You cannot easily grasp the full significance 
 of the Upper Basin for a day or two. In his 
 enthusiasm one hastens from place to place, 
 and loses not only time but the chance to study 
 the features of each eruption. And by study 
 alone can you comprehend the spectacle that 
 the region affords. There are other geysers in 
 the world, — in Iceland and in New Zealand, — 
 and thermal springs without number. But some 
 of the largest geysers are here in this little area 
 of four square miles; and the phenomena pre- 
 sented by them have been investigated again 
 and again. I confess that we grew tired of the 
 boiling waters, so restless and hot, and that it 
 
228 SHOSHONE. 
 
 was sometimes pleasanter to sit on the hotel 
 veranda and watch the eruptions from a dis- 
 tance. But none of us, I think, ever wearied of 
 the gorgeous colorings of the region, or neg- 
 lected to applaud a geyser in action. Whenever 
 we looked down the valley we were sure to see 
 one or more columns of water leaping skyward ; 
 and if there was not water there was steam, and 
 that from a distance was quite as effective. 
 
 I have not by any means given an exhaustive 
 list of the different springs and geysers, nor told 
 where they may be found. Such information is 
 afforded by the local guide-books, and every 
 geyser is labelled with a sign. You can easily 
 find them all. If the Giant happens to be in 
 action, you will need no guide to it. The dark- 
 colored crater is ten feet high, and the inside 
 walls are yellow and are broken down on one 
 side. When playing, a column of water is 
 ejected that measures five feet in diameter, and 
 attains an altitude of nearly two hundred feet. 
 The eruption continues for hours, and is con- 
 ceded to be one of the grandest spectacles in 
 the basin. Its only equals in the world are the 
 Giantess and the Great Geyser of Iceland, the 
 latter being the largest in the world. More 
 
THE GIANT GEYSER. 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 23 I 
 
 than seventy-five active geysers have ah'eady 
 been found in the Park, and twenty-five of this 
 number are in the Upper Basin. 
 
 Near the Castle geyser is one of the most 
 beautifully colored pools in the Park. It is very 
 deep, and the water is so clear that one can see 
 far into its depths. The blueness is that of the 
 sky intensified, and the rim of the pool is pink, 
 shading to orange and cream-white. At certain 
 angles the geyser cone near by is reflected on 
 the calm surface, and the wide circular basin 
 expands in one's imagination until it becomes a 
 sea, and the cone a ship, becalmed upon it, but 
 with all sail set. Other richly colored places 
 were the quick-sloping banks of the river near 
 the Giantess and Bee Hive geysers. The under- 
 coloring was light-yellow, and overlying this 
 were streamers of red, blue, and orange, with 
 a bordering near the water of green grasses. 
 The brilliancy of the hues was everywhere 
 heightened by the overflow from the geysers, 
 which ran down the bank toward the Firehole, 
 and by the bright sunlight, that was of dazzling 
 clearness. 
 
 It is said, although I cannot vouch for the 
 truth of the assertion, that if you soap a geyser 
 
232 SHOSHONE. 
 
 it will immediately display its power. The mili- 
 tary guardians stationed in the valley keep an 
 open eye on sight-seers, and one is not anxious 
 to try experiments. I noticed, however, that 
 our taciturn driver exerted a peculiar influ- 
 ence upon such geysers as he chanced to visit. 
 Almost immediately following his advent an 
 eruption occurred. The Bee Hive, for instance, 
 performed most bravely for our benefit, and so 
 did others that had not been so accommodating 
 for many days. 
 
 The soaping process is very simple. A small 
 bar of soap dropped into a cone will so grease 
 the wheels of the unseen force below as to cause 
 almost instant action. The story is told of a 
 Chinaman who came to the Park and pitched 
 his tent over a tempting spring of boiling water. 
 He had found, he thought, a natural wash-tub; 
 but the soap with which he liberally lathered 
 his week's washing had the effect of waking the 
 slumbering force of the geyser. An eruption 
 followed, and high into the air went tent and 
 clothes, leaving the astonished Celestial a sadder 
 and a wiser man. 
 
 On nearing the Upper Basin the Firehole 
 River flows down a narrow, rock-bound canon 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 233 
 
 that offers a delightful retreat after the glare of 
 the valley has caused one's eyes to burn, and 
 when the geysers have ceased to interest. Two 
 miles above the hotel is a series of cascades, the 
 water leaping from one mossy ledge to another, 
 and then bounding forward down a half-mile of 
 rapids. The forests are very dense on either 
 side of the falls, and the air is deliciously free 
 from the sulphur odors that, in time, are so apt 
 to offend and distress. The canon was our favor- 
 ite retreat near the close of our busy day of 
 sight-seeing, and the driver, when he first piloted 
 us there, showed an agility which we did not 
 believe he possessed. 
 
 In the morning of our last day at the geysers 
 we were given a taste of winter. A cold rain of 
 the night before had turned to snow a little 
 before sunrise, and at breakfast the ground was 
 covered and the trees were bending beneath 
 their unwelcome covering. In the valley the 
 cones were double their usual size, and the 
 vapor was like a sea-fog, hiding all but the nearer 
 objects as it rose from every crack and crevice 
 of the earth and gaping safety-valve of the sub- 
 terranean caverns. The drive back to Firehole 
 was cold and cheerless, and made us realize, as 
 
 .<^' 
 
234 SHOSHONE. 
 
 we might not otherwise have done, so warm and 
 beautiful had been the days, that our summer 
 was on the wane, and that winter was ready to 
 descend upon the Park. 
 
 The Lower Geyser Basin, or Firehole, is less 
 closely confined by the hills than is the case 
 with its near companion, and cannot be seen to 
 so good an advantage. Its area is nearly forty 
 square miles, and there are six hundred and 
 ninety-three boiling springs, exclusive of seven- 
 teen that are of sufficient importance to rank 
 as geysers. One would possibly be more im- 
 pressed than perhaps he will be at Firehole, 
 were it not that geysers begin to grow tiresome 
 after too intimate an acquaintance ; and at the 
 Upper Basin they are your constant companions. 
 The local guide-books, however, are filled with 
 enticing pictures of existing splendors; and one 
 humbly visits whatever is set down as necessary 
 to be seen. But I confess that all novelty had 
 departed. I liked the general rather than the 
 particular features, and a geyser, if not in erup- 
 tion, was looked at askance. 
 
 The drives about Firehole were our greatest 
 joy. To-day, on horseback, we followed narrow 
 winding trails that led to secluded springs cold 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 235 
 
 as ice, or burning-hot; and on the morrow 
 drove across the meadows to a high table-land 
 literally covered with formations, and thickly 
 studded with boiling springs and wide, open 
 pools that now and again were hurled bodily 
 into the air. On the extreme top of this high- 
 land, nestled in a group of pines, are the Paint 
 Pots. There are several of these caldrons of 
 boiling mud in the Park, and to each is given 
 this fanciful name. The largest is near the en- 
 trance to Gibbon Canon, a few miles north of 
 Firehole. The Lower Basin caldron covers an 
 area nearly sixty feet long by forty wide, and is 
 enclosed by a rim five feet high. It is filled 
 with a fine silicious clay, in a state of constant 
 agitation, and contains a group of smaller basins 
 each about three feet wide, which are filled with 
 a sputtering compound of many colors, — blue, 
 pink, brown, and gray. 
 
 Near the Paint Pots is Fountain Geyser, a 
 deep, blue pool that boils and steams and occa- 
 sionally has an eruption which sends the main 
 body of water upward to a height of ten feet, 
 and small jets to an altitude of fifty. From its 
 rim we could see far over the great crusted 
 mound which the geyser and mud caldron oc- 
 
236 SHOSHONE. 
 
 cupy. The air was raw and cold, and the rain 
 and snow of a few days before had turned the 
 marshes into ponds. Down in the depths of 
 the Fountain the rumbHngs were long and loud, 
 and the water was churned into foam and ran in 
 rivulets down the white sides of the hill. At 
 last the action began in earnest, and for half an 
 hour the geyser became indeed a fountain, the 
 water leaping high above its basin and falling 
 back, only to rise again and again until it fell 
 exhausted. We left it with regret, for it was 
 our last day in the basin and no more geysers 
 were to be visited. 
 
 From the Lower Basin our route led eastward 
 over the hills and through the forests to the 
 Grand Caiion of the Yellowstone. The road 
 was rough, but the views after entering Hayden 
 Valley, where one first catches sight of the 
 Yellowstone, more than counterbalanced all dis- 
 comforts. Once out of the forests the prospect 
 broadened, and we were face to face with the 
 white-topped peaks that had been our distant 
 landmarks for so many days. Far to the south 
 rose the bold headlands of Yellowstone Lake ; 
 and in the north stood Mount Washburne, its 
 feet hid by the pines. At the entrance to Hay- 
 
ms'dMm/Ui//i/i 
 
 Foi LOWING rnr \ filowsione 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 239 
 
 den Valley we swept around the edge of Sul- 
 phur Mountain, — a huge pile of pure sulphur, 
 yellow-tinged and filling the air with odor,— 
 and then passed out upon an open rolling plain 
 with long stretches of brown grass and dark- 
 green pines that looked like massive armies. 
 Later we reached the Yellowstone, and for hours 
 drove along its tree-grown bank, catching bright 
 glimpses of the placid waters flowing beneath 
 the overhanging boughs. 
 
 As the day neared its end we descended 
 from the river's bank into the Canon, through 
 which it now began to force its way, forded a 
 branch of the stream, and were wrapped in the 
 doom of the narrow defile that the Yellowstone 
 has worn. Above the sighing of the pines could 
 be heard the roar of the Falls, and at our side 
 the river ran headlong toward the fearful preci- 
 pice over which it takes its fearless leap. Every 
 moment now the cliffs that hemmed us in rose 
 higher and higher. Hardy trees grew from the 
 crevices of the dark-stained rocks, and the river 
 was lashed into foam by half-submerged ledges 
 lifting their wet heads above the seething tide. 
 We were still in Wonderland ; but instead oi 
 weirdness there was beauty, and the air was 
 
240 SHOSHONE. 
 
 fragrant as in our New England woods. Chat- 
 tering squirrels sat on the pine boughs and 
 mocked us, and there were mossy banks and 
 thick layers of pine-needles. No need to tell 
 us that we had now reached what is indispu- 
 tably the most satisfying corner of the Park. 
 We realized the fact, even in the gathering 
 darkness. 
 
 The hotel at the Grand Canon stands within 
 a few feet of the Upper Fall, and is surrounded 
 by a heavy growth of pines. To the right runs 
 the river, and at the left of the house begins a 
 narrow path that follows along the edge of the 
 stream, but high above it, to the various points 
 of observation from which one looks into the 
 Canon and upon the two grand cataracts; In 
 the evening of our arrival we sat around the 
 office stove, listening to the praises of the place. 
 In the morning we walked down stream to see 
 for ourselves what it was like, and if it had been 
 too much glorified. One look, and we were 
 satisfied. I had imagined that the West had 
 nothing new to offer; had thought I knew its 
 features thoroughly, and that I could not be 
 surprised into fresh enthusiasm. But when I 
 stood upon an overhanging ledge and saw at 
 
GRAND CANON OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 243 
 
 my feet a narrow caiioii nearly two thousand 
 feet deep, its rough-hewn walls of countless 
 colors, I knew that here was something such as 
 I had never seen before. 
 
 Imagine the prospect. Below you a narrow 
 gorge, cut through the very centre of high, 
 wooded hills ; in the bottom of this a river 
 rapidly flowing, — a mere ribbon of light green 
 or blue that makes no sound, yet actually seems 
 to quiver as it runs, and which flaunts its colors 
 like a streamer straightened by the wind. All 
 this directly beneath the rock on which you 
 stand. 
 
 Now look to your right. Between two huge 
 shoulders of rock is a great white wall as light, 
 and seemingly as soft, as feathers. At its crest 
 is a strip of deep sea-green; below, pure white, 
 and far down in the depths of the canon, a rising 
 cloud of mist that is met by the wind and blown 
 from rock to rock, or, touched by the sunlight, 
 becomes an arch of rainbow hues. It is the 
 Great Fall of the Yellowstone, — higher than 
 Niagara, higher than Shoshone, higher than any 
 fall of equal volume of water that you have ever 
 seen. From the top line of green to the base of 
 that ever-moving cloud of spray, the distance is 
 
244 SHOSHONE. 
 
 three hundred and ninety-seven feet, while the 
 width of the great white sheet is less than one 
 hundred. 
 
 But still you have not seen all. For higher 
 up the river there are white-capped rapids, 
 making wild leaps against the walls that shut 
 them in on either side ; and beyond them is the 
 Upper Fall, not so high as the one below, but 
 just as white, and having the same airy graceful- 
 ness and its veil of mist. Recalling the Canon 
 of the Yellowstone, I am still inclined to think 
 it an enchanted place ; for now, as then, I feel 
 its spell, and am at a loss for words to picture it. 
 Artists every year belie its glories, and only one 
 has ever caught the spirit of the scene and car- 
 ried away the true colorings of cliffs and water 
 and trees. Every isolated column of rock in 
 the Caiion has its peculiar hue, — its yellow or 
 red, its slaty-blue or rich dark-brown ; and as 
 you look up or down the gorge it is all aflame, 
 and the colorings change with every hour of the 
 day. It is a masterpiece of Nature, — a creation 
 which the more you study, the more you will 
 appreciate and enjoy. We fairly revelled in its 
 beauty, testing every point of view, climbing the 
 rocks above the Falls, and working our way to 
 
GEYSERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 245 
 
 the level of the river itself. At noonday, when 
 the reds and yellows lost their softness in the 
 glaring light, we sought the shadow of the pines, 
 and from there watched the river take its fearless 
 plunge. But earlier and later we lingered at 
 the very edge of the Canon, looking down upon 
 the nests of the eagles built upon many of the 
 more isolated spires, and studying the brilliant, 
 changing lights and the rich, warm shadows. 
 We forgot the dimensions, so conscientiously 
 recorded in our guide-books; forgot all com- 
 parisons. It was enough to feel that what we 
 saw was more beautiful than we had ever 
 dreamed. 
 
Chapter X. 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 THE Yellowstone River is the largest and 
 most important branch of the Missouri. 
 It issues from Yellowstone Lake, and has a 
 drainage area in the Park of nineteen hundred 
 square miles. From its source to the Upper 
 Falls the river is wide and sluggish. From its 
 east banks rise the mountains of the Yellowstone 
 Range, and on the west are the high plateaux, 
 known as Elephant's Back, and the Washburne 
 Range. About a mile above the Upper Fall 
 begins a series of rapids and cascades, and at 
 the fall the river contracts to a width of less than 
 eighty feet. The Lower Fall is half a mile below 
 the Upper. The Grand Canon begins at the 
 Lower Fall, and is twenty-four miles long. '' In- 
 deed," says Mr. Gannett, in his contribution to 
 Dr. Hayden's report, " the Yellowstone is in a 
 continuous canon from the Upper Falls to the 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 247 
 
 mouth of Gardiner's River, but the partial break 
 at the mouth of the East Fork separates it 
 into two parts, known as the Grand and Third 
 Canons. The former occupies the Hne of great- 
 est depression in a volcanic plateau, which slopes 
 to the northward and. southward from the Wash- 
 burne Mountains, and to the westward from 
 the Amethyst Ridge of the Yellowstone Range. 
 Its course is northeast as far as the VVashburne 
 group, and then is slightly westward. The 
 height of the plateau at the falls is about 7,800 
 feet. At the head of the Upper Fall the river 
 level is but a few feet below the top of the 
 plateau. This fall adds 1 12, and the Lower Fall 
 300 feet to the depth of the chasm. From the 
 foot of this fall to the mouth of the East Fork 
 of the Yellowstone, the total fall is 1,304 feet in 
 twenty-four miles, an average of 54.3 feet per 
 mile. As far as the extremity of the Washburne 
 Mountains, a distance of twelve miles, the canon 
 increases its depth to 1,200 feet. The width of 
 the canon near the falls is from one fourth of a 
 mile to a mile, and the angle of slope of the 
 walls from the top to the water's edge ranges 
 from 45° to 75°, with a horizontal line." 
 
 Mr. W. H. Holmes, discussing the geology of 
 
248 SHOSHONE. 
 
 the Park in Dr. Hayden's report, concludes that 
 the canon is one of erosion and has been cut by 
 the waters of the Yellowstone since the flow of 
 rhyolites, and probably very greatly since the 
 conglomerate-forming era. The lithologic char- 
 acter of the walls is most interesting and ex- 
 traordinary. The formations consist of igneous 
 rocks, and include a great variety of rhyolites 
 and pitchstones. " A feature of the walls below 
 the falls," says Mr. Holmes, " is the occurrence 
 of fragments of horizontal strata which have 
 been built into irregular recesses, and are thus 
 shielded from erosion. They are generally 
 coarse-grained sandstones or conglomerates, and 
 resemble the lake beds found on the upper sur- 
 face of the plateau." At the falls one is within 
 the borders of the ancient Yellowstone Lake. 
 The walls of the canon between the two cataracts 
 are capped with about twenty feet of horizon- 
 tally bedded sandstones, under which are thirty 
 feet of sandy clays. Similar outcroppings are 
 also found above the falls and in Hayden Val- 
 ley. The canon walls below the Lower Fall, at 
 Promontory Point, are all white or gray rhyolites 
 stained by the oxidization of minerals. Below 
 the Point the walls are of brown or gray rhyo- 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 249 
 
 Htes, which weather very dark. Here occurs 
 I the most remarkable instance of the cohimnar 
 structure, which is so noticeable a feature of 
 the Caiion. " The joints have the greatest di- 
 versity of directions, extending in great sweep- 
 ing curves across the wall, reaching from base 
 to summit in almost straight lines or arranged 
 in groups set at all angles with each other." 
 Minerals and hot springs have given a great 
 variety of colors to the rain-sculptured face of 
 the cliffs, and every hue is intensified by the 
 dark-green forests that cover the plateau to the 
 very edge of the awful chasm. 
 
 There is probably no more interesting district 
 in the world than that of the Grand Canon. 
 You cannot exhaust it in years. Every foot of 
 the gorge has its geologic history plainly written 
 on the cliffs, and the mountains and minor 
 canons are open books of information. One 
 of the most curious of the many phenomena 
 is found on the steep slopes of Amethyst 
 Mountain, a high ridge on the East Fork of the 
 Yellowstone. The exposed strata there is filled 
 with the petrified remains of ancient forests. 
 At a height of five hundred feet above the level 
 of the river, and embedded in various strata, are 
 
250 SHOSHONE. 
 
 prostrate trunks forty and fifty feet long, and 
 five or, six feet in diameter. In the middle 
 portion of the mountain face "rows of upright 
 trunks stand out on the ledges like the columns 
 of a ruined temple." In many cases the roots 
 are exposed, and may be seen penetrating the 
 now solid rocks. The wood is often perfectly 
 preserved. One tree particularly noted by Mr. 
 Holmes was covered with bark four inches thick, 
 and retaining its original deeply lined outer sur- 
 face. The strata inclosing this trunk contained 
 many vegetable remains, - — branches, rootlets, 
 and fruits; and one stratum of sandstone was 
 filled "with a great variety of the most perfectly 
 preserved leaves." In many instances the pet- 
 rified wood is completely opalized or agatized, 
 and its cavities are filled with beautiful crystals 
 of quartz and calcite. " The silicifying agents 
 have been so active in these strata," writes Mr. 
 Holmes, " that not only are all organic remains 
 thoroughly silicified, but all cavities in the 
 loosely bedded rocks and all fracture-lines in 
 the strata are filled with chalcedony or other 
 forms of quartz." Fossil trees are found at a 
 height of three thousand feet above the level of 
 the river, and are supposed by Mr. Holmes to 
 
CLIMBING THE TERRACES. 
 
.HOMEWARD BOUND. 253 
 
 exist in the conglomerates that reach and form 
 the loftiest summits of the range. 
 
 Slightly to the northeast of the Grand Cafion 
 is the Washburne Range, containing twenty-five 
 different summits ranging in height from 9,000 
 to 10,000 feet. The two highest peaks are Mount 
 Washburne, 10,346 feet above sea-level, and 
 Dunraven's Peak, 9,988 feet high. The former 
 is quite easy of access from the falls. The trail 
 extends along the edge of the Canon, and crossing 
 the mountains continues to the Hot Springs of 
 Gardiner's River. Before the completion of the 
 Government road the Mount Washburne route 
 was the only one by which the Grand Canon 
 could be reached, and is still used by those 
 making the tour of the Park on horseback. 
 The view from the peak is unequalled for extent 
 and variety. The broad expanse of the great 
 central plateau, with its forests, lakes, and deep 
 winding canon; the distant summits of the 
 mountains beyond Yellowstone Lake, and of 
 those surrounding the Park; and the depres- 
 sions containing the numerous hot springs and 
 rivers are all within the range of one's vision. 
 One cannot begin to imagine the grandeur of 
 the scene, and from no other point can so good 
 
254 SHOSHONE. 
 
 an idea of the peculiar topography of Wonder- 
 land be obtained. 
 
 Coming down the trail up which we were 
 slowly making our way was a party of sight- 
 seers who had come from across the Atlan- 
 tic to visit our National Park, All that great 
 wealth could buy was at their command. They 
 had ridden for many miles, and visited every 
 prominent section of the region, making camp 
 wherever night overtook them, and seeing the 
 country in a manner that few Americans ever 
 take the trouble to imitate. But the leader of 
 the party — he who planned the journey and was 
 now the most enthusiastic — was blind. Rich, and 
 a noble of England, he could see nothing of 
 the beauty around him, and could scarcely dis- 
 tinguish day from night. Yet here he was de- 
 scribing the view from Mount Washburne and 
 asking countless questions about the Canon. 
 No one would have imagined his infirmity. 
 His wide-open eyes, his animated manner, his 
 evident enjoyment of the places to which he was 
 led, stamped him as an enthusiast. When we 
 were told that he was blind, the pity of it made 
 our hearts grow sick. Ever afterward, I am 
 sure, one of us at least took more careful note of 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 255 
 
 the objects around him, and ceased complaining 
 at trifles. 
 
 The one other attractive feature of the Park 
 in the immediate vicinity of the Grand Caiion is 
 the Yellowstone Lake, famous for the beauty of 
 its shores and as being the largest body of 
 water, of equal elevation, in North America. 
 Its level is 7,738 feet above the sea, and in 
 shape it resembles a huge hand, with fingers 
 and thumb outstretched. Numerous islands are 
 grouped upon its placid, deep-blue surface, and 
 the shores are heavily fringed with dense forests, 
 from out of which at certain points huge shoul- 
 ders of detached mountain ranges extend to the 
 water's edge and end in high, abruptly rising 
 cliffs with serrated summits. The lake has an 
 area of one hundred and fifty square miles, and 
 is twenty miles long by fifteen wide. The waters 
 are shallow, and their intense color greatly en- 
 hances the general beauty of the shores and 
 brilliant reds of the rocky promontories. Shore- 
 lines are indistinctly marked on the face of the 
 cliffs, and the surrounding topography is such 
 that if the water rose but two hundred feet the 
 lake would again fill its ancient bed and cover 
 the levels now so dry and brown. 
 
256 SHOSHONE. 
 
 But the days were now so short, and the even- 
 ings so cool, that we needed no suggestions from 
 the hotel-keeper to realize that, like poor Jo, 
 we must be " moving on." October was near at 
 hand. Before us were still many miles of travel, 
 and there was much of interest to see. 
 
 So, after a last visit to the Caiion, and a part- 
 ing look at its beautiful walls flushed by the 
 early light, we drove over the hills and through 
 long stretches of forest to Norris Basin and 
 from there to the Mammoth Hot Springs. At 
 the latter place were to be made our adieus to 
 the Park, and the drive was our last with that 
 knight of the front seat who had guided us 
 ever since beginning our journey at Beaver 
 Canon. There was little oT interest on the road 
 to the Norris Basin. For a moment a glimpse was 
 had of the Yellowstone River, winding through 
 Hayden Valley and then losing itself in the 
 depths of its Canon; and later we passed a 
 series of cascades, the water falling over sloping 
 ledges and looking very white and beautiful 
 against the background of green pines and 
 dark rocks. At Norris there were more geysers 
 and hot springs and pink-rimmed pools. We 
 visited them all, as in duty bound, but were 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 257 
 
 glad to leave their noisy spouting for the fresh- 
 ness of the valley that leads northward to the 
 Gardiner River district and its famous Hot 
 Springs. At times we were tempted to forget 
 the lateness of the season and linger in the 
 region that, even to our satiated eyes, was not 
 without its interest. But the driver, at last, lost 
 all patience and urged us on. Behind us, he 
 said, was all that Jie cared anything about, and 
 all, he guessed, that we would enjoy seeing. 
 
 The Norris Geyser Basin has an area of about 
 six square miles, and an elevation of 7,257 feet 
 above sea-level. It lies in a depression of the 
 plateau uplands, and is near the head-waters of 
 Gibbon River, a tributary of the Madison named 
 by Dr. Hayden in 1872 in honor of General 
 John Gibbon, who first explored its narrow 
 valley. The several springs and geysers were 
 discovered by Mr. P. W. Norris, then the Gov- 
 ernment Director of the Park, who built a wagon 
 road to them from the Hot Springs. The Basin 
 contains no extensive deposits, and its phe- 
 nomena are all of recent origin, — a fact which 
 renders the little valley particularly interesting 
 to geologists studying the history of the thermal 
 springs in the Park. The Norris Mud Springs 
 17 
 
258 SHOSHONE. 
 
 cover large areas, and are remarkable for the 
 variety and brilliancy of then* coloring. 
 
 I think one can gain no better idea of the 
 strange configuration of the Yellowstone Park 
 than from the low water-shed which stretches 
 across the valley a little north of the Norris 
 Basin. For 'there, on the one side, the waters 
 flow south to the Madison, and on the other 
 north to the Yellowstone. Apparently they are 
 lost to each other forever, and yet, eventually, 
 both join the Missouri, the one taking a straight 
 course to that great river, the other making a 
 long detour and flowing many miles. On leav- 
 ing the Basin we crossed the divide, and drove 
 nearly due north through a wooded valley en- 
 closed by low ranges and containing a profusion 
 of long shallow lakes and steaming hot springs. 
 The waters are strongly impregnated with lime 
 and sulphur, but occasionally there are springs 
 of delicious freshness. The territory surround- 
 ing the latter is favorite camping ground, and is 
 rarely without its visitors. 
 
 Just before leaving the narrower part of the 
 valley the road closely follows Obsidian Creek, 
 a branch of the Gardiner, and passes the base 
 of the Obsidian Cliffs, nearly two hundred feet 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 259 
 
 hi^h, and composed of black obsidian rock 
 arranged in pentagonal columns that are per- 
 fectly cut and glisten in the sunlight. The 
 road-bed is made of the glass-like compound, 
 and the towering promontory is followed for 
 half a mile. In examining the qliffs Mr. Holmes 
 found a narrow trail that passed along the brink 
 of the ledge, and descended the broken cliffs to 
 the valley above and below. In its near vicinity 
 were innumerable Indian implements, showing 
 that at some time in the far-away past the clifts 
 were the source of extensive supplies of what- 
 ever is fashioned from the hard, keen-edged 
 material. Piles of arrow-heads and curious 
 utensils still exist, and the ground is covered 
 with the flint-like bits which have been chipped 
 from the hard black walls. 
 
 From the region of lakes and forests we 
 passed into a broader portion of the valley, 
 keeping within sight of winding streams and 
 having an extended view of the mountains, that 
 now appeared impenetrable barriers to our fur- 
 ther progress northward. The range they form 
 was, in fact, a stern old landmark at one time, 
 and for years held in seclusion the country of 
 which it is the northern wall. At present, how- 
 
260 SHOSHONE. 
 
 ever, Government has built a well-graded road 
 through one of the natural canons called King- 
 man's Pass, and the ancient breastwork is scaled 
 with greatest ease. The scenery of the Pass 
 is often grand, and its walls rise high above the 
 road. The hills through which it cuts its way 
 are brown and treeless, and at their base flows 
 one of the forks of the Gardiner, 
 
 Beyond the Golden Gate, as the narrow pas- 
 sage leading to the Pass is called, is an area of 
 dead forests. Coming upon the dead and fire- 
 blackened trees, we were quite willing to believe 
 that the driver had told the truth when he said 
 that we had seen the best of the Yellowstone 
 There was a startling contrast between the gen- 
 eral dryness of the basin we had now entered 
 and the green freshness of those farther south, 
 and even the warm coloring of the mountains 
 that form the Gateway failed to awaken the 
 interest that had been so satisfied by the Grand 
 Gallon. One cannot help having the keenest 
 enjoyment when making the grand tour of the 
 far West; but there are times, I must confess, 
 when a mountain, be it ever so beautiful, fails 
 to awaken one's enthusiasm. But I have seen 
 the time when a cathedral was just as tiresome, 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 26 1 
 
 and I know very well that there were days when 
 the Louvre or the Pitti Palace failed to interest 
 me. 
 
 The Mammoth Hot Springs are a famous fea- 
 ture of the National Park. Many are so satisfied 
 with their novel formation that they crave noth- 
 ing stranger. Only in Asia Minor is their equal 
 to be found. They cover an area of nearly 
 three square miles, and extend back from the 
 Gardiner River over two miles. In the mys- 
 terious past the valley which they occupy did 
 not exist. The country was a vast level of 
 rhyolites, through which in time the river wore 
 its way, the springs sinking with it until now 
 they issue from the hillside a thousand feet 
 below their former level. From the top of the 
 great white terrace which the waters have 
 formed, and the basins of which it still fills and 
 overflows, one can see the crest of the old rhyo- 
 lite plateau ; and on the sides of Mount Evarts, 
 the highest elevation near the river, the geolo- 
 gists trace the successive strata by which the 
 story of the great erosion is told. 
 
 The immediate surroundings of the Hot 
 Springs formations are limited by hills mostly 
 brown and bare. Here and there are patches 
 
262 
 
 SHOSHONE. 
 
 of forest, enclosing the crumbling terraces of 
 springs that have long since ceased to flow ; and 
 
 in the canon of the Gar- 
 diner are areas of green- 
 sward kept moist by the 
 spray that falls upon them 
 from the foaming cataracts 
 of the river. As a rule 
 the valley or basin is void of beauty ; but when 
 one looks upon the high white mound, with its 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 263 
 
 natural stairway of delicately formed basins of 
 many colors, he forgets the general dreariness 
 of the region and finds a fascinating interest in 
 the great terrace which has been slowly gain- 
 ing in dimensions these many thousands of 
 years. All other formations sink into insig- 
 nificance when compared with the Hot Springs 
 Terrace. Its great height and extent, the beau- 
 tiful and varied color of the water filling the 
 basins, the illustration it affords of the action of 
 thermal springs, the variety and form of the cal- 
 careous deposit, — cause one to forget the glare 
 of the sunlight and the heat of the day. Stand- 
 ing on the top of the mound, white as snow, you 
 are surrounded by rising clouds of steam, and 
 your feet grow hot from the great heat beneath. 
 Springs are everywhere, some boiling fast and 
 others slowly, and winding streams of water 
 course through narrow channels and fall like a 
 veil over the sculptured fronts of the basins. 
 Wherever the springs have ceased to flow the 
 deposit is dry and crumbling. But the walls of 
 the basins, still full to overflowing, have edges 
 colored with the hues of the rainbow. There 
 are the palest pinks and blues, the deepest reds, 
 browns, and yellows. '' One can look down 
 
264 SHOSHONE. 
 
 into the clear depths," says Dr. Hayden, *' and 
 see with perfect distinctness the minutest orna- 
 ment on the inner sides of the basins ; and the 
 exquisite beauty of the coloring and the variety 
 of forms baffle any attempt to portray them, 
 either with pen or pencil." 
 
 Thermal springs, as those are called whose 
 mean annual temperature exceeds that of the 
 locality in which they are found, are distributed 
 at random over the entire world. In New Zea- 
 land and Mexico, in South America and Europe, 
 in Asia, Africa, and America, they find their 
 way to the earth's surface no matter how high 
 or how low the elevation. In India thermal 
 springs exist at an altitude of sixteen thousand 
 feet ; in France and Germany they are less than 
 a thousand feet above the ocean level. Latitude 
 does not affect them. Their temperature is as 
 great in the Arctic circles as under the equator. 
 The reputation of their waters for medicinal and 
 bathing purposes was known to the ancients as 
 well as to ourselves. Pliny discusses and the 
 Romans erected temples over them. The baths 
 of Diocletian were famous for the statuary with 
 which they were adorned ; and Italy to-day 
 shows many a ruin of the gorgeously decorated 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 265 
 
 buildings where the rich and the poor used to 
 gather to bathe in the heahng waters. In the 
 Yellowstone Park more than three thousand of 
 these springs — whose temperature must exceed 
 that of 75° F. — have been named; and I know 
 of no more interesting reading than that found 
 in the report of the Government Geologists, 
 who have visited and studied them. I have but 
 slightly mentioned their more apparent charac- 
 teristics. To do more would have required vol- 
 umes. But he who would enjoy to the utmost 
 the spectacle presented by the Mammoth Hot 
 Springs, which are strictly thermal and whose 
 deposits are calcareous rather than silicious, 
 should not only read the exhaustive reports of 
 Dr. Peale, but should visit the geysers and boil- 
 ing pools and notice the nature of their deposits. 
 Only by so doing can the peculiar formations of 
 the Mammoth Springs be understood. They 
 are peculiar to themselves, with only one coun- 
 terpart, and that a small one in the Park, and 
 with but few equals in the world. Countless 
 ages have passed since the waters first began 
 their laborious, patient work of building ter- 
 race upon terrace of white-walled basins. Inch 
 by inch, less than one sixtieth of an inch a day, 
 
266 SHOSHONE. 
 
 the present terrace has been formed; and now 
 the main deposit is more than two hundred feet 
 high and three hundred yards wide. To find 
 another so large a sedimentary deposit one must 
 visit Italy or Algiers, Peru, India, or Hungary. 
 The deposits at the baths of San Vignone, Italy, 
 have a thickness of 250 feet, and at San Fillipo, 
 near Rome, strata of 328 feet thickness are 
 found. "In 1604," says Dr. Peale, "Father 
 Joseph de Acosta describes the springs of 
 Huanvelica, Peru, as depositing stones of which 
 houses are built. St. Peter's and all the prin- 
 cipal buildings of Rome are constructed of 
 travertine (or calcareous tufa) ; and at Hiera- 
 polis the deposit rises one hundred feet above 
 the plain and has a width of six hundred feet, 
 and upon this the city stands." 
 
 The main cause of the formations, both sili- 
 cious and calcareous, is the evaporation of water 
 containing carbonates and silica. Calcareous 
 waters also deposit by simply cooling or losing 
 carbonic acid upon coming to the surface. Sili- 
 cious formations are found at all geysers and 
 boiling springs. The deposit grows slowly and 
 has an infinite variety of forms. It is often 
 transparent, and may be seen in many places 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 26/ 
 
 covering the autographs of the early visitors to 
 the Park, who dehghted to write their names on 
 the rims of the springs. Inscriptions in pencil 
 soon become indelible, but are perfectly legible 
 beneath the varnish-like coating of silica. Wher- 
 ever calcareous springs are seen, the deposits 
 assume certain forms, one of the most constant 
 being that of the bath-like basins arranged in 
 terraces so characteristic of the Mammoth 
 Springs. These same forms are seen at Hi- 
 erapolis, in Asia Minor, and in fact wherever 
 springs exist that contain a large percentage of 
 calcium carbonate. Dr. Peale says it is not 
 necessary that the water should be hot, and in- 
 stances the cavern of Luray in West Virginia. 
 The recent deposits and those on which the 
 active springs are found at the Mammoth 
 Springs, occupy about one hundred and seventy 
 acres. There are fifty-two different springs de- 
 scribed by Dr. Peale, which vary in temperature 
 from 63° to 165° F. Each has its peculiarly 
 sculptured basin and color, and to mention the 
 characteristics of each would require many more 
 pages than are at my disposal. Spring num- 
 bered 17 by Dr. Peale has a beautiful marble- 
 like basin filled with light-blue waters, on which 
 
268 SHOSHONE. 
 
 float masses of red-tiiiged lime carbonates ; an- 
 other has a reddish rim to its basin and contains 
 long, silky filaments of light yellow. The basin 
 of the Cleopatra Spring is forty feet high, and 
 covers an area of three fourths of an acre. The 
 inner walls are of pearly whiteness with reddish 
 edges, and the waters are blue. Some of the 
 channels through which the overflow passes are 
 bright green or crimson. The hues are be- 
 wildering at times, and are always intensified 
 by the general whiteness of the high, broken 
 mound. The older deposits, now dry and 
 crumbling, are not far from the main terrace. 
 Their walls are grayish white, and one of the 
 formations is overgrown with forests. The high- 
 est living spring is one thousand feet above the 
 level of the Gardiner. 
 
 Here and there, scattered over the main ter- 
 race, are curiously fashioned caves with narrow 
 entrances guarded by dripping waters. Within 
 these shaded recesses the walls are like the inside 
 of the sea-shells. You can hear the loud mur- 
 muring of hidden springs, and around you are 
 quaintly carved stalactites and stalagmites. To 
 the right of Cupid's Cave, as one of these 
 grottos is named, is a walk that extends from 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 269 
 
 the terraces to Orange Geyser. The path leads 
 through a grove of pines, among which are 
 seen the pure white walls of the old deposits. 
 The shade is most welcome after the trying 
 glare of the place you have left, and the gey- 
 ser, sputtering itself hoarse, is an odd little 
 creation which we never tired visiting. Its cone 
 is a low, round hill, as yellow as an orange, and 
 not more than ten feet high. On its top is the 
 geyser, — a tiny, spouting fountain that gur- 
 gles and splashes all day long. Its little basin 
 was filled to overflowing, but the activity of the 
 diminutive geyser never ceased, and the cone 
 was dripping wet with its waters. I doubt if we 
 ever enjoyed a geyser so thoroughly as we did 
 this one. The coloring of its cone was very 
 rich and mellow, and made all the more pro- 
 nounced by the surrounding green of the forests. 
 The place, too, was delightfully fresh and cool 
 and quiet, and the noise that the baby fountain 
 made filled the air with a delicious murmur, 
 such as one hears when the waves are softly 
 rolling in upon the sea-sands. 
 
 Just to the left of the main terrace is a 
 rounded knoll, thickly overgrown with trees 
 long ago killed by the white walls that sur- 
 
2/0 SHOSHONE. 
 
 round them. From here was had our best 
 view of the Gardiner River basin. Below us 
 stood the weather-beaten buildings that serve 
 as headquarters for the military forces in the 
 Park, and into the distance stretched the val- 
 ley, dotted here and there with little columns 
 of vapor that marked the spot of a hot spring. 
 Looking far away to the great outer walls of 
 mountains, we were lost, for a moment, to pres- 
 ent surroundings, and again were driving along 
 the by-ways of the silent hills. Then, suddenly 
 realizing the duties of the hour, we turned away 
 and once more gave attention to the steaming 
 basins and the ever-flowing waters. The day 
 was our last in the Park. On the morrow we 
 should say farewell to its many wonders, and 
 be speeding eastward to the civilization from 
 which we had so long been absent. 
 
 Much had been learned during our wandering 
 pilgrimage ; and much, no doubt, would be for- 
 gotten. But I am sure now, as I was then, that 
 among the unforgotten will be the idle days 
 when we drove through fields both new and 
 strange and beautiful. They will be remem- 
 bered forever, comforting and amusing when, 
 for the time, we throw off the cares of a busy 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 2/1 
 
 life and look backward to the fading past. 
 The trials we encountered and the annoyances 
 we had to undergo will not seem so great in 
 after years as they did at the time. We shall 
 smile at them, I f^mcy, and wonder how they 
 ever troubled us. Days with Nature are red- 
 letter days, if we but knew it. For none can 
 paint and plan and fashion so well as she ; and 
 none, I think, can amuse us half so cleverly. 
 
 From the Hot Springs to Cinnabar, a town on 
 the outskirts of the Park, and at which one again 
 meets a railroad, the route is down the Valley of 
 the Gardiner as far as the point at which that 
 river joins the Yellowstone. Thence the west 
 bank of the larger stream is followed to the vil- 
 lage, where farewells to Wonderland are said. 
 
 From here the valley turns due north, and 
 down its centre flows the Yellowstone. On each 
 side are high ranges whose abruptly rising 
 fronts and tops are crowned with forests. At 
 the base of the west range extends a branch of 
 the Northern Pacific Railroad, which connects 
 Cinnabar with the main line at Livingston. It 
 was built for the accommodation of visitors to the 
 Park, and has a most picturesque entrance to 
 the very borders of Wonderland. The valley 
 
272 SHOSHONE. 
 
 continually narrows and contracts. Here the 
 cliffs leave scarcely room for the road to find a 
 foothold, and again recede from the river and 
 leave open fields covered with grasses and 
 dotted with cattle and small farms. From Liv- 
 ingston the view southward toward the great 
 Gallatin and Yellowstone Ranges is one of the 
 most beautiful in the West. The way seems 
 choked with mountains, and the tall white peaks 
 give the higher levels the appearance of belong- 
 ing to the Arctic Circle. 
 
 It is a most interesting ride from Livingston 
 .to St. Paul, and were one to go westward a few 
 miles from the little town that stands at the 
 gateway to the Park, he would find the three 
 rivers which form the Missouri. The railroad 
 crosses their meeting-point, and the place is 
 made memorable by the exploits of Lewis and 
 Clarke. Our old friend the Madison ends its 
 journey there, and you can see it winding down 
 the valley and boisterously joining its com- 
 panions. Had it not been for the lateness of 
 the season we would have gone still farther 
 westward to Helena; for having had a taste of 
 the Rockies we were disinclined to leave them, 
 and Helena, we knew, rested in their very lap. 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 2/3 
 
 There is much historical interest connected with 
 the country tributary to the Northern Pacific. 
 The road follows the general course of at least 
 three famous explorers, and in the valley of the 
 Yellowstone, which it traverses for nearly three 
 hundred miles, were fought some of the fiercest 
 Indian battles that were ever waged in the West. 
 The earliest explorer to seek the head-waters of 
 the Missouri was the Chevalier de la Verendrye, 
 who in 1743 followed the Missouri to within 
 sight of the Rocky Mountains, and there buried 
 a plate of lead graven with the royal arms of 
 France. In a lately published paper regarding 
 this early pathfinder Francis Parkman gives a 
 most interesting account of his journey and life 
 among the Indians. " Sixty-two years later," 
 writes Mr. Parkman, ** when the vast western 
 regions then called Louisiana had just been 
 ceded to the United States, Captains Lewis and 
 Clarke traced the Missouri to the mountains, 
 penetrated the wastes beyond, and made their 
 way to the Pacific. The first stages of that re- 
 markable exploration were anticipated by the 
 brothers La Verendrye. They did not find the 
 Pacific, but they discovered the Rocky Moun- 
 tains, or at least that part of them to which the 
 18 
 
274 SHOSHONE. 
 
 name properly belongs." On a tall pillar of 
 stone standing near the road east of Livingston 
 Lewis and Clarke engraved their names in 1806. 
 The letters still remain, and seeing them one 
 recalls the great journey of the two men, and is 
 filled with admiration at their bravery in going 
 forth into the then unknown world. 
 
 Of those who have but lately given the North- 
 west its history are the officers and men who 
 camped along the valley of the^' Yellowstone, 
 and made safe the way of the settlers who are 
 now rapidly crowding into the country and 
 transforming its wastes into regions of great 
 productiveness. Not far away from the line of 
 the road the genial, brave-hearted Custer lost 
 his life, valiantly fighting against overwhelming 
 odds ; and in dozens of localities you will have 
 pointed out the scene of some famous battle 
 with the Indians, who once fiercely disputed the 
 advancement of civilization. Peace reigns to- 
 day ; but to gain this happy condition of affairs 
 many lives were sacrificed. 
 
 Thus, through scenes of historic interest, and 
 having, too, their natural beauties of plain and 
 mountain, of river and strange formations, we 
 journeyed toward St. Paul. The summer of 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 2/5 
 
 idle outing, of novel experiences, had passed. 
 Every day brought us nearer the completion of 
 our great circle of travel. From the Missouri 
 we had reached and crossed the Rockies ; now 
 we had crossed them once again, and again at 
 the side of the Missouri, grown deep and muddy 
 and far less beautiful than when we had seen it 
 at its source, we ended our holiday. 
 
 THE END, 
 
By AMELIE KIVES. 
 
 A BROTHER TO DRAGONS, and Other Old-timb 
 
 Tales. Post 8vo, Cloth, Extra, $1 00. 
 
 VIRGINIA OF VIRGINIA. A Story. Illustrated 
 Post 8vo, Cloth, Extra, $1 00. 
 
 Oue is permitted to discover qualities of mind and a proficiency and 
 capacity in art from which something new and distinctively the work 
 of genius may be anticipated in American literature.— i>^os^o?i Globe. 
 
 Miss Rives has imagination, breadth, and a daring and courage 
 oftenest spoken of as masculine. Moreover, she is exquisitely poet- 
 ical, and her ideals, with all the mishaps of her delineations, are of an 
 exalted order N. Y. Star. 
 
 It was little more than two years ago that Miss Rives made her first 
 literary conquest, a conquest so complete and astonishing as at once 
 to give her fame. How well she has sustained and added to the repu- 
 tation she so suddenly won, we all know, and the permanency of that 
 reputation demonstrates conclusively that her success did not depend 
 upon the lucky striking of a popular fancy, but that it rests upon en- 
 during qualities that are developing more and more richly year by 
 year. —Richmond State. 
 
 It is evident that the author has imagination in an unusual degree 
 much strength of expression, and skill in delineating character.— £05- 
 ton Journal. 
 
 There are few young writers who begin a promising career with so 
 much spontaneity and charm of expression as is displayed by Miss 
 'Rives.— Literary World, Boston. 
 
 The trait which the author seems to take the most pleasure in de- 
 picting is the passionate loyalty of a girl to her lover or of a young 
 wife to her husband, and her portrayal of this trait has feeling, and is 
 set oflr by an unconventional style and brisk movement.— fvie Book 
 Buyer, N. Y. 
 
 There is such a wealth of imagination, such an exuberance of strik- 
 ing language in the productions of this author, as to attract and hold 
 the veAdei:— Toledo Blade. 
 
 Miss Rives is essentially a teller of love stories, and relates them 
 Avith such simple, straightforward grace that she at once captures the 
 sympathy and interest of the reader, . . . There is a freshness of feeling 
 and a mingling of pathos and humor which are simply delicious.— Aett 
 London Telegraph. 
 
 Plblished by harper & BROTHERS, New York. 
 S^^ Haupicr & BuoTHRKs wHl scnd either of the above tvorks by mail, 
 postage prepaid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on 
 receipt of the price. 
 
By COJSTSTANOE F. WOOLSOK 
 
 EAST ANGELS, pp. 592. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 
 ANNE. Illustrated, pp. 540. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 
 FOR THE MAJOR, pp. 208. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 CASTLE NOWHERE, pp. 386. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 {A New Edition.) 
 
 RODMAN THE KEEPER. Southern Sketches, pp. 
 340. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. {A New Edition.) 
 
 There is a certain bright cheerfulness in Miss Woolson's writing 
 which invests all her characters with lovable qualities.— JeiyzsA Advo- 
 cate, N. Y. 
 
 Miss Woolson is among our few successful writers of interesting 
 magazine stories, and her skill and power are perceptible in the de- 
 lineation of her heroines no less than in the suggestive pictures of 
 local Wie.— Jewish Messenger, N. Y. 
 
 Constance Fenimore Woolson may easily become the novelist 
 laureate.— Boston Globe. 
 
 Miss Woolson has a graceful fancy, a ready wit, a polished style, and 
 conspicuous dramatic power ; while her skill in the development of a 
 story is very remarkable.— I/O)!rfo)i Life. 
 
 Miss Woolson never once follows the beaten track of the orthodox 
 novelist, but strikes a new and richly loaded vein, which so far is all 
 her own; and thus we feel, on reading one of her works, a fresh sen- 
 sation, and we put down the book with a sigh to think our pleasant 
 task of reading it is finished. The author's lines must have fallen to 
 her in very pleasant places ; or she has, perhaps, within herself the 
 wealth of womanly love and tenderness she pours so freely into all 
 she. writes. Such books as hers do much to elevate the moral tone of 
 the day— a quality sadly wanting in novels of the iimQ.— Whitehall 
 Review, London. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Ig^ The above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
 United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
By W. D. HOWELLS. 
 
 MODERN ITALIAN POETS. Essays and Poets. With 
 Portraits. 12mo, Half Cloth, $3 00. 
 
 APRIL HOPES. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 A portfolio of delightsome studies among the Italian poets ; musings 
 iu a golden granary full to the brim with good things. . . . We ven- 
 ture to say that no acute and penetrating critic surpasses Mr. Howells 
 iu true insight, in polished irony, in effective and yet graceful treat- 
 ment of his theme, in that light and indescribable touch that lifts you 
 over a whole sea of froth and foam, and tixes your eye, not on the 
 froth and foam, but on the solid objects, the true heart and soul of the 
 theme.— Critic, N. Y. 
 
 A more companionable, entertaining, stimulating work than this 
 book has not been printed for many a day. It is a book to be stud- 
 ied privately, to be read aloud, to be cherished and quoted and re- 
 read many times, and every reader of it will cry for more translations 
 from the Italian by the same delight-conferring pen.— Chicago Tribune. 
 
 This is a noble volume, the fruit of studies began twenty years ago 
 in Italy. . . . The subject is discussed with all the rare fascination ol 
 style and thought which Mr. Howells is so well qualitied to bring to it, 
 and the volume will be treasured by every lover of poetry of whatever 
 peri(Kl or cVune.— Christian at [Vork, N. Y. 
 
 No living writer could give us this picture of a literary movement 
 with such delicacy of appreciation and discrimination. The period 
 embraced is about a century; the names selected comprise all the 
 poets which a survey of the movement, now over, distinguishes as 
 principal factors iu it. — Hartford Courant. 
 
 In culture, the critical power, and in literary art these essays pos- 
 sess qualities reached by no American, and made more brilliant and 
 pleasing by uo foreign essayist.— Boston Globe. 
 
 "April Hopes" is a specimen of Mr. Howells's well-known consum- 
 mate art as a delineator of young men and maidens, and a chronicler 
 of all the fluctuat,h)ns of love affairs. From the life-like description of 
 Harvard Class Day and its participants, in the opening chapters, to the 
 conclusion of the story, Mr. Howells is at his best.— A'. Y. Journal oj 
 Commerce. 
 
 Mr. Howells never wrote a more bewitching book. It is useless to 
 deny the rarity and worth of the skill that can report so perfectly and 
 with such exquisite humor all the fugacious and manifold emotious of 
 the modern maiden and her lover. — Philadelphia Press. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 (B^^ Either of the above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any 
 part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
SEBASTOPOL. 
 
 By Count Leo ToLSTOt Translated by F. D. Millet 
 from the French {Scenes du Siege de Sebastopol). With 
 Introduction by W. D. Howells. With Portrait. 
 16mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 In his Sebastopol sketches Tolstoi is at his best, and perhaps no 
 more striking example of his manner and form can be found.— ^V. y. 
 Tribune. 
 
 There is much strong writing in the book ; indeed, it is strength 
 itself, and there ismuch tenderness as well. — Boston Traveller. 
 
 Its workmanship is superb, and morally its influence should be im- 
 mense — Bonton Herald. 
 
 It carries us from the shams of society to the realities of war, and 
 sets before us with a graphic power and minuteness the inner life of 
 that great struggle in which Count Tolstoi took part. ... A thrilling 
 tale of besieged Sebastopol. All is intensely real, intensely life-like, 
 and doubly striking from its very simplicity. We have before our 
 eyes war as it really is. — N. Y. Times. 
 
 The various incidents of the siege which he selects in order to pre- 
 sent it in its different aspects form a graphic whole which can never 
 be forgotten by any one who has once read it, and it must be read to 
 be appreciated.— i\'a?wn, N. Y. 
 
 The descriptions, it is needless to say, are masterly. No novelist 
 has ever before succeeded in thus depicting the emotions and utter- 
 ances of the soldier in battle. — fimcon, Boston. 
 
 A powerful appeal against warfare, written in that wonderful style 
 which lends life and character to the most trivial incidents he describes. 
 It is a fascinating book, and one of its chief merits is the introspec- 
 tive art and analytical ))owcr which every page reveals. . . . This is 
 the most nervous and dramatic production of Tolstoi that has been 
 rendered into English.— A'. F. S^m. 
 
 It is, undoubtedly, the most graphic and powerfl^l of Tolstoi's works 
 that has been given ^^ ^^^^ American reading public. ... It should be 
 read and poiulored by Christians, pliilanthropists, statesmen— by every 
 one who can think. — Chicago Interior. 
 
 The profound realism of the book, its native, organic strength, will 
 make it one of tiie great books of the day. Certainly the underlying, 
 the ever-pi'esent horrors f)f war have seldom been so strikingly set 
 forth.— /SY. Louis Republican. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 It^~ The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
 United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
NAEKA, THE E^IHILIST. 
 
 By Kathleen O'Meara. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 "The scenes and incidents of Miss O'Meara's tale are purely Rus- 
 sian, and the time is the present period of which Tolstoi treats. Nat- 
 urally they su,<,'gest the marvellously realistic pictures of the author of 
 'Anna Kareniiia,' although it would he very unjust to the younger 
 novelist to compare her work with his, Tolstoi is always introspec- 
 tive; he deals rather with character than with the incidents which de- 
 velop character. 'NarUa' portrays an involved and ingenious com- 
 plication of events which hold the interest of the absorbed reader until 
 the end is reached. Tolstoi's stories, even when he has a story to tell, 
 are simply the intuitive outgrowth of the thoughts and actions of the 
 real men and women he draws. His dramatis personce make his plots, 
 while Miss O'Meara's plots, on the other hand, make her men and 
 women. . . . Narka I.arik, a low-born Russian Jewess, is a peculiar 
 product of Russian soil and of autocratic Russian rule. She is pos- 
 sessed of a beautiful person, a glorious voice, and a strong moral and 
 mental constitution; she is suspicious, as all Muscovites are, a thor- 
 ough and cim^istent hater, a devoted friend, truthful to a degree: and 
 she calmly swears on the holy image of the blessed St. Nicholas to an 
 utter falsehood in order to screen her lover and to aid his cause. . . . 
 The scenes are laid among that curious mixture of Oriental magnifi- 
 cence and barbaric discomfort, of hivish expenditure and shabby 
 makeshift, to be found in a Russian castle, with its splendid vast- 
 uess, the immensity of its grounds, the immensity of the forests on 
 all sides of it, and the general scale of immensity on which everything 
 about it, and within it, is invariably coudnctedo Add to these Rus- 
 sian prisons, Paris salons, French convents, the lyric stage at Milan, 
 Socialists, Nihilists, priests, patriots, and vlvisectionists, and it will 
 readily be i^een how strong and effective a story can be made by a 
 woman so gifted in the telling of stories, the weaving of plots, and the 
 study of character as Miss O'Meara has already proved herself to be. 
 Narka Larik is a better woman morally tiian Anna Kareniiia, intel- 
 lectually she is the superior of Katia, and she is quite worthy to stand 
 by the side of these two illustrious countrywomen of hers as the expo- 
 nent of all that is true and womanly in modern Russian life." 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 t^~ The above work sent by mail, postage prejyaid, to any part of the 
 United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
A STKANGE MAlSrUSCKIPT FOUND IN 
 A COPPEE CYLmDEK. 
 
 A Romance. Richly Illustrated by Gilbert Gaul. 
 12rao, Cloth, Extra, $1 25. 
 
 The writer of this book, whose name is still kept from the public, is 
 in every way qualified to rank with Mr. Hagirard. Indeed, his clever 
 analysis of Kosekin social laws is far more able, from a strictly liter- 
 ary point of view, than anything Mr. Haggard has ever done — N. Y. 
 Herald. 
 
 A story of remarkable power and originality, as weird and as wild as 
 the most extravagant of Rider Haggard's romances, but better fiction 
 and better literature in every way. . . . The book is well worth the 
 reading, not only for the strangeness of the story, but for the fancy 
 and i)oetic sentiment that pervade it, for the brilliancy of the inven- 
 tion that has been brought to bear upon it, and for the immense vivid- 
 ness and animation of the descriptive narrative — Saturday Evening 
 Gazette, Boston. 
 
 . In close ccmnection with the author's fanciful creations there is no- 
 ticeable a fine play of irony and humor, which lends a special charm 
 to the story. The latter is full of movement, and even in tlie more ex- 
 citing passages the exaggeration necessarily employed has no effect 
 in wearying tiie reader's attention. — N. Y. Sun. 
 
 Written in an inviting manner, it preserves throughout a lively 
 pictorial charm and dramatic interest. The theme is original iu 
 the extreme. . . . Withal the book is marvellously entertaining. Mr. 
 Gaul's illustrations are unusually fine, as we should expact.— Brooklyn 
 Times. 
 
 It surpasses the best of Haggard's works in literary tone, and its 
 fine dramatic construction and peculiar power of diction will readily 
 be acknowledged by all readers. . . . Taking it altogether, this book 
 is the most remarkable piece of fiction the new year has yet seen, and 
 a revelation of the identity of the author would "be welcomed.— iSosfori 
 Commonicealth. 
 
 A book original in conception and most powerful and dramatic iu 
 development. It is to be regretted that the author has not seen fit to 
 reveal his wAme.— Washington Post. 
 
 It is not possible for any one, much less a youth of either sex, to 
 read "A Strange Manuscript" without feeling that wonderful charm 
 that stole over us all when children upon the perusal of our favorite 
 adventures. The cathedral clock may chime the fast-speeding hours, 
 and the midnight taper burn to its socket, but this rare volume will 
 remain before the eager eyes until the last page is ^mahQCi.— Hartford 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 '^^T' The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
 United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
H. RIDER HAGGARD'S STORIES. 
 
 There are color, splendor, and passion everywhere; action in abun- 
 dance ; constant variety and absorbing interest. Mr. IIagu;ard does 
 not err on the side of niggardliness; he is only too affluent in de- 
 scription and ornament. . . . There is a largeness, a freshness, and a 
 strength about him which are full of promise and encouragement, 
 the more since he has placed himself so unmistakably on the roman- 
 tic side of ticMon ; that is, on the side of truth and permanent value. 
 ... He is already one of the foremost modern romance writers.— iV. Y. 
 World. 
 
 Mr. Haggard has a genius, not to say a great talent, for story-tell- 
 ing. . . . That he should have a large circle of readers in England and 
 this country, where so many are trying to tell stories with no stories 
 to tell, is a healthy sign, in that it shows that the love of fiction, pure 
 and simple, is as strong as it was in the days of Dickens and Thack- 
 eray and Scott, the older days of Smollett and Fielding, and the old, 
 old days of Le Sage and Cervantes. — N. Y. Mail and Express. 
 
 That region of the universe of romance which Mr. Haggard has 
 opened up is better worth a visit than any that has been explored for 
 many a long yeiu:— St. James's Gazette, London. 
 
 There is a charm in tracing the ingenuity of the author, and a sense 
 of satisfaction in his firm grasp of his subject. There is no uncer- 
 tainty at all, no groping after material, but one vivid scene follows 
 another until the reader says to himself, "Here, at last, is a novelist 
 who is not attempting to spread out one dramatic situation so thiu 
 that it can be made to do duty for an entire volume; a man of re- 
 source, imagination, and invention."— C/i?ci>(70 Herald. 
 
 SHE. Illustrated. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents; Paper, 
 25 cents ; 4to, Paper, 25 cents. 
 
 KING SOLOMON'S MINES. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 
 cents; 4to, Paper, 20 cents. 
 
 MR. MEESON'S WILL. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents; 
 
 Paper, 25 cents. 
 JESS. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents; 4to, Paper, 15 cents. 
 DAWN. With One Illustration. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 
 
 cents. 
 
 THE WITCH'S HEAD. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents. 
 ALLAN QUATERMAIN. Illustrated. 16mo, Half Cloth, 
 
 75 cents; Paper, 25 cents. 
 MIAWA'S REVENGE. Illustrated. 16mo, Half Cloth, 
 
 75 cents; Paper, 25 cents. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 ■ Any of the above works sent by viail, postage prepaid, to any part 
 of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
TOISTY, THE MAID. 
 
 A Novelette. By Blanche Willis Howard. Illustrated 
 by Charles S. Reinhart. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 " 'Tony, the Maid,' is not ouly one of the best pieces of work Miss 
 Howard has yet done, but it is one of the very best short stories of the 
 year. Tony herself is an original creation. There is no maid like 
 Tony in all fiction ; and she is, moreover, the only good thing, which 
 is neither superlatively beautiful nor emphatically a bore, or both, that 
 has come ont of the Canton of Lucerne since the days of William Tell. 
 Even the insatiate archer, when he is not mythical, is a trifle wearing 
 to the average mind, but Tony is never tiresome and always grand. 
 
 "As a short story Miss Howard's 'Tony, the Maid' has but one 
 tanlt. It is too short. There is not enough of Tony. She makes her 
 exit too suddenly and too completely. It is consoling to know, how- 
 ever, that Miss Zschorcher is some day coming to America as Mrs. 
 Eduard Maler, Perhaps Tony the Maid may figure as Tony the Ma- 
 tron and Tony the Mother. Knowing her duty to her gracious Friiu- 
 lein, no doubt she will." 
 
 A bright and lively sketch of an American woman abroad, and char- 
 acterized throughout by keen and forcible phraseology and a very 
 symmetrical construction N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 This is a very clever satire on one of the phases of modern society, 
 and the tale is told in a most charming mixwuGV.— Albany Press. 
 
 It is a long tiuie since we have met with anything so charming, so 
 refreshing, so droll. . . . Read this book once, and one wants to turn 
 back and read it again.— iV. Y. Star. 
 
 Mr. Reinhart's illustrations greatly enhance the interest of the nov- 
 elette.— 2>tt/aZo Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 A story written iu a style as simple as that which Miss Howard has 
 adopted iu this novelette is sure to fiud many readers. The story is 
 well told and attractive.— rroj/ Press. 
 
 "Tony, the Maid," is safe for a great success with the lovers of the 
 bright and dainty in litenUure. It is prettily bound, and uncommonly 
 cleverly illustrated.— .V. Y. Graphic. 
 
 The story is told with infinite humor and with not a little pathos, 
 and it will well repay Y>e\-w»'A\.— Philadelphia Telegraph. 
 
 The plot is new, the characters are fresh, and the handling is spirited 
 and brisk. No one who commences this little book will stop reading 
 until the eud is reached.— C/iJcagro Journal. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 S!^°° Tlie above work sent bji mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
 United (States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
THEIR PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 By Charles Dudley Warner. Richly Illustrated by 
 C. S. Reinhart. pp. viii., 364. 8vo, Half Leather 
 
 $2 00. 
 
 Aside from the delicious story— its wonderful portraitures of char- 
 acter and its dramatic development— the book is precious to all who 
 know anything about the great American watering-places, for it con- 
 tains incomparable descriptions of those famous resorts and their 
 frequenters. Even without the aid of Mr. Reinhart's brilliant draw 
 ings, Mr. Warner conjures up word-pictures of Cape May, Newport, 
 Saratoga, Lake George, Kichtield Springs, Niagara, the White Mount- 
 ains, and all the rest, which strike the eye like photographs, so clear 
 is every outline. But Mr. Reiuhart's designs tit into the text so 
 closely that we could not bear to part with a single one of them. 
 "Their Pilgrimage" is destined, for an indefinite .'^accession of sum- 
 mers, to be a ruling favorite with all visitors of the mountains, the 
 beaches, and the spas.— A'. Y. Journal of Commerce. 
 
 The author touches the canvas here and there with lines of color 
 that fix and identify American character. Herein is the real charm 
 for those who like it best, and for this one may anticipate that it will 
 be one of the prominent books of the time. Of the fancy and humor 
 of Mr. Warner, which in witchery of their play and power are quite 
 independent of this or that subject, there is nothing to add. But ac- 
 knowledgment is due Mr. Reinhart for nearly eighty finely conceived 
 drawings. — Boston Globe. 
 
 No more entertaining travelling companions for a tour of pleasure 
 resorts could be wished for than those who in Mr. Warner's pages 
 chat and lauL'h, and skim the cream of all the enjoyment to be found 
 from Mount Washington to the Sulphur Springs. . . . His pen-pictures 
 of the characters typical of each resort, of the manner of life followed 
 at each, of the humor and absurdities peculiar to Saratoga, or New- 
 port, or Bar Harbor, as the case may be, are as good-natured as they 
 are clever. The satire, when there is any, is of the mildest, and the 
 general tone is that of one glad to look on the brightest side of the 
 cheerful, pleasure-seeking world with which he mingles. ... In Mr. 
 Reinhart the author has an assistant who has done with his pencil 
 almost exactly what Mr. Warner has accomplished with his pen.— 
 Christian Union, N. Y. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 I^" The above irnrk sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
 United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON. 
 
 BAR HARBOR DAYS. A Tale of Mouut Desert Il- 
 lustrated by Fenn and Hyde. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 
 
 A bright story of life at Mount Desert. ... It is exceedingly well 
 done, and the scenery, the ways ot'the people, and the social methods 
 of the rnsticators lend interest to the book. — Christian Advocate, N. Y. 
 
 The book is bright and readable.— CowWer, Boston. 
 
 A delightful book about Mouut Desert, its summer inhabitants, 
 their sayings and doiugs.— A'. V. Sun. 
 
 One of the most attractive books of the season, and will be in great 
 demand by readers who wish an original, captivating sunamer idyl.— 
 Hartford Post. 
 
 HELEN TROY 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 It is a breezy little society novel, with a pretty plot and a number 
 of capitally drawn characters. . . It is always bright, fresh, and en- 
 tertaining, and has an element of naturalness that is particularly 
 pleasing. The descriptions are very spirited, the conversations are 
 full of point and often genuinely witty, and the tone of the whole is 
 both refined and delicate. — Saturday Evening Gazette, Boston. 
 
 The book is written with exceeding cleverness, and abounds in de- 
 lightful little pictures.— T/ie Critic, N. Y. 
 
 Mrs. Harrison's style is crisp, epigrammatic, piquant ; she shades 
 her characters artistically, paints from real life, and, without hurrying 
 the reader along, never lets her story drag. . . . The merit of the work 
 lies in the fidelity of its portraiture and the felicity of its utterance. — 
 N. Y. Herald. 
 
 GOLDEN ROD , AN IDYL OF MOUNT DESERT. 
 32mo, Paper, 25 cents ; Cloth, 40 cents. 
 
 A very sweet little story of a successful courtship, wrought into a 
 charming description of scenery and life on Mount Desert. — Spring- 
 field (111.) State Journal. 
 
 This is a most charming summer stor}'— " An Idyl of Mount Des- 
 ert"— the mere reading of which makes you long to be there, and to 
 feel sure you will find the delightful people, and just in the particular 
 nooks, you have been reading about. — Galesbttrg (111.) Republican 
 Register. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 J8®= The above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
 United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
By K. M. JOimSTOK 
 
 OLD MARK LANGSTOK A Tale of Duke's Creek. 
 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. Illustrated. 4to, Paper, 
 25 cents. 
 
 MR. ABSALOM BILLINGSLEA, AND OTHER 
 GEORGIA FOLK. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 
 
 The people in these stories are of a simple, kindly disposition, with 
 much active friendliness for one another, and with a total absence of 
 that distrustful epoiism which teuds in our modern society to isolate 
 the individual. Such characters as these good Georgia farmers re- 
 quire no acute analysis ; and Mr. Johnston has the sympathy and the 
 sense of humor which enables him to seize and portray their persou- 
 ality effectively. — irate/iman, Boston. 
 
 Mr. Johnston has won for himself an altogether distinctive place in 
 this field of literature by reason of the peculiarly original and hitherto 
 unworked character of the class whom he describes and the special 
 aptitude he evinces for the task. Nothing save long and intimate res- 
 idence among thetn, coui)led with rare powers of observation, and the 
 still rarer gift, of faithful delineation, quickened by the sympathetic in- 
 terest of friendship, could have gained for him such correct insight 
 into their habits of thought, modes of expression, and ways of life, or 
 the power he possesses of rendering interesting a hitherto homely and 
 uupicturesque people ; but by the magic of his interpretations they be- 
 come piquant, amubing, even attractive, endowed with a strong and 
 vivid individuality which makes them seem veritable creations. — 
 Washington Post. 
 
 The men and women who figure in his pages seem more like real 
 people than the creations of a novelist, and it can hardly he doubted, 
 so vivid are the portraits, that the author met them all and knew them 
 well. He seems to be rather giving his recollections than telling sto- 
 ries of fictitious beings. There are few who will not enjoy the quaint 
 and original writings of this clever hamoiiat.— Baltimore Neivs. 
 
 Mr. Johnston is quaint and charming, and his stories are like bits of 
 old china, or parts of costumes folded away in chests, holding in their 
 silken folds a perfume we can find nowhere else. — N.Y. Star. 
 
 Mr. Johnston has a keen sense of humor, and understanding of the 
 adaptability of common incidents to the purposes of story-telling. He 
 is a good story-teller, and is at his best when he is not inventing but 
 remembering; for it is a peculiarity of these tales that they read like 
 veritable pages from the real life of their actors.— iV. Y. Mail and Ex- 
 press. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Any of the above works sent hy mail, postage prepaid, to any part 
 of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
^v^ 
 
 BEJST-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 
 
 By Lew. Wallace. New Edition from New Electrotype 
 Plates, pp. 560. 16mo, Cloth, $1 50; Half Calf, $3 00. 
 
 Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of 
 this romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of 
 Mr. Wallace's writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The 
 scenes described in the New Testament are re-written with the power 
 and skill of an accomplished master of style. — N. Y. Times. 
 
 Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at 
 the beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brill- 
 iant. . . . We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes: we 
 witness a sea-fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman 
 galley, domestic interiors at Autioch, at Jerusalem, and among the 
 tribes of the desert; palaces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman 
 youth, the houses of pious families of Israel. There is plenty of ex- 
 citing incident; everything is nuimated, vivid, and glowing.— iV. F. 
 Tribune. 
 
 From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader's in- 
 terest will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pro- 
 nounced i)y all one of the greatest novels of the day. — Boston Post. 
 
 It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and 
 there is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., 
 to greatly strengthen the semblance. — Boston Commonwealth. 
 
 " Ben-Hur " is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
 Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is 
 laid, and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to real- 
 ize the nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalein and Ro- 
 man life at Autioch at the time of our Saviour's ndveni.— Examiner, 
 N.Y. 
 
 It is really Scripture history of Christ's time, clothed gracefully and 
 delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . , Few 
 late works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. 
 Graphic. 
 
 One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
 warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
 chapters oi \\\s.lovy.—Indiana/polis Journal. 
 
 The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
 wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional 
 novel and romance. — Boston Journal. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 J?^ The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
 United States or Canada, on receipt of the price.