Lady's Life in the Rocky Mountains — Letter VIII, Part 2

I shall not soon forget my first night here.

Somewhat dazed by the rarefied air, entranced by the glorious beauty, slightly puzzled by the motley company, whose faces loomed not always quite distinctly through the cloud of smoke produced by eleven pipes, I went to my solitary cabin at nine, attended by Evans.

It was very dark, and it seemed a long way off.

Something howled--Evans said it was a wolf--and owls apparently innumerable hooted incessantly.

The pole-star, exactly opposite my cabin door, burned like a lamp.

The frost was sharp.

Evans opened the door, lighted a candle, and left me, and I was soon in my hay bed.

I was frightened--that is, afraid of being frightened, it was so eerie--but sleep soon got the better of my fears.

I was awoke by a heavy breathing, a noise something like sawing under the floor, and a pushing and upheaving, all very loud.

My candle was all burned, and, in truth, I dared not stir.

The noise went on for an hour fully, when, just as I thought the floor had been made sufficiently thin for all purposes of ingress, the sounds abruptly ceased, and I fell asleep again.

My hair was not, as it ought to have been, white in the morning!

I was dressed by seven, our breakfast hour, and when I reached the great cabin and told my story, Evans laughed hilariously, and Edwards contorted his face dismally.

They told me that there was a skunk's lair under my cabin, and that they dare not make any attempt to dislodge him for fear of rendering the cabin untenable.

They have tried to trap him since, but without success, and each night the noisy performance is repeated.

I think he is sharpening his claws on the under side of my floor, as the grizzlies sharpen theirs upon the trees.

The odor with which this creature, truly named Mephitis, can overpower its assailants is truly AWFUL.

We were driven out of the cabin for some hours merely by the passage of one across the corral.

The bravest man is a coward in its neighborhood.

Dogs rub their noses on the ground till they bleed when they have touched the fluid, and even die of the vomiting produced by the effluvia.

The odor can be smelt a mile off.

If clothes are touched by the fluid they must be destroyed.

At present its fur is very valuable.

Several have been killed since I came.

A shot well aimed at the spine secures one safely, and an experienced dog can kill one by leaping upon it suddenly without being exposed to danger.

It is a beautiful beast, about the size and length of a fox, with long thick black or dark-brown fur, and two white streaks from the head to the long bushy tail.

The claws of its fore-feet are long and polished.

Yesterday one was seen rushing from the dairy and was shot.

"Plunk," the big dog, touched it and has to be driven into exile.

The body was valiantly removed by a man with a long fork, and carried to a running stream, but we are nearly choked with the odor from the spot where it fell.

I hope that my skunk will enjoy a quiet spirit so long as we are near neighbors.

October 3. This is surely one of the most entrancing spots on earth.

Oh, that I could paint with pen or brush!

From my bed I look on Mirror Lake, and with the very earliest dawn, when objects are not discernible, it lies there absolutely still, a purplish lead color.

Then suddenly into its mirror flash inverted peaks, at first a dawn darker all round.

This is a new sight, each morning new.

Then the peaks fade, and when morning is no longer "spread upon the mountains," the pines are mirrored in my lake almost as solid objects, and the glory steals downwards, and a red flush warms the clear atmosphere of the park, and the hoar-frost sparkles and the crested blue-jays step forth daintily on the jewelled grass.

The majesty and beauty grow on me daily.

As I crossed from my cabin just now, and the long mountain shadows lay on the grass, and form and color gained new meanings, I was almost false to Hawaii; I couldn't go on writing for the glory of the sunset, but went out and sat on a rock to see the deepening blue in the dark canyons, and the peaks becoming rose color one by one, then fading into sudden ghastliness, the awe-inspiring heights of Long's Peak fading last.

Then came the glories of the afterglow, when the orange and lemon of the east faded into gray, and then gradually the gray for some distance above the horizon brightened into a cold blue, and above the blue into a broad band of rich, warm red, with an upper band of rose color; above it hung a big cold moon.

This is the "daily miracle" of evening, as the blazing peaks in the darkness of Mirror Lake are the miracle of morning.

Perhaps this scenery is not lovable, but, as if it were a strong stormy character, it has an intense fascination.

The routine of my day is breakfast at seven, then I go back and "do" my cabin and draw water from the lake, read a little, loaf a little, return to the big cabin and sweep it alternately with Mrs. Dewy, after which she reads aloud till dinner at twelve.

Then I ride with Mr. Dewy, or by myself, or with Mrs. Dewy, who is learning to ride cavalier fashion in order to accompany her invalid husband, or go after cattle till supper at six.

After that we all sit in the living room, and I settle down to write to you, or mend my clothes, which are dropping to pieces.

Some sit round the table playing at eucre, the strange hunters and prospectors lie on the floor smoking, and rifles are cleaned, bullets cast, fishing flies made, fishing tackle repaired, boots are waterproofed, part-songs are sung, and about half-past eight I cross the crisp grass to my cabin, always expecting to find something in it.

We all wash our own clothes, and as my stock is so small, some part of every day has to be spent at the wash tub.

Politeness and propriety always prevail in our mixed company, and though various grades of society are represented, true democratic equality prevails, not its counterfeit, and there is neither forwardness on one side nor condescension on the other.

Evans left for Denver ten days ago, taking his wife and family to the Plains for the winter, and the mirth of our party departed with him.

Edwards is somber, except when he lies on the floor in the evening, and tells stories of his march through Georgia with Sherman.

I gave Evans a 100-dollar note to change, and asked him to buy me a horse for my tour, and for three days we have expected him.

The mail depends on him.

I have had no letters from you for five weeks, and can hardly curb my impatience.

I ride or walk three or four miles out on the Longmount trail two or three times a day to look for him.

Others, for different reasons, are nearly equally anxious.

After dark we start at every sound, and every time the dogs bark all the able-bodied of us turn out en masse.

"Wait for the wagon" has become a nearly maddening joke.

October 9. The letter and newspaper fever has seized on every one.

We have sent at last to Longmount.

The evening I rode out on the Longmount trail towards dusk, escorted by "Mountain Jim," and in the distance we saw a wagon with four horses and a saddle horse behind, and the driver waved a handkerchief, the concerted signal if I were the possessor of a horse.

We turned back, galloping down the long hill as fast as two good horses could carry us, and gave the joyful news.

It was an hour before the wagon arrived, bringing not Evans but two "campers" of suspicious aspect, who have pitched their camp close to my cabin!

You cannot imagine what it is to be locked in by these mountain walls, and not to know where your letters are lying.

Later on, Mr. Buchan, one of our usual inmates, returned from Denver with papers, letters for every one but me, and much exciting news.

The financial panic has spread out West, gathering strength on its way.

The Denver banks have all suspended business.

They refuse to cash their own checks, or to allow their customers to draw a dollar, and would not even give green-backs for my English gold!

Neither Mr. Buchan nor Evans could get a cent.

Business is suspended, and everybody, however rich, is for the time being poor.

The Indians have taken to the "war path," and are burning ranches and killing cattle.

There is a regular "scare" among the settlers, and wagon loads of fugitives are arriving in Colorado Springs.

The Indians say, "The white man has killed the buffalo and left them to rot on the plains.

We will be revenged."

Evans had reached Longmount, and will be here tonight.

October 10. "Wait for the wagon" still!

We had a hurricane of wind and hail last night; it was eleven before I could go to my cabin, and I only reached it with the help of two men.

The moon was not up, and the sky overhead was black with clouds, when suddenly Long's Peak, which had been invisible, gleamed above the dark mountains, all glistening with new-fallen snow, on which the moon, as yet uprisen here, was shining.

The evening before, after sunset, I saw another novel effect.

My lake turned a brilliant orange in the twilight, and in its still mirror the mountains were reflected a deep rich blue.

It is a world of wonders.

To-day we had a great storm with flurries of fine snow; and when the clouds rolled up at noon, the Snowy Range and all the higher mountains were pure white.

I have been hard at work all day to drown my anxieties, which are heightened by a rumor that Evans has gone buffalo-hunting on the Platte!

This evening, quite unexpectedly, Evans arrived with a heavy mail in a box.

I sorted it, but there was nothing for me and Evans said he was afraid that he had left my letters, which were separate from the others, behind at Denver, but he had written from Longmount for them.

A few hours later they were found in a box of groceries!

All the hilarity of the house has returned with Evans, and he has brought a kindred spirit with him, a young man who plays and sings splendidly, has an inexhaustible repertoire, and produces sonatas, funeral marches, anthems, reels, strathspeys, and all else, out of his wonderful memory.

Never, surely was a chamber organ compelled to such service.

A little cask of suspicious appearance was smuggled into the cabin from the wagon, and heightens the hilarity a little, I fear.

No churlishness could resist Evans's unutterable jollity or the contagion of his hearty laugh.

He claps people on the back, shouts at them, will do anything for them, and makes a perpetual breeze.

"My kingdom for a horse!"

He has not got one for me, and a shadow crossed his face when I spoke of the subject.

Eventually he asked for a private conference, when he told me, with some confusion, that he had found himself "very hard up" in Denver, and had been obliged to appropriate my 100-dollar note.

He said he would give me, as interest for it up to November 25th, a good horse, saddle, and bridle for my proposed journey of 600 miles.

I was somewhat dismayed, but there was no other course, as the money was gone.

[16] I tried a horse, mended my clothes, reduced my pack to a weight of twelve pounds, and was all ready for an early start, when before daylight I was wakened by Evans's cheery voice at my door.

"I say, Miss B. , we've got to drive wild cattle to-day; I wish you'd lend a hand, there's not enough of us; I'll give you a good horse; one day won't make much difference."

So we've been driving cattle all day, riding about twenty miles, and fording the Big Thompson about as many times.

Evans flatters me by saying that I am "as much use as another man"; more than one of our party, I hope, who always avoided the "ugly" cows.

[16] In justice to Evans, I must mention here that every cent of the money was ultimately paid, that the horse was perfection, and that the arrangement turned out a most advantageous one for me.

October 12. I am still here, helping in the kitchen, driving cattle, and riding four or five times a day.

Evans detains me each morning by saying, "Here's lots of horses for you to try," and after trying five or six a day, I do not find one to my liking.

Today, as I was cantering a tall well-bred one round the lake, he threw the bridle off by a toss of his head, leaving me with the reins in my hands; one bucked, and two have tender feet, and tumbled down.

Such are some of our little varieties.

Still I hope to get off on my tour in a day or two, so at least as to be able to compare Estes Park with some of the better-known parts of Colorado.

You would be amused if you could see our cabin just now.

There are nine men in the room and three women.

For want of seats most of the men are lying on the floor; all are smoking, and the blithe young French Canadian who plays so beautifully, and catches about fifty speckled trout for each meal, is playing the harmonium with a pipe in his mouth.

Three men who have camped in Black Canyon for a week are lying like dogs on the floor.

They are all over six feet high, immovably solemn, neither smiling at the general hilarity, nor at the absurd changes which are being rung on the harmonium.

They may be described as clothed only in boots, for their clothes are torn to rags.

They stare vacantly.

They have neither seen a woman nor slept under a roof for six months.

Negro songs are being sung, and before that "Yankee Doodle" was played immediately after "Rule Britannia," and it made every one but the strangers laugh, it sounded so foolish and mean.

The colder weather is bringing the beasts down from the heights.

I

heard both wolves and the mountain lion as I crossed to my cabin last night.

I. L. B.

LETTER IX