Colorado: a summer trip
Taylor, Bayard, 1825-1878
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These letters, originally published in the New York Tribune, are reproduced in this form, in order to meet the demands of a general interest in the regions they de- scribe. I CONTENTS. PAGE I. A Glimpse op Kansas 1 H. On the Frontier 8 III. Up the Smoky Hill Fork .... 16 IV. Crossing the Plains 26 V. The Rocky Mountains and Denver. 34 VI. Farming in Colorado .... 41 VII. Entering the Rocky Mountains 49 VIII. Central City and Black Hawk 55 IX. Mining and Mining Processes . •. 61 X. To Idaho and Empire. 70 XI. Crossing the Berthoud Pass 78 XII. Adventures in the Middle Park. 88 XIII. The Ute Pass, Middle Park 97 XIV. Final Adventures in the Middle Park 108 XV. Two Rocky Mountain Passes. 116 XVI. The Arkansas Valley and the Twin Lakes. 126 XVII. In the South Park 135 XVIII. The Return to Denver .... 144 XIX. A Trip to Boulder Valley . . -. 153 XX. Colorado as a Summer Resort. 161 XXI. Homeward, along the Platte 168 XXII. Glimpses of Nebraska .. 178 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. A GLIMPSE OF KANSAS. Lawrence, Kansas, June 8, 1866. Whoever visits Kansas has the choice of two routes from St. Louis, — the North Missouri Railroad to St. Jo- seph, and the Pacific Railroad to Kansas City. The for- mer is three hundred and five miles long, and the trains run at the rate of twelve and a half miles an hour ; the latter has a length of two hundred and eighty-three miles, and a speed of fifteen miles an hour is attained. The former has the advantage of sleeping-cars (" palaces," I believe, is the western term — at least in advertisements), the latter of finer scenery. Having had a dismal experi- ence of the former road some seven months ago, I chose the latter, and have been well repaid. In the United States, railroads avoid the finest scenery, the best agricultural regions. This is especially the case in the West, where settlement followed the rivers and the old emigrant roads, forming belts of tolerably thorough cultivation, between which the country — even in Indiana and Ohio — is still comparatively rude. It is only within a few years that railroads have begun to lead, instead of follow settlement, and the line may soon be drawn beyond which they will represent the most rapid growth and the best cultivation. 1 2 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. This reflection was suggested to me while observing the country opened to the traveller's view by the Pacific Kail- road, between St. Louis and Jefferson City. There are but three points which are at all picturesque, — the wooded and rocky banks of the sparkling Meramec, and the mouths of the beautiful Gasconade and Osage Eivers, — and none which exhibit much more than the primitive stage of agriculture. Yet the upland region, a few miles south of the line of the road, is, I am told, rich, well- farmed, and lovely to look upon. Even when one reaches the Missouri, there is little in that ugliest of all rivers to divert one's attention. A single picture of the swift tide of liquid yellow mud, with its dull green wall of cotton-wood trees beyond, is equivalent to a panorama of the whole stream. For the seventy or eighty miles during which we skirted it, the turbid surface was unrelieved by a sail, unbroken by the paddles of a single steamer. Deserted, monotonous, hideous, treacherous, with its forever-shifting sands and snags, it almost seems to re- pel settlement, even as it repels poetry and art. I travelled as far as Jefferson City in worshipful society, — five handcuffed burglars, three of whom had been Mor- gan's guerrillas. One of them, in utter opposition to all theories of physiognomy, strongly resembled a noted re- former. As the other passengers, in referring to incidents of the war, always said " Rebels " instead of " Confeder- ates," I inferred that their political condition was healthy. Emigration is still rapidly pouring into the State, and, as a young man from one of the way-stations said, — " If we were only all Black Republicans, we 'd soon have the first State in the "West." When the road leaves the river, it enters one of the love- liest regions in the United States. The surface is a rolling prairie, yet with a very different undulation from that of the rolling prairies of Wisconsin and Northern Illinois. The swells are longer, with deeper and broader hollows between, A GLIMPSE OF KANSAS. 3 and the soil appears to be of uniform fertility. On either side the range of vision extends for eight or ten miles, over great fields of the greenest grass and grain, dotted here and there with orchards, and crossed by long, narrow belts of timber, which mark the courses of streams. The horizon is a waving purple line, never suddenly broken, but never monotonous, like that of the prairies east of the Mis- sissippi. Hedges of Osage orange are frequent ; the fields are clean and smooth as a piece of broadcloth ; the houses comfortable, and there is nothing to be seen of that rough- ness and shabbiness which usually marks a newly settled country. I have seen nothing west of the Alleghanies so attractive as this region, until I left Leavenworth this morning. In the neighborhood of Sedalia, four or five hundred farmers, mostly from Ohio, have settled within the past year. I hear but one opinion in regard to the country south of the railroad, extending from the Osage River to the Arkansas line. Climate, soil, water, and scenery are described in the most rapturous terms. One of my fellow- passengers, pointing to the beautiful landscapes gradually unrolling on either hand, said, — " This is nothing to it ! " Yet I was well satisfied with what I saw, and feasted my eyes on the green slopes and swells until they grew dark in the twilight. On reaching Kansas City, the train runs directly to the levee, and the traveller is enabled to go directly on board the Leavenworth boat, thus escaping the necessity of stop- ping at the hotel. I was very grateful for this fact, and having already seen the forty miles of cotton-wood and yel- low mud between the two places, took my state-room with an immense sensation of relief. We reached Leavenworth at nine o'clock, in three days and ten hours from Philadel- phia. This is the liveliest and most thriving place west of the Mississippi River. The overland trade has built it up with 4 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. astonishing rapidity, and it now claims to have a population of 25,000. Kansas City, its fierce rival, having suffered more than one blockade during the war, Leavenworth shot into sudden prosperity ; but now that trade has returned to its old channels, Kansas City expects to recover her lost ground. It is a subject of great interest to the people of the two places, and many are the speculations and predic- tions which one hears from both sides. As to the present ascendancy of Leavenworth, however, there is no question. The town has both wealth and enterprise, and its people seem to me to be remarkably shrewd and far-seeing. In the course of three or four weeks the two places will be con- nected by a railroad which follows the west bank of the Missouri. The Union Pacific Railroad (Eastern Division) opened its branch road to Lawrence in May, and trains now run regularly upon it, connecting with the main line for Topeka and — -- San Francisco. One of my objects in visiting Col- orado being to take a superficial view of both railroad routes to the Rocky Mountains, I decided to go out by way of Fort Riley and the Smoky Hill, and return along the Platte to Omaha, in Nebraska. My first acquaintance with the Pacific Railroad, therefore, commenced in Leav- enworth. The train starts from a rough piece of ground outside of the town, follows the bank of the Missouri for six or eight miles, and then strikes inland through a lateral valley. Here commence my new experiences. I have never be- fore been west of the Missouri River. Let me now see what is this Kansas which for twelve years past has been such a noted geographical name — which has inspired some thousands of political speeches, some noble poems, and one of the worst paintings that mortal eye ever beheld. The very repetition of a name, even in the best cause, some- times becomes a little wearisome. I frankly confess I have so often been asked, " Why don't you visit Kansas ? " that A GLIMPSE OF KANSAS. 5 I lost almost all desire of visiting Kansas. Now, however, I am here, and will see what there is to be seen. We gradually rose from a bottom of rather ragged-look- ing timber, and entered a broad, sweeping, undulating re- gion of grass. Cattle were plenty, pasturing in large flocks, and there were occasional log-cabins, great fields of corn where the thrifty blades just showed themselves above a superb growth of weeds, and smaller patches of oats or wheat. Everybody complained of the incessant rains, and this accounted for the weedy condition of the fields. The soil appeared to be completely saturated, and the action of the hot sun upon it produced almost visible vegetable growth. Here I first witnessed a phenomenon of which I had often heard, — the spontaneous production of forests from prairie land. Hundreds of acres, which the cultivated fields beyond had protected against the annual inundation of fire, were completely covered with young oak and hickory trees, from four to six feet in height. In twenty years more these thickets will be forests. Thus, two charges made against Kansas seemed to be disproved at once, — drought and want of timber, the former being exceptional, and the latter only a temporary circumstance. The features of the landscape gradually assumed a cer- tain regularity. The broad swells of soil narrowed into ridges, whose long, wavelike crests generally terminated in a short step, or parapet, of limestone rock, and then sloped down to the bottom-lands, at angles varying from 20° to 30°. Point came out behind point, on either side, evenly green to the summit, and showing with a wonder- fully soft, sunny effect against the sky. Wherever a rill found its way between them, its course was marked by a line of timber. The counterpart of this region is not to be found in the United States ; yet there was a suggestion of other landscapes in it, which puzzled me considerably, until I happened to recall some parts of France, especially the 6 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. valleys in the neighborhood of Epernay. Here, too, there was rather an air of old culture than of new settlement. Only the houses, gardens, and orchards were wanting. As I leaned on the open windows of the car, enjoying the beautiful outlines of the hills, the pure, delicious breeze, and the bright colors of the wild-flowers, the bottom-lands over which we sped broadened into a plain, and the bluffs ran out to distant blue capes. Along their foot, apparently, the houses of a town showed through and above the timber, and on the top of the further hill a great windmill slowly turned its sails. This was Lawrence. How like a picture from Europe it seemed ! A kind resident met me at the station. We crossed the Kaw Kiver (now almost as muddy as the Missouri), and drove up the main street, one hundred feet wide, where the first thing that is pointed out to every stranger is the single house left standing, when the town was laid in blood and ashes, in August, 1863. Lawrence has already completely arisen from her ruins, and suggests nothing of what she has endured. The great street, compactly built of brick, and swarming with traffic ; the churches, the scattered private residences, embowered in gardens; the handsome college building on the hill, indicate long-continued prosperity, rather than the result of nearly ten years of warfare. The population of the town is now about 8000. This afternoon my friends took me to Mount Oread (as I believe the bluff to the west is named), whence there is a lovely view of the Wakarusa Valley. Mexican vaqueros were guarding their horses on the grassy slopes, and down on the plain a Santa Fe train of wagons was encamped in a semicircle. Beyond the superb bottoms, checkered with fields and dotted with farm-houses, rose a line of undulat- ing hills, with here and there an isolated, mound-like " butte," in the south. It was a picture of the purest pasto- ral beauty. A little further there is a neglected cemetery where the A GLIMPSE OF KANSAS. 7 first martyrs of Kansas — Barbour among them — and the murdered of Lawrence lie buried. The stockades of the late war, and the intrenchments of the earlier and pro- phetic war, are still to be seen upon the hill. So young a town, and such a history ! Yet now all is peace, activity, and hopeful prosperity ; and every one, looking upon the fair land around, can but pray that the end of its trial has been reached. n. ON THE FRONTIER. Junction City, Kansas, three miles west op ) Fort Riley, June 20, 1866. J As I recrossed the Kaw in order to take the train to To- peka, I felt that my stay in Lawrence had been too short. The day was warm and cloudless, with a delightful prairie breeze, and the softly tinted dells beyond the Wakarusa invited excursions. The main street of the town began to swarm with farmers' wagons, pouring in from the rich coun- try to the south ; the mechanics were at work upon new buildings in all directions ; the vans of the windmill on the bluff were whirling merrily, and all sights and sounds spoke of cheerful occupation. Fortunately, the people of Lawrence do not expect their place to become " the greatest town in the "West, sir ! " — so they are tolerably sure of a steady and healthy growth for a good many years to come. I reached Topeka — twenty-nine miles by rail — in an hour and a half. The road is laid along the Kaw bottoms, on a grade as nearly level as possible. The valley has an aver- age breadth of five or six miles, and the uplands on the north and south terminate in a succession of bluff head- lands, which, with a general family likeness in their for- mation, present a constantly changing variety of outlines. The lateral valleys repeat the features of the main valley, on a smaller scale. Sometimes the bluffs retreat so as to form a shelving semi-basin, or amphitheatre, a mile or two deep, — a grand concave slope of uniform green, set against the sky. At intervals of two or three miles the road crosses ON THE FRONTIER. 9 tributary streams of the Kaw, flowing in narrow, sunken beds, the sides of which are fringed with trees. The land- scapes have a breadth and harmonious beauty, such as I know not where else to find in the United States, outside of California. Indeed, there is much in Kansas to remind one of Cali- fornia. These hills, now so green, must be a golden brown in the autumn ; the black soil takes or loses moisture with equal rapidity ; the air has the same keen, bracing flavor of life ; and there seems to be some resemblance in the meteor- ological conditions of the two countries. Certainly, next to California, this is the most attractive State I have yet seen. The grain-fields along the Kaw bottom were superb. I have seen no corn so forward, no wheat so close and heavy- headed, this year. The farmers were taking advantage of the day to work their corn-fields, the most of which were in sore need of the operation. Rank as is the wild grass of this region, the imported weeds have a still ranker growth. Last year's fields are completely hidden under crops of "horse-weed," every fence-corner has a grove of giant datura (Jamestown-weed), and the roads are lined with tall ranks of sunflowers. I saw no garden that was entirely clean, and, what struck me with more surprise, no attempt at an orchard. The beauty of the country lies in its natural features; cultivation, thus far, has not im- proved it. Topeka, at present, is the end of passenger trains on the Pacific Railroad. In another week, however, they will run daily to Waumego, thirty-five miles further, or one hundred miles west of the Missouri River. We landed at a little cluster of shanties, newly sprung up among the sand and thickets on the north bank of the Kaw. Here an omnibus was in waiting, to convey us across the pontoon bridge — or rather two bridges, separated by a bushy island in the river. Beyond these the town commences, scattered over 10 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. a gentle slope rising to the south for half a mile, when the land falls again toward a creek in the rear. I found com- fortable quarters at the Capitol House. Mr. Greeley's " vanishing scale of civilization " has been pushed much further west since his overland trip in 1859. Topeka is a pleasant town (city ?) of about 2500 inhab- itants. The situation is perhaps not so striking as that of Lawrence, but it is very beautiful. Unfortunately, some parts of the place are destitute of water, which must now be hauled for the supply of families. There seemed to me to be a greater number of substantial private residences than in Lawrence. The building-stone — a buff-colored magnesian limestone, easily worked — appears to improve as we ascend the Kaw. It is found everywhere in the bluffs, and the handsomest buildings one sees are those constructed of it. After calling upon Governor Crawford, and all the other State officers, — of whom I have to record that they are very amiable and pleasant gentlemen, — a friend treated me to a delightful drive into the adjacent country. Land, he informed me, is rapidly rising in value ; a farm adjoin- ing the city on the east has just been sold for two hundred dollars per acre. The high price of grain for several years past, and the present rise in real estate, have been of great benefit to Kansas, enabling both farmers and speculators to extricate themselves from their former embarrassments. It rained heavily during the night, and in the morning the roads were changed from dust to mud. Nevertheless, as I had arranged to take the overland coach at this place, thus saving myself twenty-four hours of fatiguing travel, I engaged a livery team for Manhattan, fifty-five miles west of Topeka. But I would advise any stranger visiting Kansas to make himself independent of livery-stables, if possible. The prices are rather more than double what they are in California. From Topeka to this place, my expenses for livery teams have averaged half a dollar per mile ! ON THE FRONTIER. 11 Leaving Topeka at nine o'clock, with some promise of better weather, we crossed to the north bank of the Kaw, and after floundering for a mile or two among mud-holes in the timber, emerged upon the open, grassy level of the valley. The sun came out bright and warm ; the bluff capes and sweeping hills glittered in the light, fading from pure emerald into softest violet; tufts of crimson phlox, white larkspur, spikes of lilac campanulas, and a golden- tinted cenothera flashed among the grass ; and the lines and clumps of trees along the streams were as dark and rich as those of an English park. The landscapes were a con- tinual feast to the eye, and each successive bend of the valley seemed to reveal a lovelier and more inspiring picture. The larger streams we crossed — Soldier Creek and Cross Creek — did not issue from close ravines between the bluffs, as is usual in this formation, but each rejoiced in its broad rich belt of bottom-land, stretching away for miles to the northward. Most of these creeks are spanned by bridges, where a toll of from fifteen to twenty-five cents is charged. Their waters are clear and swift, and good mill- sites are already being selected. The advantages of the State, both in regard to wood and water, seem to me greater than has heretofore been represented. After a drive of twenty-two miles, we reached a neat, whitewashed cabin, with the sign : " Hotel, A. P. Neddo." The landlord was a giant half-breed, remarkably handsome and remarkably heavy, familiarly known as " Big Aleck." He has four hundred acres of superb land, and is accounted wealthy. Big Aleck furnished us with a good dinner of ham, onions, radishes, and gooseberry-pie. Among the temporary guests was an Irish teamster, who had a great deal to say about Constantinople and the Sea of Azof. Within four miles of Topeka commences the Pottawot- tamie Reservation, which extends westward along the Kaw for twenty or thirty miles. Many of the Indians are now 12 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. obtaining patents for their share of the land, in order to sell to emigrants, and in a few years, doubtless, the entire reservation will thus be disposed of. Here and there a wretched cabin and a field of ill-cultivated corn denotes the extent of Pottawottamie civilization. We met a num- ber of Indians and squaws on horseback — one of the lat- ter in a pink dress and wearing a round hat with upright feather, and her hair in a net. A little further, we came upon a mounted band of twenty or thirty, all drunk. My driver showed a little uneasiness, but they drew aside to let us pass, and a few hoots and howls were all the salutation we received. St. Mary's Mission is a village of a dozen houses, with a Catholic chapel, on this reservation. My eyes were here gladdened by the sight of a thriving peach orchard. The house and garden of the priest, in their neatness and evi- dence of care, offer a good model to the Protestant farmers in this part of Kansas, whose places, without exception, have a slovenly and untidy aspect. "We had a drive of fourteen miles from the Mission to the village of Louisville, on Rock Creek. The road swerved away from the river, occasionally running over the low bluffs, which gave me views of wonderful beauty both up and down the Kaw Valley. Every mile or two we passed wagon or mule trains, encamped near springs of water, their animals luxuriating on the interminable harvest of grass. I was amazed at the extent of the freight business across the Plains ; yet I am told that it has somewhat fallen off this season. I have seen at least two thousand wagons between Lawrence and this place. The view of Rock Creek Valley, before we descended to Louisville, was the finest I had had, up to that point. Even my driver, an old resident of Kansas, broke into an excla- mation of delight. The village, at the outlet of the valley, had a tolerable future before it, until the railroad estab- lished the new town of Waumego, two and a half miles dis- ON THE FKONTIER. 13 tant. In another week, the latter place will be the starting- point for the overland coaches, which will give it a tempo- rary importance. The bottom of Eock Creek is a bed of solid limestone, as smooth as a floor. Just above the crossing, a substan- tial dam has been built, which furnishes a good water- power. We did not stop here, but pushed on toward Man- hattan, over the rolling hills to the north, whence we looked out upon grand distances, dark under the gathering clouds. By seven o'clock, the thunder drew nearer, and there was every indication of a violent storm. I therefore halted at Torrey's, a farm where the Overland coach changes horses, and was no sooner housed than the rain came down in tor- rents. The cabin furnished plain fare, and a tolerable bed, although the storm, which raged all night, leaked in many places through the roof. Rising this morning at five o'clock, I found no abatement of the rain. We were soon sodden and mud-splashed from head to foot. The road, however, on the uplands, was beaten hard, and we made such good progress that we were at Manhattan, eight miles, in time for breakfast. This town, of five hundred inhabitants, is situated at the junction of the Big Blue with the Kaw. North of it rises the Blue Mound, a bluff three hundred feet in height, whence the view is said to be magnificent. There are five churches in the little place, and a mile in the rear, on a ridge, is the State Agricultural College, which already has one hundred and thirty pupils. The houses are mostly built of the beautiful magnesian limestone (resembling the Roman travertine), which gives the place a very neat and substantial air. This was all I could notice in the interval between breakfast and the harnessing of a new team for this place. With a Manhattan merchant as guide, I set out again in the dismal storm, slowly making headway through the quagmires of the bottom-lands. I remarked that the bluffs were higher as we advanced, 14 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. the scenery more varied and picturesque, and, if possible, more beautiful. The wild-flowers grew in wonderful pro- fusion and richness of color. I was surprised to see, at the foot of one of the bluffs, a splendid specimen of the yucca jilamentosa, in flower. We crossed the Wild-Cat, a swift, clear stream, with magnificent timber on its bottoms, then Eureka Lake (a crooked slough dignified by that title), and after making ten very slow miles, reached Ogden, a German settlement, with a dozen houses, one brewery, and three beer-saloons. Here I saw one field of one hundred and twenty acres of superb corn, completely inclosed by a high stone wall. More muddy bottom came, then low rolling hills, and in another hour we saw the buildings of Fort Riley, crowning a hill, two miles in advance. Before reaching the Fort, we passed the site of Pawnee, noted during Governor Reeder's administration, in the early days of Kansas. Except two stone houses, the town has entirely disap- peared. The Fort is charmingly situated, the sweep of bluffs around it being seamed with picturesque, wooded ravines which descend to the Republican Fork. No won- der it is a favorite military station. I should have enjoyed it more but for the discouraging rain and the interminable mud. We crossed the Republican on a floating bridge, and drove through three miles more of mud to this place, which occupies a rising ground at the base of the triangle formed by the Smoky Hill and the Republican Forks. It has four or five hundred inhabitants, a good hotel (the Eagle), and a handsome weekly newspaper, " The Junction City Union." Buildings — nearly all of stone — are going up rapidly, and trade is very brisk, in anticipation of the place soon being the temporary terminus of the Pacific Railroad. Passenger trains will reach Fort Riley by the first of August, and then a great part of the Overland business will no doubt be transacted here instead of at Leavenworth. ON THE FRONTIEE. 15 I must close, to catch the mail. The Denver coach has just come in. A through passenger, a fresh, rosy-cheeked boy, informs me that all is quiet along the route. To-mor- row the coach I take will be here, and you will next hear of me from some station on " the Great American Desert." III. UP THE SMOKY HILL FORK. Denver, Colorado. After my arrival at Junction City, the rains which had flooded all Eastern Kansas, stopping stages and railroad trains alike, ceased entirely, and the weather became clear and fine. Although my main object in visiting Junction was to secure a good night's rest before setting out on the Plains, I was immediately requested to lecture that even- ing. There was no hall, the only one having been recently burned ; no church yet completed ; no announcement had been made — but in these far- western towns nothing is im- possible. A store-building, just floored and plastered, with- out windows, and, indeed, occupied by carpenters at work, was selected ; planks carried in for seats, a temporary plat- form built, messengers sent around to give private infor- mation to the people, and in two hours' time lo ! there was a good audience assembled. All Tuesday I waited vainly for the Overland stage-coach. The accounts from down the Kaw Valley represented the streams as being impassable, and toward sunset the enter- prising population considered that my delay was now so far extended as to warrant a second lecture. With less time for preparation, they achieved the same result as the first night ; and, truly, I have rarely had a more agreeable audi- ence than the hundred persons who sat upon the planks in that unfinished store-building. What other people than the Americans would do such things ? While at Junction I witnessed a very interesting experi UP THE SMOKY HILL FORK. 17 ment. The bluffs of magnesian limestone behind the town precisely resemble, in color and texture, that which forms the island of Malta. In the quarry it has a pale buff tint, with a soft, cheesy grain, which may be cut with a good hatchet, or sawed with a common handsaw ; yet, after some exposure to the air, it becomes hard and assumes a rich, warm color. Messrs. McClure and Hopkins, of Junc- tion, had just received a sawing-machine, driven by horse power, and several rough blocks were awaiting the test. Nothing could have been more satisfactory. The saw cut through the stone as easily and steadily as through a block of wood, dressing a smooth face of eighteen inches square in exactly two minutes. The supply of stone being inex- haustible, this is the beginning of a business which may make the future cities of Kansas and Missouri the most beautiful in the world. I stated the population of the place at four or five hundred, but I am told it is nearly one thousand, each building representing thrice the number of inhabitants as in the East. So I hasten to make the correction, for noth- ing annoys these frontier towns so much as either to under- state their population or underestimate their prospective importance. Junction City will soon be the terminus of railroad travel, and the starting-point of the great overland freight business, which will give it certainly a temporary importance. The people, I find, desire that the road shall run up the Republican Valley, in order to secure, at least, the New-Mexican trade for a few years ; but this is not a matter to be decided by local interests or wishes. The dis- tance thence to Denver by the Republican route wrould be one hundred and thirty-nine miles longer than by the Smoky Hill route. Another comfortable night at the Eagle Hotel, and Wednesday came, warm and cloudless, without any sign of the stage. Mr. McClure kindly offered to drive me to Sa- lina, the last settlement on the Smoky Hill Fork, forty-five 2 18 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. miles further, and we set out soon after breakfast. The road along the bottom being too deep, we took that leading over the rolling country to the north. Climbing through a little glen to the level of the bluffs, we had a charming backward view of the junction of the rivers, with the build- ings of Fort Riley crowning the wooded slopes beyond ; then forward, over many a rolling mile of the finest graz- ing land in the world. Two miles further we found a train of wagons just starting with supplies for the stage stations along the line. Mr. Stanton, the superintendent, informed me that he had come through from Denver to Fort Riley this spring, with ox-teams, in twenty-seven days. He ex- pects to make three round trips this season, taking up corn, and bringing back lumber for the houses and stables to be built on the line. We had occasional views over the bottoms of the Smoky Hill, which, the people claim, are even richer than those of the Kaw Valley ; but that seems impossible. Twelve miles of pleasant travel brought us to Chapman's Creek, the first stage-station. Here, however, the stream was nine feet deep, and the people at the ranche informed us that we would have to take a ford two miles higher up. It seemed to me better to return to Junction and await the stage there, than to risk missing it by leaving the main road ; so we put about and retraced our journey. At noon, when we had reached the bluffs and were think- ing of dinner, what should we see but the stage, at last, driving toward us from the town ! Hunger, then, was to be my first experience on the Overland journey. We turned out of the road ; I alighted with my baggage, and awaited the approach of a face well-known in the Tenth Street Studio Building. There were two passengers, but neither of them was my friend. In fact, the driver shouted to me before he pulled up his horses, " Your friend did n't come." One of the passengers handed me a letter from the agent at Topeka, informing me that Mr. Beard would UP THE SMOKY HILL FORK. 19 probably not be able to reach that place for three or four days, on account of the floods. My arrangements in Den- ver would not allow me to wait ; so I deposited myself, blan- kets and baggage, in the stage, and was fairly embarked for crossing the Plains. I traversed, for the third time that day, the route to Chapman's Creek. The water was still rising, and we, therefore, tried the upper ford, and successfully. The road beyond this descended from the Smoky Hill, and followed the broad, level bottoms of that river. The soil was, in- deed, of wonderful fertility, though but little of it, as yet, is under cultivation. Toward sunset we reached the village of Abilene, or Abeline (how or whence the name was de- rived I cannot imagine, unless it is an abbreviated corrup- tion of "Abe Lincoln "), and here I determined on having something to eat. Upon questioning a stalwart fellow who hung upon the coach while it was crossing Mud Creek, he declared, with emphasis, " It 's the last square meal you '11 get on the road ! " My experience of a " square meal," therefore, is that it consists of strong black coffee, strips of pork fat fried to a sandy crispness, and half-baked, soggy, indigestible biscuits. For these I paid the square price of one dollar. The sun set, — there was no moon, — and our coach made toilsome progress over the muddy bottoms toward the Sol- omon's Fork. Mosquitoes began their attacks, and thence- forth worried us the whole night. About ten o'clock the driver commenced an imitation of the bark of the coyote, which, it appeared, was a distant signal of our approach to the ferryman at the Solomon Crossing. It was too indis- tinct to note anything but the dark masses of timber on either side, and the gleam of water between ; but from the length of time we occupied in crossing, I should judge that the stream is a hundred yards wide. The bottom-land along the Upper Solomon is said to be equal to any in Kansas, and emigration is fast pouring into it, as well as along the Republican and the Saline. 20 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. I should not wonder if " The Great American Desert " should finally be pronounced a myth. In my school geog- raphies, it commenced at the western border of Missouri ; now, I believe, it is pushed some two hundred and fifty miles further west, leaving some of the finest agricultural land on the globe behind it. So far, I had found the re- verse of a desert ; I determined, therefore, to be on the lookout, and duly note its present point of commencement. What a weary drag we had that night over the deep mud between the Solomon and Saline Forks ! Either sleeping and stung to inflammation, or awake, weary, and smoking in desperate defence, two or three hours passed away, until the yelping and howling of the driver announced our ap- proach to the Saline. In the dark, this river appeared to be nearly equal in volume to the Solomon. Its water is so salt as sometimes to affect the taste of the Smoky Hill at Junction City. Nine miles more in the dark brought us to Salina, a vil- lage of two or three hundred inhabitants, and the end of settlement in this direction. Our driver kept us wait- ing two hours for a new bit for one of his bridles, and in this interval I snatched a little sleep. Of Salina I can- not say that I really saw anything, but I learned that it con- tains several stores and two physicians. The two or three houses near the tavern were shanties of frame or logs. Travellers west of Topeka are expected to sleep two in a bed, and several beds in a room. It was only through the courtesy of the landlord at Junction that I was exempted from this rule. In other respects customs are primitive, but not rough. People wash themselves more frequently than elsewhere (because it is more needed), and there is as much cleanliness in the cabins, all circumstances consid- ered, as in many hotels which I have seen. I even noticed one man in Kansas, who carried a tooth-brush in his pocket, which he pulled out now and then to give his teeth a dry brushing. UP THE SMOKY HILL FORK. 21 On leaving Salina, the road strikes nearly due west across the rolling country, to cut off the great southern bend of the Smoky Hill. Two or three miles terminated the mud and mosquitoes ; we struck a dry, smooth road, a cool, deli- cious breeze, and great sweeps of green landscape, slowly brightening with the dawn. Distant bluffs and mounds broke the monotony of the horizon line, and the gradual, gentle undulations of the road were refreshing both to team and passengers. By six o'clock we reached Pritchard's, the next station, sixteen miles from Salina. Here there was a stable of rough stones and mud, and a cabin cut out of the steep bank, with a rude roof of logs and mud. I was surprised by the sight of a pretty little girl of seven, and on entering the cabin found a woman engaged in getting our breakfast. The walls and floor were the bare soil ; there was a bed or two, a table, two short benches for seats, and a colony of tame prairie-dogs in one corner. I asked the little girl if she would not like a companion to play with, but she an- swered, — "I think I have more fun with the horses and prairie-dogs ! " What a western woman she will make ! Water was furnished plentifully for our ablutions, break- fast resembled the " square meal " of the preceding even- ing, with the addition of canned peaches, and we resumed our seats with a great sense of refreshment. The air of this region seems to take away all sense of fatigue ; it is cool and bracing, even at mid-day. Soon after starting, we saw a coyote sneaking along a meadow on our left ; then a huge gray wolf, at which one of my fellow-passen- gers fired without effect. He trotted away with a disdain- ful air, stopping now and then to look at us. At the same time a rattlesnake gave an angry signal by the roadside. There was no longer a question that we were now beyond civilization. The limestone formation here gives place to a dark-red sandstone, which crops out of the ridges in rough, irregu- 22 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. lar walls and towers. Although rising to no great height, they nevertheless form picturesque and suggestive features of the landscape : in the distance they might frequently be taken for buildings. 