Next The Girth Of The Woman's Saddle Broke, And She
Went Over Her Horse's Head.
Then he began to fumble helplessly
at it, railing against England the whole time, while I secured
the saddle, and guided the route back to an outlet of the park.
There a fire was built, and we had some bread and bacon; and then
a search for water occupied nearly two hours, and resulted in the
finding of a mudhole, trodden and defiled by hundreds of feet of
elk, bears, cats, deer, and other beasts, and containing only
a few gallons of water as thick as pea soup, with which we
watered our animals and made some strong tea.
The sun was setting in glory as we started for the four hours'
ride home, and the frost was intense, and made our bruised,
grazed limbs ache painfully. I was sorry for Mrs. Chalmers, who
had had several falls, and bore her aches patiently, and had said
several times to her husband, with a kind meaning, "I am real
sorry for this woman." I was so tired with the perpetual
stumbling of my horse, as well as stiffened with the bitter cold,
that I walked for the last hour or two; and Chalmers, as if to
cover his failure, indulged in loud, incessant talk, abusing all
other religionists, and railing against England in the coarsest
American fashion. Yet, after all, they were not bad souls; and
though he failed so grotesquely, he did his incompetent best.
The log fire in the ruinous cabin was cheery, and I kept it up
all night, and watched the stars through the holes in the roof,
and thought of Long's Peak in its glorious solitude, and resolved
that, come what might, I would reach Estes Park.
I. L. B.
Letter VI
A bronco mare - An accident - Wonderland - A sad story - The children
of the Territories - Hard greed - Halcyon hours -
Smartness - Old-fashioned prejudices - The Chicago colony - Good
luck - Three notes of admiration - A good horse - The St.
Vrain - The Rocky Mountains at last - "Mountain Jim" - A death
hug - Estes Park.
LOWER CANYON, September 25.
This is another world. My entrance upon it was signalized in
this fashion. Chalmers offered me a bronco mare for a reasonable
sum, and though she was a shifty, half-broken young thing, I came
over here on her to try her, when, just as I was going away, she
took into her head to "scare" and "buck," and when I touched her
with my foot she leaped over a heap of timber, and the girth gave
way, and the onlookers tell me that while she jumped I fell over
her tail from a good height upon the hard gravel, receiving a
parting kick on my knee. They could hardly believe that no bones
were broken. The flesh of my left arm looks crushed into a
jelly, but cold-water dressings will soon bring it right; and a
cut on my back bled profusely; and the bleeding, with many
bruises and the general shake, have made me feel weak, but
circumstances do not admit of "making a fuss," and I really think
that the rents in my riding dress will prove the most important
part of the accident.
The surroundings here are pleasing. The log cabin, on the top of
which a room with a steep, ornamental Swiss roof has been built,
is in a valley close to a clear, rushing river, which emerges a
little higher up from an inaccessible chasm of great sublimity.
One side of the valley is formed by cliffs and terraces of
porphyry as red as the reddest new brick, and at sunset blazing
into vermilion. Through rifts in the nearer ranges there are
glimpses of pine-clothed peaks, which, towards twilight, pass
through every shade of purple and violet. The sky and the earth
combine to form a Wonderland every evening - such rich, velvety
coloring in crimson and violet; such an orange, green, and
vermilion sky; such scarlet and emerald clouds; such an
extraordinary dryness and purity of atmosphere, and then the
glorious afterglow which seems to blend earth and heaven! For
color, the Rocky Mountains beat all I have seen. The air has been
cold, but the sun bright and hot during the last few days.
The story of my host is a story of misfortune. It indicates who
should NOT come to Colorado.[11] He and his wife are under
thirty-five. The son of a London physician in large practice,
with a liberal education in the largest sense of the word,
unusual culture and accomplishments, and the partner of a
physician in good practice in the second city in England, he
showed symptoms which threatened pulmonary disease. In an evil
hour he heard of Colorado with its "unrivalled climate, boundless
resources," etc., and, fascinated not only by these material
advantages, but by the notion of being able to found or reform
society on advanced social theories of his own, he became an
emigrant. Mrs. Hughes is one of the most charming, and lovable
women I have ever seen, and their marriage is an ideal one. Both
are fitted to shine in any society, but neither had the slightest
knowledge of domestic and farming details. Dr. H. did not know
how to saddle or harness a horse. Mrs. H. did not know whether
you should put an egg into cold or hot water when you meant to
boil it! They arrived at Longmount, bought up this claim, rather
for the beauty of the scenery than for any substantial
advantages, were cheated in land, goods, oxen, everything, and,
to the discredit of the settlers, seemed to be regarded as fair
game. Everything has failed with them, and though they "rise
early, and late take rest, and eat the bread of carefulness,"
they hardly keep their heads above water. A young Swiss girl,
devoted to them both, works as hard as they do. They have one
horse, no wagon, some poultry, and a few cows, but no "hired
man." It is the hardest and least ideal struggle that I have
ever seen made by educated people.
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