The snow was thirteen inches deep, and grew deeper as I ascended
in silence and loneliness, but just as the sun sank behind a
snowy peak I reached the top of the Divide, 7,975 feet above the
sea level.
There, in unspeakable solitude, lay a frozen lake.
Owls hooted among the pines, the trail was obscure, the country
was not settled, the mercury was 9 degrees below zero, my feet
had lost all sensation, and one of them was frozen to the wooden
stirrup. I found that owing to the depth of the snow I had only
ridden fifteen miles in eight and a half hours, and must look
about for a place to sleep in. The eastern sky was unlike
anything I ever saw before. It had been chrysoprase, then it
turned to aquamarine, and that to the bright full green of an
emerald. Unless I am color-blind, this is true. Then suddenly
the whole changed, and flushed with the pure, bright, rose color
of the afterglow. Birdie was sliding at every step, and I was
nearly paralyzed with the cold when I reached a cabin which had
been mentioned to me, but they said that seventeen snow-bound men
were lying on the floor, and they advised me to ride half a mile
farther, which I did, and reached the house of a German from
Eisenau, with a sweet young wife and a venerable mother-in-law.
Though the house was very poor, it was made attractive by
ornaments, and the simple, loving, German ways gave it a sweet
home atmosphere. My room was reached by a ladder, but I had it
to myself and had the luxury of a basin to wash in. Under the
kindly treatment of the two women my feet came to themselves, but
with an amount of pain that almost deserved the name of torture.
The next morning was gray and sour, but brightened and warmed as
the day went on. After riding twelve miles I got bread and milk
for myself and a feed for Birdie at a large house where there
were eight boarders, each one looking nearer the grave than the
other, and on remounting was directed to leave the main road and
diverge through Monument Park, a ride of twelve miles among
fantastic rocks, but I lost my way, and came to an end of all
tracks in a wild canyon. Returning about six miles, I took
another track, and rode about eight miles without seeing a
creature. I then came to strange gorges with wonderful upright
rocks of all shapes and colors, and turning through a gate of
rock, came upon what I knew must be Glen Eyrie, as wild and
romantic a glen as imagination ever pictured. The track then
passed down a valley close under some ghastly peaks, wild, cold,
awe-inspiring scenery. After fording a creek several times, I
came upon a decayed-looking cluster of houses bearing the
arrogant name of Colorado City, and two miles farther on, from
the top of one of the Foot Hill ridges, I saw the bleak-looking
scattered houses of the ambitious watering place of Colorado
Springs, the goal of my journey of 150 miles.
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