Part 23

After dinner, the Madame and I go up as of yore, to a cottage we wot of that commands a pleasant view, and sit watching the night put the shading into the picture. But I tell her it is not the picture I used to see and enjoy. That was a great map of new, bare houses spread out before us, seemingly without arrangement or form. The steady drone of late planing mills and the subdued, eager rasp of steam-saws begrudging the approach of darkness, told how grew the magic town that was overrunning the plateau, exploring the gulches, and swarming up the flanks of the half-cleared foothills. It was a town without high buildings or towers, church-spires or foliage. In the clearness with which every detail is seen at a great distance, the houses looked smaller than they really were. It was all rough and ragged, yet all the more picturesque.

Slowly the long, sober twilight deepens in the valley into gloaming, and sinks thence into a gloom out of which, one by one, peep the lights. Still, outlines are not lost, and the massive figures of the foothills thrust themselves hugely through the veil that night is dropping, solid and blue and forbidding. It is a picture of perfect sweetness and peace,--a poetic picture in which one can imagine nothing that is harsh, or selfish, or mean. And overhead the mountains tower, rank behind rank, peak crowding peak, the pinnacles vying in being the last to hold the lingering rays of the sun, whose light now enkindles the heights until all the wide snow fields burn rosily. Then one by one the glittering banks fade into the softest of ash-tints as the reluctant sun bows itself away, and the shadows of the blackening ridges fall athwart the arctic panorama that fills the horizon. Keeping pace, the lights of the city increase, shining duskily through a purple haze of smoke and mist. Clearer above this ethereal stratum of haze, gleam the jewel-points that show where huge engines are tirelessly at work, and where prospectors and campers have built their fires on the hill-sides, and sit about them boiling their coffee and gossiping on the events of the day and the prospects of the morrow. Then the Madame and I saunter homeward--for our comfortable cars seem very homelike to us these frosty evenings--breathing the resinous flavor of the crisply fragrant spruce, and watching the stars spring hastily over the coruscant line that traces the serrated crest of the snowy range.

Leadville at night is a scene of wild hilarity, and yet of remarkable order. The omnipresent six-shooters that used to outnumber the men of a mining camp ten years ago are rarely seen here in public. If men carry pistols, it is in their pockets; and the shoot-the lights out ruffianism of the old frontier days rarely shows even a symptom of revival. You find a city of twenty thousand people or so within the limits and up the sides of the hills that overlook the town, where hundreds of mine-houses, spouting ceaseless jets of steam from ever-laboring engines, and hundreds of dumps of earth and ore brought to sudden daylight from their beds in the heart of the hill, tell the story of Leadville's prosperity. The rough old camp has crystallized into the city she resolved to become.

As for these mines--what shall be said. Fryer Hill, which was the source of Leadville's "boom," has gone into obscurity under the newer glory of its rivals, Carbonate and Breece hills. It is said that Fryer Hill proved a great collection of "pockets," very rich so long as they lasted, but liable at any time to be exhausted. The other hills, however, seem not to have suffered the geological turmoil through which Fryer passed, and, therefore, when a deposit of ore is struck, one may be reasonably sure of its holding out as long as any one man or generation of men would be likely to feel an earthly interest in its development. Men now know pretty well, or think they do, what ones of the hundreds of "discovery shafts" sunk are really worth continuing, and there is a constant tendency to the consolidation of adjacent properties into the hands of large companies controlling vast capital, and pushing operations with quiet dignity. The bullion-product of Leadville increases year by year, and gives an annual output varying from $17,000,000 to $19,000,000.

The yard of the Denver and Rio Grande railway, where our cars lay for a whole week, is a scene of never ceasing activity. This is the terminus not only of the main line from the east and south, but also of two branches, one down the Blue river and the other over to the Eagle River valley. Both have to cross the continental range, and abound in scenery so picturesque that, in the phrase of the penny-a-liner, "to be appreciated must be seen." That being the case, we propose to "see" it.

XXII

ACROSS THE TENNESSEE AND FREMONT'S PASSES.

'Unto the towne of Walfingham 'The way is hard for to be gon; 'And verry crooked are those pathes 'For you to find out all alone.' --PERCY'S RELIQUES.

According to the virtuous intention of the last paragraph, we went one day over to Red Cliff and the Eagle river. The branch of the railway which runs thither, leaves the main line at Malta, and takes in some very pretty scenery.

From Malta the line skirts the wide hay-meadows between the village and the Arkansas river; I saw men spreading manure there, too, and was told they had raised oats successfully. The whole mouth of California gulch, here, is a vast bed of clean, drifted gravel, the result of the gold hydraulic operations above, the placers having been worked more or less continuously for twenty years.

Rising along a tortuous path cut at a heavy grade, as usual, into the side hills, we mount slowly into Tennessee Pass, which feeds the head of the Eagle river on one side and one source of the Arkansas on the other. It is a comparatively low and easy pass, covered everywhere with dense timber, and a wagon-road has long been followed through it. There was nothing to be seen except an occasional pile of ties, or a charcoal oven, save that now and then a gap in the hills showed the gray rough summits of Galena, Homestake, and the other hights that guard the Holy Cross. At each end of the Pass is a little open glade or "park," where settlers have placed their cabins and fenced off a few acres of level ground whereon to cut hay, for nothing else will grow at this great elevation.

One of the side-valleys, coming down to the track at right angles from the southwestward--I think it is Homestake gulch--leads the eye up through a glorious alpine avenue to where the cathedral crest of a noble peak pierces the sky. It is a summit that would attract the eye anywhere,--its feet hidden in verdurous hills, guarded by knightly crags, half-buried in seething clouds, its helmet vertical, frowning, plumed with gleaming snow,--

"Ay, every inch a king."

It is the Mount of the Holy Cross, bearing the sacred symbol in such heroic characters as dwarf all human graving, and set on the pinnacle of the world as though in sign of possession forever. The Jesuits went hand in hand with the _Chevalier Dubois_, proclaiming Christian gospel in the northern forests; the Puritan brought his Testament to New England, the Spanish banners of victory on the golden shores of the Pacific were upheld by the fiery zeal of the friars of San Francisco; the frozen Alaskan cliffs resounded to the chanting of the monks of St. Peter and St. Paul. On every side the virgin continent was taken in the name of Christ, and with all the _eclat_ of religious conquest. Yet from ages unnumbered before any of them, centuries oblivious in the mystery of past time, the Cross had been planted here. As a prophecy during unmeasured generations, as a sign of glorious fulfillment during nineteen centuries, from always and to eternity a reminder of our fealty to Heaven, this divine seal has been set upon our proudest eminence. What matters it whether we write "God" in the Constitution of the United States, when here in the sight of all men is inscribed this marvelous testimony to his sovereignty! Shining grandly out of the pure ether, and above all turbulence of earthly clouds, it says: Humble thyself, O man! Measure thy fiery works at their true insignificance. Uncover thy head and acknowledge thy weakness. Forget not, that as high above thy gilded spires gleams the splendor of this ever-living Cross, so are My thoughts above thy thoughts, and My ways above thy ways.

Red Cliff is a bright, fresh little camp, made of sweet-smelling, new lumber just out of the saw mill; it looks _spruce_ in a most literal sense. Perhaps a thousand or fifteen hundred persons live in and about there, though you will not see a quarter of that number except on Saturday nights and Sundays. The hotel where I stopped was made of canvas, but they gave me a good meal, and when bed-time came took me off to another tent roofed shanty, which I occupied all to myself, surrounded by feminine finery and knicknacks, from tooth-powder and hair-pins to ruffled skirts and a sewing stand; however, the window-curtains consisted of two very "loud" copies of the _Police Gazette_, so I locked my door with extra care for fear the fair owners might unexpectedly return.

The mines in the neighborhood of Red Cliff--if you saw the toppling piles of rust-stained quartzite which hung over the gulch, you would not need to ask why the name was given--are of varied character, and of wide reputation.

Discovered only in 1878, it was at once seen that here in Battle mountain were enormous deposits of carbonate of lead carrying silver, which was so free from any refractory elements, like zinc or antimony, and so abundant in lead, that they were unexcelled in the world for the purposes of smelting. It has always been a drawback in the Leadville ores that they contained lead in too small a proportion to the silver, copper and other constituents, to make straight smelting feasible; that is it is necessary to mix into each charge an addition of "flux,"--chiefly lead, in order properly to perform the operation of smelting. This Red Cliff ore, however, is so rich in lead, frequently running sixty, seventy or eighty per cent., that no accessory is needful, and it "smelts itself," as they say. In consequence, the carbonates of this district are in great demand at Leadville, and really bring more than their intrinsic value, since the smelters are anxious to get them to mix with the more refractory home product, and so get enough lead in the charge to secure the silver of both kinds of ore. Most of the ores from this camp, therefore, are shipped to Leadville; and not only that, but a large quantity of the bullion made here is sold there also and re-melted in order to furnish the necessary lead.

Here, as well as further down the river, some streaks of gold-quartz are found, and a stamp mill is about to be erected. Fissure veins of silver ore are also known and worked somewhat, and much is expected of this branch of production in future. But thus far the chief reliance of the district is placed upon the carbonate ores of silver. You will find all the hills and granite ledges and quartzite overflows about here punched full of prospect-pits; but it is only on the southern slope of Battle mountain that mines worth mention have been developed as yet. "The whole interior of Battle mountain," one who knew said to me, "seems to be one bed of carbonate of lead and silver." Then he took me into the sheds of his smelter and showed me bin after bin full of brick-red, and rust brown and dark and bright yellow earth, which lay in crumbling pieces like dried mud, or had fallen into mere sand, and told me that that was the general style of the ore. I lifted a handful and it was as heavy as shot: no doubt about that being lead. This stuff is almost too easy to mine; it is like digging into a sand bank, and every foot of the way must be carefully protected by a timber tunnel to prevent its caving in. A man can pull down three or four tons a day, to ship, and it is only requisite to wheel it to the brow of the steep hill-side at the mouth of the mine, and hurl it down a shute a thousand feet or so to the railway track in the cañon.

This cañon of the Eagle, through which the railway runs, offers one of the keenest pleasures in Colorado to the lover of scenery, and one of the points of pilgrimage to the disciple of trout-fishing. The limpid green waters of the pretty river, fed, just here, by Turkey creek bringing the melted snows of the main range, and by the Homestake coming from the foot of the Holy Cross, dash with laughter and gurgle through a narrow defile of gayly colored rocks and thence pour out to rest awhile in the parks before its struggle with Elbow Cañon down below. From here to the mouth of the river, it is between fifty and sixty miles according to the line of the railway, which will, some day, closely follow its banks down the Grand to Grand Junction. The elevation is uniformly so great, even after you get fairly out of the mountains, that agriculture is hopeless, excepting the cultivation of some of the hardiest vegetables, like turnips, and perhaps risky crops of oats and barley.

At the mouth of the Roaring Fork of the Grand (which is just below where the Eagle debouches), some remarkable mineral springs bubble out of the ground. These have long been held in high esteem by the Indians and hunters, and now a little settlement has grown up around them called Glenwood. A hotel, bath houses and other facilities for a pleasant and healthful time have been erected, and the place is likely to prove a favorite summer resort. Many men are living and digging upon the headwaters of Brush creek, Gypsum creek, and other tributaries. Just below, where the Eagle river discharges itself, the Grand receives the Roaring Fork and various other pretty large tributaries, so that it becomes a noble stream by the time the great Gunnison reinforces it, and it mingles its waters with the Green river, which has come all the way from the National Yellowstone Park, to make the mighty Rio Colorado.

Hither will come the painters, who need not go to Switzerland for snowy bergs, nor to Scotland for lochs, nor to Norway for splendid forests of pine and spruce. No mountains I know of abound in more that is picturesque; but it is always some phase of the _grand_ rather than the _pretty_. The scenery is wild and savage and primeval, being the stock of which beautiful landscapes are made, rather than the culture that gentler airs and more temperate winds bring upon the face of the earth nearer the sea and the equator. The naturalist also may come here with profit. The fauna and flora are boreal and western. The geologist and mineralogist and meteorologist will find much here to interest them, and clear up doubtful points.

This splendid, hilly, well-timbered, well-pastured, well-watered western edge of the state, is the grandest hunting-ground in the United States, and it will be long before the bears and mountain lions and wild cats; the wolves and foxes; the mountain-sheep, the elk, the two deers and the antelope, are driven from its shady courts and disappear from the wide and sunny ranges. Long let us say, in fond hope, if not in serious expectation, that _never_ shall the dread word _exterminated_ be written after the name of any of the wild animals whose utility as game or for beauty of form makes them of interest to us.

Another excursion from Leadville was out on the stub of a line to be extended down the Blue river toward Middle Park.

To reach the valley of Blue river "the range" must, of course, be crossed. The line from Leadville follows up the Arkansas and reveals to us how small are the beginnings of great things in the way of water-courses; how a miserable, shallow, wiggling little runlet, which you can dam with a couple of shovels of mud and stand astride of like another Colossus of Rhodes, may push its way along, undermining what it cannot overthrow; sliding around the obstacle that deemed itself impassable; losing itself in willowy bogs, tumbling headlong over the error of a precipice or getting heedlessly entrapped in a confined cañon; escaping down a gorge with indescribable turmoil, and always growing bigger, bigger, broader and stronger, deeper and more dignified; till it can leave the mountains and strike boldly across a thousand miles of untracked plain to "fling its proud heart into the sea." Hark! what does it prattle up here where we can leap its ripplings, and the red willows tangle their blossoms and shade it from side to side?--

"Clear and cool, clear and cool, By laughing shallow and dreaming pool, Cool and clear, cool and clear, By shining shingle and foaming weir."

Listen again below, where it rushes triumphant from the adamantine gates that sought to imprison it:--

"Strong and free, strong and free, The flood gates are open away to the sea; Free and strong, free and strong, Claiming my streams as I hurry along, To the golden sands and the leaping bar And the taintless tide that awaits me afar."

Almost in the very springs of the river, where an amphitheatre of gray quartzite peaks stand like stiffened silver-gray curtains between the Atlantic and the Pacific, we curl round a perfect shepherd's crook of a curve, and then climb its straight staff to the summit of Fremont's,--the highest railway pass in the world. The pathway is so hidden in great woods, and the grim giants of the Mosquito range are still so inaccessibly far above you, even when you have reached the sterile _oberland_, above the trees, that you hardly realize the fact that you are 11,540 feet--considerably over two vertical miles--above the sea.

Once more on the Pacific slope, with the crossing of this range, we see the first trickling of Ten-Mile creek, and enter the edge of one of the famous mining districts of the state, catching a sidelong glimpse of the Holy Cross as we descend.

"Although its now well-known silver mines," says a recent historical account, "are of recent date, the district is not a new one, having been run over by gold hunters in the 'flush times' of California gulch, Buckskin Joe and other famous gold-camps of early days. Gold was found in the bed of Ten-Mile creek, and in the connecting gulches, ... among them McNulty's gulch, said to have yielded more gold in proportion to its size than any other workings in the state, and many fine nuggets of unusual size were taken from it.... The discovery in 1878, of the famous Robinson group of mines, followed, by the White Quail and Wheel of Fortune discoveries, attracted large numbers of prospectors to the new camp, and in spite of the ten feet of snow that covered the ground during the winter of 1878-'79 locations were made, and shafts and tunnels begun in every direction. During the winter the town of Carbonateville was settled, and for a time promised to become a thriving camp. On the 8th of February, the town of Kokomo, which, with its younger rival, Robinson, is now a prosperous and growing mining camp, with two smelters in operation, was located. In the spring of 1880 Robinson's camp began to build up rapidly, under the support of the great Robinson mines, and the fostering care of the late Lieutenant Governor Robinson, and soon became a formidable rival to Kokomo. The many discoveries made during the spring and summer of 1880, brought the district into a prominence second only to that of Leadville, and a large amount of capital was invested in the development of its many promising mines and prospects. Two smelters were erected at Kokomo, and one near the old town of Carbonateville, while extensive works, consisting of furnaces, roasters, etc., were put up at Robinson to work the ores of the Robinson mine. A railroad to connect the district with Leadville on the south and Georgetown on the east, was projected, and partially graded during the summer, but was finally absorbed by the enterprising managers of the Denver and Rio Grande Company, who, with a watchful eye for the future, began the construction, under the name of Blue River extension of the Denver and Rio Grande, of a road, which in spite of the many and great difficulties encountered, was completed to Robinson on the 1st of January, 1881. Much of the grading and most of the track-laying were done under a heavy fall of snow, the range being crossed in midwinter, affording a striking instance of the energy and contempt of obstacles characteristic of Western railroad builders."

The Robinson mines alluded to, now abandoned so far as productive work is concerned, and generally considered a failure, were called the best mining property in the state only a year ago. They were discovered in 1878, the ore proving to be chiefly galena and iron, with large pockets of rich oxidized ore,--the "mud carbonates" so-called. A year later this mine passed into the possession of a stock company, headed by the late Lieut. Governor George B. Robinson, with a capital of $10,000,000. Extensive and thoroughly constructed tunnels, etc., were begun, which were soon interrupted by litigations out of which grew a small war. In the course of this Governor Robinson was accidentally shot by a guard, in November of 1880. These troubles settled, ore began to be produced in large quantities until the winter of 1882, when work suddenly ceased, the stock of the company fell to nothing, and the report was given out that the mine was a failure.

Moving on down the pleasant valley, whose level bottom is carbonate tinted, not with ore dust, but with an almost continuous thicket of stunted red willows, we pass the Chalk Mountain mines, the Carbonate Hill district, Clinton gulch, where gold ore is alleged to be worth more attention than it is receiving, and so come to Elk mountain and Kokomo, a locality which has had a wonderful history. In the fall of 1880 she had only the "White Quail" mine as a steady producer. A little later the "Aftermath" group came to the front. Now probably not less than fifteen distinct mining claims on Elk mountain are making a steady output of ore. This ore is a hard carbonate, running about twenty-five ounces in silver and twenty-five per cent. in lead, besides a third of an ounce in gold, which is carefully separated at the smelter. Much of it is so admirably constituted that it "smelts itself,"--that is, it requires little or no addition of lead, iron and other accessories to its proper fluxion.

We were told of alluring pictures of mountains and cañons below Kokomo; of timber-belts and pleasant uplands; of green meadows and sparkling streams beloved of trout and bass, and the drinking places of deer in the twilight. But our plan would not permit us to go on to Dillon, the present terminus, much less beyond it. Instead, we must turn back, make a swift run down the Arkansas, and begin our exploration of the great overland route to Utah and the Pacific coast.

I will not detain you with the account of our downward trip, but ask you to suppose us, a few hours after our visit at Robinson and Kokomo, snugly "at home" in the station in Poncho Springs, half a dozen miles west of Salida.

XXIII

FROM PONCHO SPRINGS TO VILLA GROVE.