Part 2

In 1934 Alice, like many other Colorado gold camps, experienced a renascence. (This was because of the price of gold rising from $20 to $35 an ounce.) The sturdy log cabins were re-roofed; the mill started, and the pit was turned into a real glory hole. Today Alice is unique because of its abandoned glory hole—the only summer resort-ghost town to boast of one within its town limits....

Returning to Clear Creek and driving farther up its course, is another tumbling tributary, a creek also coming in from the north. Originally this creek was called Lyon’s, but now Lion. It flows through the town of Empire about which the splendid historian, Ovando J. Hollister, said in 1866, “Of all the towns brought into existence by the famed Cherry Creek Sands, Empire bears away the palm for a pretty location and picturesque surroundings.” This statement is particularly true of North Empire, about a mile and a half up Lion Creek and its fork, North Empire Creek.

Bayard Taylor (the renowned nineteenth century lecturer and travel writer) and William N. Byers, founder and editor of the _Rocky Mountain News_, also visited the two towns that same year and were much impressed with their settings. Byers reported North Empire as “a hustling busy little hamlet right amid the mines. It has three or four mills.”

He also mentioned by name a number of prosperous mines, especially the Atlantic owned by Frank Peck who was later the founder of Lower Empire’s Peck House (now the Hotel Splendide). Byers was interested by an arastra in the gulch which was operated by water power and “was pointed out as a paying institution.”

Lower Empire was organized in the spring of 1860 by a band of prospectors who came up from Spanish Bar (then on the south side of Clear Creek close to its junction with Fall River). The first gold was discovered on Eureka Mountain, northwest of Empire. A find of rich placers and lodes soon followed on Silver Mountain, north of Empire. It was these mines that caused North Empire to spring up on the side of Silver and the flanking mountainside to the east, Covode.

_Too late to alter: now proved to be Russell Gulch._

ALICE BOASTED OF ITS GLORY HOLE

In 1911 two mills, the Anchor and Princess Alice, and six mining companies were operating when this view was taken. It looks southwest along the road that runs past the Glory Hole and eventually to the Loch Lomond Reservoir system, built and owned by G. J. Bancroft in the early 1900’s. The 1960 view of the Glory Hole shows three roads at upper right: two up to Yankee and St. Mary’s Glacier, and one off to Idaho Springs.

NORTH EMPIRE CLUNG CLOSE TO THE MINES

The town was built on the side of Covode Mountain nearly opposite the Silver Mountain mining properties and equidistant between the two boardinghouse relics, the Dumont and the Conqueror. The 1960 shot of the Copper Cone (or Gold Fissure) mine was taken from approximately the same location, but looking north rather than east. The various levels of streets and a few foundations may still be seen through the trees.

North Empire led a prosperous existence during the 1860’s and ’70’s but died out during the 1880’s. Then in 1890 John M. Dumont, who had made money at Mill City (now Dumont after him) and Freeland, bought the Benton lode (named for Thomas Benton, the mountain man). Dumont attempted a resurrection of the town. The collapse of silver in 1893 added momentum to his efforts, and North Empire enjoyed a lively life for over a decade.

Again it was left to the blue jays and mountain rats until the 1930’s when once more the mines and mills throbbed. When World War II drafted its miners, the mills shut down and the mine shafts filled with water. The town died forever—or until the price of gold again changes.

Nonetheless, the picturesqueness of North Empire’s setting, commented on by all, lives on. The view to the south over Empire and Clear Creek to the meadow made by Bard Creek, on over Union Pass to the valley where Georgetown lies hidden, and on up to Guanella Pass against the skyline, is unsurpassed for its soft charm. North Empire remains unique for its picturesqueness.

THE CONQUEROR’S MINERS LIVED WELL

The south wing of the Conqueror’s boardinghouse was built by W. S. Pryor in 1910. The original wing (at the right) dates from the 1870’s. Unfortunately, vandals have since burned down this picturesque relic.

_From Georgetown_

Waldorf is unique because, single-handed, it was caused and named by a mining magnate who built his own little railroad—the Argentine Central—to create the town.

Edward John Wilcox was another of the many colorful characters Colorado has produced. He was full of quirks and idiosyncrasies. A former Methodist minister, he decided he could serve the church better by making money and tithing than by staying on with any of his former parishes in Longmont, Denver or Pueblo. Success attended his decision, and by 1905 he was the owner of some sixty-five mines on Leavenworth Mountain, south of Georgetown. But the mines were high in the East Argentine district where it was difficult to transport machinery in and ore out.

So on August 1 (Colorado Day), 1905, Wilcox began building his railroad, starting over eight miles away at Silver Plume and planning to grade switchbacks over Pendleton Mountain, the western wing of Leavenworth. By Colorado Day of the next year, the railroad had reached nearly eight miles beyond Waldorf to a point almost at the top of Mount McClellan. A second ceremony was held which included driving a gold spike. (The first had been held on reaching Waldorf.) Immediately afterward trains began operating to haul freight and tourists. But not on Sunday. Wilcox would not degrade the Lord’s day!

A post office was opened in Waldorf at 11,666 feet in altitude claiming to be the highest in the United States, and Waldorf was prepared for a great future. It had already had a considerable past, if not under the name of Waldorf. The silver mines in both the West and East Argentine districts had been working since 1866 and been supporting two mills. One mill and a camp called Argentine (from the Latin word for silver, _argentum_) were fairly high in Leavenworth Gulch on the way to Argentine Pass. Their location was beside the stagecoach road from Georgetown to Montezuma. But now a large boardinghouse, several residences, a store and a depot clustered about the Waldorf and Vidler tunnels and their mills. Thus the new camp of Waldorf was born.

Everything went well at first for the town and railroad—even despite the ban on Sunday tourists. The little railroad made a great impression, and Wilcox was as proud as a racehorse stable owner as he added little Shay engines to his rolling stock. Early in 1907 a British syndicate offered $3,000,000 for his holdings around Waldorf including the railroad. Wilcox refused despite the enormous profit involved.

But 1907 turned out to be a bad year. A depression started gathering momentum in the East. During the last six months of the year the price of silver fell thirteen cents, and Waldorf ore was not worth hauling. By 1908 Wilcox was badly in debt and was forced to liquidate where he could. According to the railroad historians, Elmer O. Davis and Frank Hollenback, Wilcox sold his $300,000 railroad for $44,000. The new management took over in 1909 and made a bid for the tourist trade which naturally included trains on Sunday.

Still the railroad did not pay, and was sold again in 1912. Ironically, the buyer was William Rogers of Georgetown, the same Rogers who had suggested the idea of the railroad to Wilcox in the first place. Now he had his railroad all built and operating for only $19,500! Rogers founded a new company.

But the mines had never come back after the blow of ’07. The tourist trade was not adequate to support the railroad with no freight to haul other than coal for the power company’s maintenance station at Waldorf. The last Shay engines were sold in 1914, and gasoline engined cars replaced them. Even this drastic measure did not suffice. The income for the 1917 summer season was too lean for the company to continue. In 1920 permission was granted for abandonment, and the next year track was taken up.

Waldorf was truly dead. Since then, from time to time, assorted lessees have operated the Waldorf tunnel and the Santiago mine northwest of Waldorf on the side of Mount McClellan. While they were working, they took over some of the old buildings for a year or two as residences. In the 1950’s Waldorf had two bad fires which destroyed the last of the big buildings and the habitable dwellings. In desperation the man who was working the Santiago mine in 1958, erected a Quonset hut for his home.

It stands as a sad commentary on these high towns where water is so precious and the menace of fire, an ever-present reality. Most Colorado mining camps have experienced terrible fires more than once, and Waldorf is no exception.

WALDORF WAS A RAILROAD MINING TOWN

The upper view was taken with a telescopic lens and shows the Vidler mill in the foreground, the track from Vidler tunnel and one of its ore cars to the right, a team of horses to the left, and at Waldorf proper, a railroad coach and a boxcar on a siding. In both photos the road around to the Santiago mine and its power line across the hill are prominent. The Argentine Pass horseback trail goes off to the left.

The hut’s shiny newness makes Waldorf unique for still another reason—our only ghost town with a Quonset hut!...

To reach Saints John, less than eight miles away as the crow flies, you have to take a long circuitous route. But it is a scenic ride, and the pastoral seclusion of Saints John should be worth the trip. The town lies between Glacier Mountain on the southeast and Bear Mountain on the northwest. It snuggles along the banks of Saints John Creek which runs into the Snake River at Montezuma. At the head of Saints John Creek is Bear Pass which leads over into the Swan River, a tributary of the Blue, and on to Breckenridge.

It was from that direction that discovery of Saints John was made. A prospector by the name of J. Coley came over Bear Pass from Breckenridge in 1863 and found silver ore on the crest of Glacier Mountain about a thousand feet up from the town. He smelted his find in a crude furnace with a flue built from a hollow log encased with rocks and clay obtained from the lode for mortar. The outlines are still there.

According to Verna Sharp, Montezuma historian, Coley took his ingots into a bar in Georgetown and showed them around. Promptly other miners came flocking in and made more finds on Glacier Mountain. They called their little settlement Coleyville until a group of Free Masons arrived in 1867. This group altered the name to Saints John, for John the Baptist and John the Evangelist, patron Saints of Masonry.

The camp already had a sober upright character and had welcomed a number of traveling preachers. Prominent among them was Father John L. Dyer, the Methodist minister who is remembered in Colorado for his fine book, _The Snowshoe Itinerant_, as well as for his good works. Father Dyer came by the way of Swan River in 1865 and staked some claims on Glacier Mountain. His route was chosen for the mail between Montezuma and Breckenridge which began tri-weekly service in 1869 and was carried by horseback via Saints John.

In 1872 some of the claims on Glacier Mountain were combined into one property by a company backed with Boston financing. To handle the ore, the Boston company built the best milling and smelting works their Eastern engineers could devise. Later they acquired all the mines on the north side of Glacier Mountain. Their next project was to erect a suitable company town in place of the ramshackle camp. Their plans called for a two-and-a-half story boardinghouse, a company store, an assay office, an ornately trimmed guest house, a mess hall, a foreman’s home, a superintendent’s home, and residences for the miners. (But oddly there was no school, and the children had to walk to Montezuma.) In 1878 the company town of Saints John was completed.

Unique among mining camps, it boasted that it had no saloon. Instead there was a library of three hundred volumes, donated by Boston friends. Eastern and European newspapers were also sent regularly from the home office. The culture of this pretty, silver town was to be emulated by the gold town of American City—but not its sobriety.

The superintendent lived in town about seven months of the year. During his absence his house was cared for by the manager of the boardinghouse. She permitted a few of the residents to view its wonders. The house was completely furnished with Sheraton furniture, Lenox china, plush draperies, oil paintings, and _objets d’art_ on what-nots added the last touch of elegance.

But then came over-production of silver, followed by the silver panic of 1893. The Boston Mining Company shut down, and the superintendent walked out of his home without bothering to lock the door, leaving the furnishings intact. The house was still standing in 1960 but the contents had long since been stolen or vandalized.

The Saints John mine was re-opened and worked in the 1940’s and early ’50’s. But no one lived there. The town of Saints John has been a true ghost town for over half a century, and is unique in our collection for its former decorum, for its being the only company town of the lot, and for its pastoral prettiness.

PRETTY SAINTS JOHN WAS SECLUDED

The superintendent’s house was in the best condition of buildings left standing in the former company town. Note fine smelter stack at right.

_From Boulder_

Caribou’s fame lives on despite most of its buildings being gone because it had the richest silver mine of the Front Range and because bullion from Caribou formed a $12,000 walkway in April, 1873, for a President. This was at Central City when President U. S. Grant stepped from his stagecoach into the Teller House.

Two mines, the Caribou and the Poor Man, were discovered in August, 1869, by two prospectors working out of Black Hawk. According to historian Don Kemp, they were searching for the location of a float where Samuel P. Conger had picked up a sample of rock. Conger had been on a hunting trip near Arapaho Peak and been attracted by the baffling quality of some unusual boulders.

The two prospectors were lucky. They found the float, staked claims, and set to work during that fall and winter. Their first shipments brought $400 a ton and caused a rush to the area. Many other mines were found, and a city was started—Caribou City. Subsequently, the Caribou mine was sold in two lots for $125,000 to A. D. Breed of Cincinnati. Breed resold the mine and his mill in 1873 to the Nederland Mining Company of Holland for $3,000,000.

Caribou continued until the Silver Panic, and a few residents lingered on into the twentieth century. But after the Caribou mine shut down in 1884, the population fell off. None of the other mines hired such large crews, and gradually they, too, closed. Efforts were made from time to time at re-opening; but because of excessive amounts of underground water, the ventures all failed.

Still, Caribou’s silver riches were once glorious and even trod upon by a President!

WINDY CARIBOU NEARLY BLEW AWAY

In the 1870’s and early ’80’s Caribou grew to a population of nearly five hundred residents. It established law and order, built a Methodist church, opened a school, organized a Cornish band, instituted regular stage service to Central City, and added props to buildings in an effort to withstand the frequent gales. The above ably depicts the wind problem. The lower photo shows Caribou as it looked in 1960 from the same angle on Goat Hill. Arapaho Peak and Baldy are in the background. In the lower photo only the dump (upper left) remained of the famous Caribou mine. The stone foundation (right) and another (too far north to show) were constructed later in an effort to solve the wind problem without props. Whenever old pictures were available, the layout of this booklet endeavors to follow a “then” and “now” presentation.

_From Estes Park_

Ward, at an altitude of 9,253 feet, was named for Calvin W. Ward who discovered gold in the vicinity in 1860 after prospecting up Left Hand Creek. From 1865 to ’67 when the Ni-Wot and Columbian properties were booming, it had a population of six hundred. (In both pictures on the facing page they may be seen as the two big mines or dumps, high on the mountainside to the left.)

The camp stayed in minor operation during the ’70’s and ’80’s and thrived in the late 1890’s. It was then that the penniless Horace Tabor, who had been one of the richest men in Colorado, tried to stage a comeback. His fortune had been made in Leadville silver; now he tried Ward gold. He owned a mine called the Eclipse. (The dump may still be seen on the Lodge-of-Pines property.) With a borrowed $15,000 from W. S. Stratton of Cripple Creek, he and Baby Doe set to work, living at the mine. But they were unsuccessful, and it was with relief that during January, 1898, the news reached him in Ward of his appointment as postmaster of Denver.

Six months after Tabor left Ward, a narrow gauge railroad, the Colorado & Northwestern (later D.B.&W.), arrived. It attracted many tourists. An added inducement was that the train stopped long enough to take the stageline to scenic Lake Brainard.

The trains also hauled ore for a while but this business fell off. When the big blizzard of November, 1913, and a cloudburst in July, 1919, damaged the track, abandonment soon followed.

Ward was deserted in the 1920’s. But the building of the Peak-to-Peak highway in the late 1930’s saved it. The town has survived as a summer resort although its year-around population is only fifteen.

It is unique for having been the scene of Tabor’s brave stand.

WARD DELIGHTED SUNDAY EXCURSIONISTS

In 1902 Ward had a population of three hundred fifty and advertised that it had six stamp mills in operation as well as good schools and churches. The Columbia Hotel opened that year on the street just below the charming Congregational Church (prominent on the hill). Just above the church on the highest street level was the railroad depot of the Denver, Boulder and Western, now a cafe on the Peak-to-Peak highway.

_From Grand Lake_

Lulu City is the first of our ghost towns to carry the inevitable “city” in its formal title. Adding “city” to the name of any little group of four or five log cabins was a habit dear to the hearts of the pioneers who took part in the trans-Mississippi West movement. Filled with optimism, they envisaged any stopping place as a sure metropolis. Witness the number of minute settlements with the imposing adjunct dating even from 1858, the year before the gold rush to Colorado. For example there were Montana City, Denver City, Golden City and Boulder City. Of these the first settlement disappeared completely, and the three survivors dropped the grandiose appendage.

Lulu City, like Montana City, is the disappearing type. In 1960 it was not completely gone, but almost. It was platted in 1879 by Ben F. Burnett who named the town for his oldest daughter. Lulu had only one good year, but hung on until 1883. After that a few die-hard prospectors remained. In the four years of Lulu City’s belief that its abundant silver ore would be rich, it had a large hotel, a store, several saloons, homes and a small red-light district. Mixed in with the silver ore found in the mines on the mountainsides to the west, was a little placer gold flecked through the sand of the long meadow. But neither the silver nor the gold were worth much. Lulu City’s post office was discontinued in January of 1886.

According to Mary Cairns, whose 1946 book _Grand Lake: The Pioneers_ pictured much more of Lulu City than can be seen today, one of the town’s prospectors was so discouraged he said:

“Some day you’ll see nothing but a foot trail along this street. Raspberry bushes and spruce trees will be growing through the roof of the hotel yonder.”

LULU CITY BECAME A GHOST EVEN BY 1889

Impossible to imagine now: When the town was platted in a park at 9,400 feet altitude, it had one hundred numbered blocks and nineteen streets. The Forest Service and National Parks System have no regard for history and are letting all the nineteenth-century buildings within their boundaries deteriorate as fast as possible. The two high mountains in the background are Lulu and Neota, and the cut is the Grand Ditch.

BEAR TRAP

One of the few remaining sights in Lulu City is this unusual device for deluding Mr. Bruin. A piece of meat was set inside. While he was nosing his food, a trip hammer released the door which fell and caged him well.

His prophecy has come true in full measure—only you can’t see the hotel at all! If you count carefully, you can discover the foundations of twenty-three buildings in the main part of town. Some five hundred feet farther north, there is a lone remote ruin in a grove on a point jutting west. This belonged to the town prostitute.

Lulu City’s most distinctive relic is at the southern entrance to town—a former bear trap which gives Lulu City its uniqueness today.

The town also had uniqueness in the past. It took part in one of the bloodiest county-seat wars in Colorado history, a war that resulted in the death of four men on July 4, 1883. This carnage was followed by the suicide of a sheriff and the escape of an undersheriff.

Grand County, when created in 1874, was a very large county. Hot Sulphur Springs was the only settlement of any size in the area and was given the county seat. Shortly afterward, gold and silver were found in the mountains which led to the founding of Lulu City, Gaskill and Teller. This mountainous section decided that they should have the county seat and that it should be at Grand Lake. They agitated for an election on the change of county seat and won in 1881.

Many antagonisms and animosities were built up in the course of this contest that kept on festering. Two years later one county commissioner was allied with the sheriff and deputy sheriff while the two other commissioners were allied with the county clerk. In the midst of a Fourth of July celebration, when the morning was already full of noise of firecrackers and of people sending shots of jubilation out over the lake, a mortal fight began at an ice house near the Fairview Hotel.

By the time people on the hotel porch reached the ice house, two men were dead and two were dying, one of whom claimed he had been attacked by the deputy sheriff. The sheriff and the deputy sheriff fled. The deputy sheriff disappeared, and his end is unproved. Less than three weeks later in a hotel room in Georgetown, the sheriff committed suicide. Mystery still cloaks the cause of the actual shooting.

Although no one of the six was a resident of Lulu City at the time of the tragedy, the undersheriff had been previously, and all the men had been visitors. The dismal affair sounded the death knell of Lulu City.