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 ATOP O THE 
 WORLD 
 
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 of the 
 
 YELLOWSTONE 
 DREAMLAND 
 
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 Joe Mitchell Chappie 
 
 HEAVEN 
 
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 r splendor 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Tke gorgeous prismatic splendor of Yellowstone Canyon from Artist's Point reveals the moods of the 
 
 wonderful color picture of nature one 
 
ied pictures. In the noontide splendor Yellowstone Canyon is supreme. In looking upon this 
 spiration that cannot be described 
 
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 PHIMTSD IN U.S.A. 
 
Photo by J. E. Haynes 
 This is not, as you might suppose at first glance, the effect of a depth 
 bomb at sea. It is merely the "Old Faithful" geyser in the Yellowstone 
 National Park, relieving its overcharged feelings in its customary way 
 
\ 
 
 ATOP O' THE 
 WORLD 
 
 Wonders of the 
 Yellowstone Dreamland 
 
 JOE MITCHELL CHAPPLE 
 
 1922 
 CHAPPLE PUBLISHING COMPANY, Ltd. 
 
 BOSTON 
 

 Copyright, 1922 
 
 BT 
 
 Joe Mitchell Chapple 
 
 First Edition, September, 1922 
 Second Edition, November, 1922 
 
 / 
 
 PRINTED AND BOXTND IN U.S.A. 
 
 RB.D, 
 
Lights and Shadows on a Day Eternal 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I A' Top o' the World 
 
 II In the Light of the Morning Stars 
 
 III Sunrise at the Terraces of the Gods . 
 
 IV Forenoon Fantasies as the Day Gathers Color 
 V In Fields of Snow and Flowers 
 
 VI Splendor of Noontide at the Canyon . 
 VII Vesper Lights and Shadows in God's Temple 
 VIII Sunset on a Summit of the Rockies . 
 IX Entrancing Twilight in the Valleys 
 X Witchery of Moonlight on the Lake . 
 XI Midnight Revels on the Devil's Golf Course 
 XII Glee of Geysers in Wee Sma' Hours . 
 
 XIII Dawn at Old Faithful, Eternity's Time Piece 
 
 XIV Yellowstone Traditions and Discoveries . 
 XV Glories of the Golden Anniversary Year . 
 
 XVI Roosevelt's Tribute to the Park . 
 XVII "Every Gate a Pearl" of Nature's Wonders 
 XVIII Mother Earth's Day of Peace Eternal 
 
 9 
 12 
 
 16 
 25 
 31 
 35 
 41 
 46 
 49 
 58 
 64 
 68 
 78 
 81 
 88 
 97 
 103 
 106 
 
The gorgeous prismatic splendor of Yellowstone Canyon from Artist's 
 
 Point reveals the moods of the day in varied pictures .... Cover Lining 
 
 The "Semi-Centennial" Geyser which first spouted on the ;oth anniver- 
 sary of the opening of Yellowstone Park Frontispiece 
 
 The Oblong Geyser, on the opposite side of the Firehole River from 
 
 Chromatic Pool 17 
 
 A Croup of Pelicans on an island in Pelican Lake, miles above sea level 17 
 
 The Terraces of the Gods are Hot Springs 18 
 
 Like a mortar's gun, the Riverside Geyser shoots its stream of steam 
 
 across the river 27 
 
 Mammoth Hot Spring Hotel, located on the site of the original hostelry 
 
 of Yellowstone Park 28 
 
 There are many hundreds of prong-horned antelopes in the Park 28 
 
 Old Faithful Inn, the palace of logs, where thousands of tourists have 
 
 been welcomed 37 
 
 You feel as if you were within the ruins of an ancient castle at Castle 
 
 Well, a large crested spring near Castle Geyser 37 
 
 The buffaloes are a reminder of the great herds of bison that stampeded 
 
 the western plains in days agone 38 
 
 Norris Basin, battleground of the Geysers 55 
 
 Jackson Lake, just outside the Park, is a glorious setting of Yellowstone 
 
 wonderland 56 
 
 A tent section in one of the permanent summer camps 73 
 
 A horseback party ready to leave Camp Roosevelt 73 
 
 Every variety of nature's wonders seems to be included in Yellowstone . . 74 
 
 The music of the twain of Yellowstone Falls 91 
 
 Scenes in fairyland are awakened when the spectacular grotto and geyser 
 
 are viewed in action 92 
 
 Atop o' Mt. Washburn, the one point where the visitor feels that he is 
 
 truly above of the world 101 
 
 There is a magnetic majesty about Electric Peak, eleven thousand feet 
 
 high 101 
 
 The nuptials of heaven and earth are vividly portrayed at Hymen Terrace 
 
 near Mammoth Hot Springs 102 
 
 Christening the Sign at the Junction of the Gibbon and Firehole Rivers. . 102 
 
 Map of the Yelloivstone Park Region Cover Lining 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 A Little Chat, with the Reader 
 
 AT the suggestion of friends I have dared much 
 in an effort to express the feeUngs that come, 
 witnessing the dramatic majesty of Nature. 
 
 Emotions overwhelm me as I endeavor to make a 
 prosaic pen speak of things that words cannot ade- 
 quately portray ; these are the thrills that the Creator 
 intends we shall feel when we witness the splendor 
 of His almighty works. And only those who have 
 seen Yellowstone realize the presence of His revealing 
 spirit there. Here the colors of the spectrum blend 
 in every shade and hue — Nature's own pigments 
 which only the hand of God himself can palette into 
 such pictures eternal. 
 
 Enduring visions are enkindled in the magic of 
 memories associated with the dream days amid the 
 wonders of the Yellowstone. The sponsor of this 
 book opened to me the golden gates of memory to 
 childhood days and dreams of my sainted mother. 
 
 An old friend, I think it was John Muir, once 
 urged me, during vacation days in the painted desert 
 of Arizona, to "go lay your head in Nature's lap and 
 let her tell you stories." 
 
 Here are the stories and visions of dream days — 
 all alone with Mother Nature. 
 
 ^^^P^ul i^vUlC% <i/t/Ut/^ 
 
 The Attic 
 Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
Bebtcateb 
 
 TO MY 
 WIFE 
 
 KNOWN AS "MRS. JOE" 
 
 THE PAL OF 
 
 MANY HAPPY YEARS 
 
A'TOP O' THE WORLD 
 
On Reading Joe Chappie's A' top o' the ff^orld 
 
 I have sat in a room 
 
 Dim lit and tender: 
 
 In the magic of your memories, 
 
 The witchery of your words, 
 
 The high soaring of your spirit, 
 
 I have felt 
 
 All the winds of the world 
 
 Blowing 
 
 Through the silences 
 
 Of understanding, 
 
 Blowing 
 
 Upon the Beauty 
 
 That is God's voice 
 
 Speaking to all Mankind. 
 
 It is morning 
 
 Dim robed 
 
 And misted, 
 
 Morning new born from the matchless 
 
 mystery of the night; 
 Hush — and her footstep 
 Is a silence 
 
 Trailing through the spaces 
 Into a limitless realm of light: 
 Morning 
 Walking proudly 
 Fearlessly 
 And dream filled: 
 And lo! 
 Before the lifted loveliness of her 
 
 face 
 The stars pale 
 And the sun 
 In regal robes of glory 
 Rises 
 
 To lay this tribute of light 
 At her feet. 
 
 It is noon : 
 
 Day at its height 
 
 And the mind of Man 
 
 Reaching to the height 
 
 Within himself, 
 
 Looking 
 
 To the burning 
 
 And the blessing 
 
 And the beauty 
 
 That is Life! 
 
 Here in the full flush of the noon 
 
 There is a strength, 
 
 An aspiration 
 
 Boston, September 25th, 1922. 
 
 A knowledge 
 
 Of all Created. 
 
 Man stands fearless before himself 
 
 Under the glow of the sun 
 
 That smile 
 
 Of God's presence upon him. 
 
 Life at the noontide 
 
 Is a work — 
 
 And work 
 
 A worship — 
 
 And worship 
 
 A knowledge of the purpose and the 
 
 power 
 Of the spirit. 
 
 It is dusk 
 
 And in the stillness ' 
 
 The soft moving of dreams. 
 
 The sweet magic of memories, 
 
 The wide wonder of the silences. 
 
 There is the strength of the Forever 
 
 In all that is limitless. 
 
 The stars 
 
 Hold on high their lamps 
 
 Of Hope lighted: 
 
 The mystery of Time 
 
 Hovers in the hush 
 
 And enfolds that loneliness 
 
 Of the spirit, 
 
 Lifting it 
 
 To a realization of the Unseen, 
 
 Pointing it 
 
 To a vision of all worlds 
 
 United! 
 
 There is a blending 
 
 And a being 
 
 Of God 
 
 Born ever anew within us. 
 
 So it is this day 
 
 In the stars singing. 
 
 The noon throbbing, 
 
 The dusk 
 
 Pouring out the passion and the power 
 
 of Life, 
 I dare 
 
 To reach upward 
 And there 
 To touch 
 The finger tips of the Eternal. 
 
 THEODOCIA PEARCE. 
 
A'TOP o' THE World 
 
 USHING onward over the prairies 
 of Dakota and out of the darkness 
 of the "Bad Lands," we are thrilled 
 at the dim sight of Montana's rising 
 peaks. All these are wearing their 
 eiderdown nightcaps of snow that 
 seem to have been tied under their 
 chins by some fairy godmother of long ago who had 
 forgotten to awaken them when morning came. It is 
 an unexpected feast to the eye of the traveler; each 
 mile across the desert wildness promises more and 
 more of the bewitching loveliness of the mountains 
 as we glide up and around the Yellowstone Valley. 
 
 Amid the green of the winding glades we behold 
 the rugged architecture of the rangers' cabins ; to the 
 left are the grazing horses, each handsome creature 
 marked with the brand of its owner. They lift 
 their heads. as our big, black engine puffs its way 
 around the sweeping curves of the mountains, and 
 with a snort and a kick, away they gallop to a far- 
 off hillock, then turn and gaze upon the curious 
 creatures, human beings and iron horses, who dare to 
 invade their domain! 
 
10 A' top d the World 
 
 Swiftly the picture changes as the train hastens 
 onward, and ere we are aware of it, the conductor is 
 caUing out a cheery "Gardiner Gateway! Welcome 
 to Yellowstone!" 
 
 There is a rush of eagerness when the pilgrims 
 find themselves before a railway station, constructed 
 of great logs still wearing their rough coats of pri- 
 meval bark, with a winding train shed canopied with 
 monarchs of forest land. 
 
 How the scenes change from hour to hour! Here 
 it is early morning. There is a peculiar weirdness 
 about it all, and the magnificent silence is broken 
 only by the "I-can-start-it," "I-can-do-it" snorting 
 of the iron horse, impatient to carry another load of 
 human freight back to the foot of the mountains. 
 
 The yellow chariot-auto of the Yellowstone Park 
 Company is ready for the jolly tourists who hail 
 from every corner of the globe, and yet who are all 
 imbued with the happy-go-lucky, get-there-quick 
 American spirit. Among them we find a Chinese 
 doctor, an African missionary, a Spanish opera star, 
 several titled Englishmen, merry school teachers 
 bound for a joyous holiday away from the crowded 
 schoolrooms; lawyers who seek diversion from the 
 humdrums of the courts — all making up a happy band 
 of pilgrims, bound for the wonderland of the Yellow- 
 stone. Yes, and here is the "old man with the 
 smoked glasses," whose real name we shall never 
 know; surely he is the original over whom the 
 
A' top o' the World 11 
 
 cartoonists rave and fill our daily pages. He, in- 
 deed, is the real personification of the funny Monsieur 
 Perichon. 
 
 The chauffeur-guide watches well his gears, at the 
 same time answering a volley of questions that pour 
 from the seats, fore and aft, and laughing heartily 
 at the exclamations of wonderment. Winding up 
 the mountain road, one of our ears is busy listening 
 to the rushing of the waters in the valley below, 
 while the other catches the quips of the driver. We 
 have now reached the point in our journey where 
 every moment is precious. 
 
 We are a'top o' the world. 
 
II 
 In The Light of the Morning Stars 
 
 'HE black night has faded. We are 
 revelling in the glory of the morn- 
 ing stars. The canopy of heaven is 
 thickly studded with constellations 
 more brilliant than could be portrayed 
 on canvas. The millions of planets 
 in the firmament shine out like great 
 searchlights. On either side of the road are the 
 fields of green alfalfa, laden with the fragrance of 
 the morning, be jeweled with glistehing dewdrops. 
 Here the elk and the bison roam unmolested in the 
 bleak winter days — but now it is June. 
 
 We have arrived at the arched-portal of the play- 
 ground of the people. There stands the sentinel. 
 He who enters here must be disarmed. And this 
 is truly a disarmament, for in this great empire of 
 peace, both man and beast alike are immune from 
 the ravages of powder and bullet. Here is the gate- 
 way dedicated by Roosevelt "For the Benefit and 
 Enjoyment of the People" — the way to a most won- 
 derful vacation. Other travelers at this moment are 
 also entering Yellowstone from the gateways at 
 West Yellowstone, Cody and Lander. 
 
 12 
 
A'top o' the World 13 
 
 In the caravans of autos awaiting their turn at 
 the gates are the "sage-brushers," farmers and city 
 folk who have traveled far, representing practically 
 every state in the Union, coming to enjoy the camp- 
 ing grounds of Uncle Sam. How surprised is the 
 little daughter of the African missionary! She tells 
 us she expected to find nothing but cowboys here. 
 
 Everybody feels at home. Even the dog has 
 curled himself up on the fender of the car. The 
 autos are equipment-laden from radiator to tail light; 
 every inch of space counts. There is a large family 
 within — ^father, mother, children — even the year-old, 
 for even babes visit this dreamland. All are astir 
 at this early hour, under the light of the morning 
 stars, eager to pass across the boundary of the 
 Park. 
 
 Off through the winding vales of Gardiner Canyon 
 is the Gardiner River, rippling forth its matins before 
 it is disturbed by the birds at the dawn. Therein 
 flow the surging, bubbling waters of the boiling river, 
 whose temperatures change from "hot to cold," 
 without labeled faucets. 
 
 The caravans are now on their way to the hotels 
 and the camps, but the sage-brushers pushjon to 
 select one of the many, many favorite spots on which 
 to pitch tent or automobile. Then ho for^the 
 spirit of nomadic life! 
 
 In the camps are the young folk, already up before 
 the dawn, cheerily singing and drinking in the glories 
 
14 A'top o' the World 
 
 of the morning. There is a merry cUnk of water 
 pitchers under the tap, and high upon an overhanging 
 rock, Kke the Lorelei of the song, sits a maiden, 
 combing her hair. Truly she is the spirit of early 
 morning. 
 
 At Mammoth Springs, the capital of the Park, 
 are the old barracks of the army post. Aglow with 
 the light of the morning stars are the old red roofs 
 and the dim, gray stone walls, stern reminders of 
 the struggles of many an Indian battle in the early 
 days. The old parade ground is now a peaceful 
 lawn. Here, too, is the old stage coach that in 
 its lifetime has witnessed many a thrilling adven- 
 ture; its sides still show the scars from the bullets 
 of the "hold-up man" and hostile Indian. This is 
 the same old Deadwood coach in which proudly 
 rode many a potentate of the old frontier days. 
 Its doors still swing on leather hinges; its red paint 
 is blistered with the sun; the snows, the rains and 
 the frosts of many long years have left their marks 
 upon it. And yet, the old veteran seems to bob a 
 welcome to us, even now amid the fumes of gasoline, 
 mingled with the sulphuric vapors of the hot springs 
 of Yellowstone. All these scenes are fascinating in 
 the starlight afterglow. Comes now the surge of 
 an indescribable something that pierces our veins 
 with the premonition that we are entering a foreign 
 land; we have left the world behind. We have 
 arrived in God's own country. 
 
A'top o' the World 15 
 
 The scene shifts from the early morning ride to 
 the breakfast table. Wholesome food is here to 
 stimulate the ever-increasing flow of fellowship, and 
 it is here at the table that we begin to find that 
 there are new words being created which were never 
 known to our friend Noah Webster of dictionary 
 fame. The chauffeur-guides are our "gear-jammers" ; 
 all camp employes are "savages"; a tourist (male or 
 female) is a "dude"; a machinist is a "grease- 
 jammer," and the hotel employes are "heavers." 
 
 Practically all employes at camps and hotels are 
 college girls and boys; here you will find that both 
 work and play are the order of the day. The "sav- 
 age" who has been known to go for a walk in Lover's 
 Lane with a "dude" is classed a "rotten-logger," 
 which means that the twain must have occupied a 
 seat on the selfsame log away from the jolly crowd 
 that gathers nightly around the camp fires to sing 
 and entertain one another. 
 
 I slip away from the clatter of dishes to look once 
 more upon the fading stars — as if to say grace for 
 the morning meal. A little group has preceded me. 
 We stand in silence, with the anticipation of happy 
 days — the time when the morning stars sang together 
 and all of the suns of God shouted for joy. 
 
Ill 
 Sunrise at the Terraces of the Gods 
 
 'ITH the reverence of the Sun-wor- 
 shippers come the sleepy -eyed early- 
 risers — slaves to scenic moods — out 
 across the old parade grounds of 
 Fort Yellowstone, at Mammoth. 
 They are scheduled to witness the 
 sunrise at the Terraces of the Gods 
 in almanac time. The full tide of color curves the 
 rim of the mountains and distinguishes the horizon 
 from the pink of the early morning skies, and the 
 rays of the golden light are reflected upon Hymen's 
 Altar, behind which stands the grim Pulpit Rock. 
 It is all so serene and expectant, as if in full readiness 
 for a solemn nuptial service. 
 
 The waters trickle over the Terraces in whispered 
 silence, as if stealthily creeping over the plush-cov- 
 ered Stairway of the Gods, and fearful of disturbing 
 the matins of the birds. On the crest the rainbow- 
 tinted pools of boiling water suggest a preparation 
 of morning coffee, but the sulphuric waters have 
 laid low the living shrub and tree that stood in their 
 pathways. 
 
 Jets of steam breathe from the summit of the 
 
 16 
 
Photo by J. E. HayiiL, 
 
 The Oblong Geyser is on the opfiosile side oj the Firehole River from Chromatic 
 Pool. It is counted one of the finest examples of interior geyser in the park. Large 
 masses of tan-colored geyserite form the rim, and the water is of a delicate blue. 
 Preceding eruptions the crater fdls and boils for a quarter of an hour 
 
 Cop>right by Gifford 
 
 This is not in Florida, the Pelican State, but miles above the sea level in Yellowstone. The 
 
 pelicans chatter and hold high carnival as they converse on climate. They know how to get 
 
 close together when there is something to eat and talk about 
 
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A'top o' the World 19 
 
 Terraces, exuding the healthful and antiseptic odor 
 of sulphur. Under our very feet as we climb up- 
 ward the waters bubble gently down, building for- 
 mations as they fall, and leaving their rocky beds 
 to glisten with a brilliant, solid yellow. Perhaps 
 this is what gave rise to the Indian title of "Yellow- 
 stone," which they called this section of the country. 
 The little algae plants are already at work in their 
 alchemic miracles of form and color. 
 
 Somewhere in the distance there is a roar. Hear! 
 It is the voice of a deep-throated geyser pouncing 
 upon the victim of his conquest. Now we are 
 standing at the very spot where the heated breath is 
 blown through the mighty portals of a cavern in the 
 rocks. This is the Devil's Kitchen — and yet no 
 breakfast is in sight. But ah, what a feast for the 
 eye is set before us! 
 
 There in the glory of the sunrise stand Jupiter and 
 Minerva arrayed in the full-orbed splendor of rain- 
 bow hues, petrified miniatures of Niagara. The 
 dripping of the water is the sweat that is oozing from 
 the brow of the Terraces, tugging away in this magic 
 laboratory of the gods. 
 
 All aglow in the purity of whiteness glistens the 
 beautiful Angel Terrace nearby, forming yet another 
 contrast to the picture. Its robes are studded with 
 dead trees, and by half-closing the eyes, we may 
 fancy that we are gazing through a frosted window 
 upon a winter scene of New England, where bare 
 
20 A'top o' the World 
 
 trunks, twigs, and branches, decorated with icicles, 
 are battUng with Boreas. 
 
 The gorgeous coloring and form of thermal springs 
 in all of their unrivalled magic are here aglow with 
 the splendor of the sunrise. The tracery of exquisite 
 beauty in unity and color and hue include every 
 pattern in Nature's weaving. 
 
 Amid the wonder of this golden stairway stands 
 Minerva, a goddess supreme, clad in the purity of 
 vapor, sparkling in the amber of the gathering sun- 
 rise, and partaking of the blue of the summer skies 
 and the jade of the foliage in her royal mantle. 
 
 The sun lends his assistance in spreading Min- 
 erva's robes over the mountainside, so that the 
 marvel children of the terrace may continue their 
 play by day, oblivious of the turbulence that comes 
 with new-born spring, eager to join in their song of 
 creation. Even the suffused rays of the sunrise 
 fail to reach as far as the Canyon side, although 
 there is no conflict of light and shadow. These are 
 harmoniously blended into the tapestries of the cur- 
 tain of approaching day. 
 
 The flute-voiced plover sends forth his call of the 
 morning. His mate replies. Another joins in the 
 birds' Gloria Patria, then another, and soon the 
 whole adjacent primeval forest is echoing and re- 
 echoing with the morning anthem. 
 
 The natural impulse of the "untourified" is to 
 experiment, just for the sake of finding out if the 
 
A'top o' the World 21 
 
 water is really as hot as it seems. A finger or hand 
 is immersed for a test — and it is quickly withdrawn. 
 With its combination of mysterious chemicals, the 
 water has come to a white heat and burns as no 
 other hot water burns. The breath of Satan scalds 
 and blights to kill. 
 
 Adown the road with cheery halloo, in our royal 
 coach, a yellow bus, and we are oflf to Silver Gate, 
 which stands a sentinel before the first real gleam of 
 sunrise. Amid the rocky battlements we fancy that 
 we can hear the retreating of the soft-footed, swift- 
 winged fairies on the soft, cool vapors of the morning 
 zephyrs. The heart pulses faster as the morning 
 unfolds and the sun begins his play on the rocky 
 crags above. 
 
 "Yo, ho! Yo, ho!" 
 
 Here beside the trail is an Indian — a traditional 
 Sun-worshipper — ^holding aloft for our inspection 
 one of the silvery fish, a mountain trout, which he 
 has caught in the stream nearby. The smoke of 
 the campfire comes to our nostrils, like the incense to 
 the spirit of the woodlands. A hearty grunt pro- 
 claims the advent of a mother bear and her cubs in 
 search of their share of the Indian's breakfast. 
 What romance is astir in these hills! Animal and 
 man are met in peace conference without pact or 
 seal. 
 
 Riding along the rocky ledge, we behold the far- 
 famed Hoodoo Rocks, lying together in massed 
 
22 A'top o' the World 
 
 confusion, rectangular in form — a wrecked moun- 
 tain where giants gamboled. Perhaps these were 
 Lucifer's blocks which he dashed for a fall into the 
 depths of Hoodoo Land when he grew tired of 
 playing with them one day. There they lie, all 
 topsy-turvy, just as he hurled them aside. Like the 
 black rocks of Camaralzaman in "Arabian Nights," 
 they seem to spring to life at the flush of sunrise. 
 
 Let us pause in silence as the sky changes its 
 draperies from lavender to pink, and from pink to 
 red. And now a radiance reflects in the streams 
 below as the ribbons of the rainbow colors stretch 
 far beyond. The red line of the horizon grows 
 heavier; now deeper; and even as we watch him. 
 Old Sol shakes off his nightcap and arises in all his 
 pomp. Here is glory indescribable as, a little way 
 behind Hoodoo Land we approach the other sentinel 
 known as the Golden Gate. 
 
 The elk at the crag outposts haughtily challenges 
 us for a countersign. This is the gate of gold named 
 for its graceful form and for its power of reflecting 
 the glories of the sun. 
 
 In the roadside camp of the sage-brusher is heard 
 the laughter of happy children, together with the 
 merry twitter of the song birds. Here is the forest; 
 here are the fragrance of wildflowers, the sweetness 
 of waters of everlasting fountains, the warmth of the 
 summer sunshine and the coolness of winter snows, 
 the silvery glistening of raindrops, the virgin purity 
 
A'top o' the World 23 
 
 of snowflakes even in summer days, the song of a 
 soul praising its maker. We are overwhelmed with 
 the voice of all of these things as they join in an 
 unending hymn. 
 
 Drifts of snow bordering the summerland furnish 
 no end of delight. The pilgrims stop to click their 
 cameras at every drift. Nor can their elders resist 
 the childhood pleasures of a jolly good snowballing. 
 Yes, we grow younger. Time slips away, and we 
 join the hearty laughter when a misdirected snowball 
 finds its way to the nose of one good lady, dislodging 
 her spectacles and falling in a fluffy mass on her 
 taffeta gown. She is in good humor, and making 
 hurried grasps at the snow that has fallen in her lap, 
 she presses it into another sphere and proceeds to 
 aim with a saluting arm. What matter if this mis- 
 sile goes toward the pine tree, two yards to my left? 
 The children rush in that direction to make sure 
 that mother's snowball found a sure target. 
 
 How everybody laughs as the driver starts the car 
 with one hand on the gear-shift lever, and with the 
 other endeavors to dislodge a snowball from the back 
 of his collar! One tourist, asleep on the back seat, 
 who refused to get out when the others tried to per- 
 suade him, is awakened with a start as a snowball 
 splices his ear. 
 
 "This is a hell of a place!" he gruflBy exclaims. 
 His listeners are charitable, for he missed his coffee 
 this morning. 
 
24 A'tov o' the World 
 
 "There are no snowballs in that region," declares 
 the little school teacher, snuggling beside him. 
 
 He catches the reflection of the sunrise in her 
 smile. It is all over. The full-orbed, steady beam 
 of the risen sun has mellowed the landscape. This"" 
 fellowship of the sun-worshippers from all over the 
 world will never forget the overture of a perfect day 
 — Sunrise at the Terraces of the Gods. 
 
IV 
 
 Forenoon fantasies as Day Gathers Color 
 
 '^ITH the longing that each hour of 
 the day may be lengthened, forenoon 
 fantasies foregather as the moments 
 fly. Daylight visions dispel the emo- 
 tions that are prone to attend the 
 dreams of the twilight hour. Fan- 
 tasy here is not altogether a mental 
 delusion; it steals upon us with a whimsical, gro- 
 tesque impulse of imagery. This new and strange 
 mood of mental ebb and flow creates pictures be- 
 yond those falling within the horizon of physical 
 view. The precious moments of time glide by, un- 
 measured by ticking clock or swinging pendulum. 
 Slow eternity is here annealing the manacles of form. 
 The day grows on apace, but we recognize the change 
 of time only through the dial of lights and shadows, 
 where "dim alchemic powers rebuild to law's immuta- 
 ble demands." 
 
 As the day gathers color and strength, the fore- 
 noon fantasies flit from the camps. All astir with 
 the call of the wild, the caravan of motors moves on 
 like Gypsy vans. On the bank of a nearby stream 
 sits a "Compleat Angler," absorbed in the spirit of 
 
 25 
 
26 A'top o' the World 
 
 Izaak Walton. That children are playing in the re- 
 cent haunts of wild animals reveals the kinship that 
 exists between the nature of the wild creatures and 
 that of humans. 
 
 The hours that herald the approach of noontide 
 find us on the drive to the geyser basins, past lovely 
 Swan Lake, to Apollinaris Springs, where we stop 
 — doubting — to taste the clear waters and go on — 
 convinced — now ready to believe almost anything 
 about Yellowstone Park Here is Obsidian Cliff, 
 where the Indians gathered their arrow heads — 
 Roaring Mountain nearby and the unspeakable charm 
 of Twin Lakes, one blue, the other green. 
 
 Norris Geyser Basin, 7,470 feet above the sea, 
 presents an amazing continuance of wonders left 
 behind at Mammoth. Here the Black Growler 
 hisses deep in the earth; Constant Geyser, Whirligig 
 Geyser and Valentine Geyser show us a promise 
 of larger ones ahead. The Bathtub, on our left, 
 boils violently, in rage perhaps, for none of our party 
 accepts its invitation. A path leads on to Emerald 
 Pool, more beautiful even than its name, and to the 
 new "paint pots" of pink and blue mud, which heave 
 about like boiling porridge. 
 
 The Spirit of the Revolution keeps aflame nearby 
 in the Minute Man Geyser, whose energy never 
 tires, whose waters burst from the ground each time 
 your watch-hand moves. 
 
 Arrayed in one of the varied uniforms to be seen 
 
Copyright by J. E. Haynes 
 
 Like a mortar's gun, the Riverside Geyser shoots its stream of steam across the 
 river. It is located on the east bank of the Firehole River, a few feet above the 
 new steel bridge, where it is observed erupting every iix or seven hours. It keeps 
 up a continuous fire for a period of several minutes. Its volley of steam extends 
 
 over one hundred feet 
 
Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel, located on the ^'^''^'^ Z"*^'"! '^Ho \5r n. and X 
 
 Park, near Fori Yelloiustone. Here are located the Marnmoth ""tSprtngsand ih 
 
 Terraces of the Gods at the Gardiner entrance of Yellowstone Park. Across Us 
 
 threshold have passed many famous men 
 
 Photo by J. E. Haynes , , ,/ .,, 
 
 Prone horned antelopes are the most shy and beautiful creatures among the half-wild 
 half-tame denizens of Yellowstone Park. The Park is a natural game preserve and 
 in recent years the annual winter slaughter of its inhabitants by lawless hunters has 
 been put an end to by the ceaseless vigilance of the rangers 
 
A'top the World 29 
 
 in the gayety of the park, there stands on a rock a 
 young girl, whose hair seems to catch the glint of the 
 sun. She stumbles, and, as always happens in nov- 
 els, there is a young man to catch her. However, 
 auburn, or red, hair, is so rare in these times, that 
 everybody notices her. Consequently, each has his 
 little joke about the titian-haired lass. When she 
 falls into the strong arms of this sturdy young 
 ranger, who chances to be one of the party, it does 
 not take keen observation to learn that a tiny spark 
 of love-light has been set aglow. 
 
 In some way they manage to keep close together 
 for all the rest of the trip, oblivious of onlookers. 
 What they manage to talk about, no one knows. 
 They gaze at each other, look away into the dis- 
 tance, gaze again at each other and smile — and 
 everybody else smiles, too. The women-folk of the 
 party, match-makers, look at each other signifi- 
 cantly and nod their heads. The setting in which 
 this budding love scene seems to kindle is perfect. 
 The back seat of our car suits well their purpose. 
 Everybody watches and awaits the progress, for the 
 process of love-making on the mountain mingles 
 well with the other scenes of wonderment. There 
 was a Byronic climax: "Soft eyes looked love to 
 eyes which spake again." 
 
 Forenoon fantasies fade in the presence of a lunch 
 basket. The mounting jocund sun plays about the 
 scintillating luncheon garb suddenly donned by 
 
30 A'top o' the World 
 
 Dame Earth, in a marvellously "quick change" from 
 the flowered morning gown. The serene scenes un- 
 fold gently while the very air attends, and holds its 
 breath from the leaves as we descend into the 
 hut built of huge timbers while dreams fade into 
 realities. 
 
In Fields of Snow and Flowers 
 
 'OLLOWING the bugle call of the 
 Klaxton, we drive from Canyon over 
 Mt. Washburn on Chittenden Road 
 and through the famous Dunraven 
 Pass. Through the gorge and wind- 
 ing up the summit we go, over roads 
 where it would seem almost impos- 
 sible for cars to pass; but even here the transporta- 
 tion is so routed that one is. safer in the hands of the 
 efficient guides than he is among the wild "Jehus" 
 and joy riders of our city streets. 
 
 High aloft is the land of flowers. The jagged 
 brows of the cliffs are garlanded in wreaths of blos- 
 soms. A riot of color and variety are found in these 
 beds of wild flowers of the mountain. Skirting the 
 crest, we gaze in wonder over the mountainside, 
 carpeted with myriads of flowers. Mother Nature is 
 the weaver of these floral tapestries; she catches all 
 the rich, deep colors of the Orient, harmonizing all of 
 the blue of the heavens, all of the gold of the stars, all 
 of the silver of the moon, all of the snows of the moun- 
 tain tops, and all of the green of the valleys. These 
 she mingles into warp and woof, a symphony of 
 
 31 
 
32 A'top o' the World 
 
 petals nodding to the music of the breezes. It 
 repictures that exquisite vision of Shelley: 
 
 "The light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread." 
 
 Here we behold Fairyland — field upon field of the 
 lovely white and yellow bitter-root; borders of the 
 Indian's paint brush, delicate mounds of monk's 
 hood and wild geranium, and adorning the vari- 
 colored rocks of the gulches are the fragrant clusters 
 of the wild rose. The modest violet of the spring- 
 time garden touches this huge palette with its purple- 
 blue, while here the rare yellow violet reflects the 
 gold of the coming noontide. 
 
 Nestling beside the great drifts of snow, peep 
 myriads of bright-eyed dandelions. Bordering the 
 white snow-line of the high mountains, like a brave 
 golden braid, are the tiny sunflowers, proud of their 
 distinction in being closer to the warm rays of the 
 Source of Light than are their strident brothers on 
 the plains of Kansas. Even the wayside weed has 
 a charm of its own in this brigade of leaf and bloom. 
 
 Four-fifths of the area of the Park is timbered. 
 The dominant tree throughout is the lodgepole pine. 
 This species is most abundant on the park plateau, 
 but extends up the slopes of the mountains for some 
 distance, and adorns the passes toward the entrances, 
 having a lower altitude limit of about 7,000 feet. It 
 constitutes about two-thirds of the total tree popu- 
 lation. It is the tree that forms the characteristic 
 close-set, slender-stemmed forests. Below the limit 
 
A'topfo' the World 33 
 
 of the lodgepole the limber pine holds sway, and 
 above it, toward timberline on the mountains, the 
 white-bark pine is abundant. Douglas spruce and 
 Engleman spruce are abundant in more favored loca- 
 tions than those held by the pines, and there is also 
 a little fir or balsam timber. There are few trees 
 that are not evergreens. The principal &ne is the 
 aspen, which abounds in denuded and burnt-over 
 areas, and around the edges of some of the other 
 timber. Other species, like maple, birch and alder, 
 are large bushes rather than trees. Besides the trees 
 there is a great abundance of smaller plant life: 
 shrubs and wild flowers, over 650 distinct varieties. 
 Dry, open places are dominated by the sagebrush. 
 With the sagebrush at the lower altitudes is associ- 
 ated the yellow-flowered rabbit-brush, and in one or 
 two isolated spots, the greasewood. Wild flowers 
 are everywhere, from yellow water-lilies in the ponds 
 to cactus and stonecrops in the desert wastes. 
 
 God's finger has touched the canyon and the 
 mountainside, blending summer and winter in peace- 
 ful fellowship, while the shadows trail toward the 
 zenith hour. 
 
 Around the curve swings a big, bulky wagon, re- 
 minding us of the transport of the early days — the 
 prairie schooner. The sure-footed pack horses and 
 the fuzzy little mountain burros carry the equip- 
 ment necessary to keep these fine roads in repair. 
 The snowdrifts were being blasted, and even now a 
 
34 A'top o' the World 
 
 blizzard threatens on the top of Mt. Washburn, fol- 
 lowing swiftly the coquettish zephyrs of the morning 
 hours. 
 
 Men are digging into the hard ground, shovelling 
 the granite-like snow from the trails. Everybody 
 waves a salute to the good natured workmen, for 
 we are all kin. 
 
 It was their courage that made possible these aerial 
 pathways which enable us to glimpse the frontier, 
 where Heaven greets Earth, who in stately garb 
 responds with the sublime salute of nature. 
 
 Bang! Bang! As we round the corner under the 
 shadows of the overhanging rockg, we find ourselves 
 face to face with a quartette of bandits. Hist! 
 This is real, thrilling adventure, bringing to mind 
 the weather-beaten, bullet-ridden stage coach relic at 
 Mammoth. 
 
 "Hands up!" comes the command. Hastily we 
 throw up our hands, wondering if we left all of our 
 cash back in the safe at the hotel. A merry peal of 
 laughter breaks the spell in that lone spot. The 
 pistols thrust into our faces are from the ten-cent 
 store, guaranteed to fire one hundred paper caps 
 without re-loading. The funmakers join in the pro- 
 cession of the caravan down the steep unwinding 
 mountainside singing melodies from Robin Hood. 
 
 Appetites grow apace as the stately elk is seen 
 grazing in content and the little baby bear comes out 
 to the cars, staging another hold-up for more sugar. 
 
VI 
 
 Splendors of Noontide at the Canyon 
 
 [ERE is Yellowstone transcendent! 
 
 Out from the shadows of the 
 clustered pines I find myself at Ar- 
 tist's Point. Even this superlative 
 designation passes into the mists of 
 memory after that first view. 
 
 The stupendous panorama prompts 
 no vocal effort, because the first glimpse lulls one's 
 very soul to silent reverence as the voice of the 
 Almighty speaks amid the soft tones of the distant 
 rushing waters. The choral anthem of Nature 
 sounds through a vision of splendor, touching the 
 horizon of infinity. 
 
 Alone, I find myself speaking audibly — and no one 
 hears. A picture is imagined, not outlined, in the 
 physical contour. Half closing my eyes, I hear the 
 diapason of the lower falls, and I see the cataract 
 convoluted in an octave of currents, as it sweeps over 
 the precipice. It is Nature's unending symphony, 
 like a mighty organ sounding now and then a magna 
 chord of joy. My heart leaps within me and the 
 words come to my lips: 
 
 "That light whose smile kindles the universe, 
 That beauty in which all things live and move." 
 
 35 
 
36 A'top o' the World 
 
 This inspires the fancy picture with the feeling 
 that it is the music of a wedding day celebrating 
 the unity of the glories of heaven and the wonders 
 of earth. 
 
 It is indeed God's own temple, fashioned by the 
 hand of the Supreme Architect. Castle and turret, 
 nave and aisle, minaret and spire, all the triumphs 
 of form and color are here. The prismatic sands and 
 strata of every conceivable hue, revealing the con- 
 vulsive travail of volcanic shock, give color to this 
 colossal cathedral of the Lord of Creation. 
 
 Along the frieze of the heaven-blue skyline are 
 myriads of steepled pines. Nature, animate and 
 still, all crowned in glorious emerald, on the very 
 parapets of time, like "fabrics of enchantment piled 
 to Heaven." 
 
 Through this aisle of the ages the magnificent 
 nuptial pageant passes and the white foam of the 
 laughing waters are the blossoms strewn before the 
 footfall of the bride. The chorus from "rocks and 
 rills and templed hills" joins with the carillon in the 
 canyon. From her eyried heights soars the mother 
 eagle, living spirit of our nation, bringing sustenance 
 from afar to her eaglets nestling in their rugged 
 home on the uppermost crag, a pillar of the vaulted 
 roof of this mighty, majestic temple of God. 
 
 It is a jubilation of peace eternal. 
 
 The titanic struggles of Mother Earth of aeons 
 past is ended; paeans of praise are sounded from 
 
i^-Ks4^:-.-'jiiss':SBe^4^!ai>n(esiiffiB..'.-ira 
 
 Photo by J. E. Haynes 
 
 Old Faithful Inn, the [palace of logs, where thousands of tourists have been welcomed. 
 
 The giant clock over the fireplace ticks the hour when Old Faithful goes into action. On 
 
 the swing of the pendulum, every sixty seconds of the day and night. Old Faithful gives 
 
 hourly greeting to the guests at the Inn 
 
 Photo by J. E. Haynes 
 
 You feel as if you were within the ruins of an ancient castle at Castle Well, a large 
 crested spring near Castle Geyser, twenty feet in diameter, that overflows on two sides. 
 The geyser somehow suggests an old feudal pile which would seem to indicate that it is 
 the father of all the geysers, as it is considered the oldest geyser in the Park. The 
 orifice is lined with a bright orange color, the eruptions are irregular, sometimes violently 
 boiling and shooting twice its usual height. The boiling spring near here was a 
 favorite spot for campers in earlier days 
 37 
 
38 
 
A'top o' the World 39 
 
 the very depths of the soul of Nature; man and his 
 strife fade as before the splendor of the Apocalypse! 
 The conflicts of the ages from the epoch when earth 
 first lifted above the waters, have ceased; all nature 
 is in harmony with the spirit of this hour, the nup- 
 tials of heaven and earth, joined in infinity. 
 
 The shadows of high noonday are playing on 
 the walls of the great canyon temple, marking the 
 cloistered nave, where the trees, hoary-aged and 
 young, are bowing their heads in adoration before 
 the altar of the Eternal. In the crypts nearby the 
 old giants of the forest, moss-covered, mingle with 
 mottled rocks, reminders of a past far beyond human 
 ken, and under all lie the mighty sealed catacombs 
 holding Time's secrets. 
 
 "Oh, how glorious it all is," declares a woman 
 librarian from California, as she gazes into the 
 depths of the canyon. "See the greatness of the 
 depths and the wonder of the heights. Feel the 
 strangeness of it all! And yet, the greatest thrill 
 that comes to me as I look into the almightiness of 
 it all is this: As small as I may seem, beside these 
 almost indescribable mountains and vales. Thou oh 
 Lord, hath made me greater than all of these." 
 
 Comes now the great plea for reverence, for in- 
 deed God has given man power over all. "I will 
 lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh 
 my help; my help cometh from the Lord which 
 made heaven and earth." 
 
40 A'top o' iJie World 
 
 A kindly light leads on and on down tlie canyon, 
 
 falling "over moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent," 
 
 attuning the harp of memories "loved long since and 
 
 lost awhile." 
 
 "Where e'er that power is felt 
 Which wields the world with never-wearied love. 
 Sustains from earth and kindles above." 
 
 Near me sits a little girl, gazing in awe upon the 
 grandeur as it unfolds in surges of glory. The silence 
 of her reverie is broken: 
 
 "Oh, how I wish Mother was here to enjoy this 
 with me!" she exclaims, as if to herself. 
 
 "Is she far away-f*" I ask, looking into her tear- 
 glistening eyes. 
 
 "Yes, she is somewhere yonder," she softly replies, 
 "out beyond those clouds." 
 
 Far adown the winding valley the light leads on 
 and on. In the veiled fleecy "clouds out yonder," 
 the celestial and the terrestrial touch in the vale of 
 the Yellowstone and soothe a lonely child's longing 
 for a sainted mother. 
 
VII 
 
 Vesper Lights and Shadows in God's Temple 
 
 '^ESPER time glides in on tip-toe to- 
 day. After the rest of noontide, 
 and as the fidgety hour of four 
 approaches, when the tea is served 
 to quiet the nerves, and when every- 
 one is looking for somewhere to go 
 and something to do, we wander 
 out to Inspiration Point. Away from the rush and 
 lash of everyday duties, we catch the lights and 
 shadows in God's Temple at Vesper hour. The 
 spell of the noonday scene from Artist's Point is 
 revived. A reverential mood is uppermost as we 
 climb out to the projecting bridge and look up and 
 down the Canyon. 
 
 Radiating from the Canyon are walks and drives 
 to fit every mood and whim. All these lead to In- 
 spiration Point, which projects over the rocks of 
 the Canyon like an unfinished bridge. Here the en- 
 tranced eye may sweep up and down the Canyon, 
 viewing an unparalleled panorama of the Yellow- 
 stone River, throbbing like a great artery in the 
 heart of the chasm. Here also is Grand View, which 
 like the Hoodoos, might have been the dwelling place 
 
 41 
 
42 A'top o' the World 
 
 of giants of long ago. Other roads lead to Uncle 
 Tom's Trail, a steep descent to the base of Lower 
 Falls. Here at all hours of the day bravely march 
 long lines of tourists, going up and down the ledge, 
 each holding the hand of the other for security. A 
 long iron pipe to which you may cling, follows the 
 trail to its foot. Standing almost under the falls, 
 we see the rainbows in the mist. From a rock 
 nearby there bubbles a little hot spring, the only 
 geyser to be seen in this shadowed section, and 
 curiously enough, this is scarcely the size of a little 
 saucepan in which one might wish to boil an egg. 
 The way up the trail is steep and hard to climb, 
 but it is worth the after-aches. The cool, refresh- 
 ing air of the Canyon enables us to ascend without 
 much difficulty. Terraced above are the Upper 
 Falls, where the rainbows cross each other, remind- 
 ing us, even here, of God's wonderful promise to 
 mankind. The weird melodies of the rushing stream 
 and the whispering of the breezes through the 
 gulches blend with those of the rushing waters of 
 the Twin Sister below. 
 
 Here are the age-old Castle Ruins. We fancy 
 how the giants must have dwelt here in the days of 
 the Mastodons; giants who fought their battles by 
 hurling huge boulders at one another, and who 
 made the mountain tremble with their combats. 
 As the shadows ripple along the Canyon they seem 
 to gather in the folds of sunshine. The beauty of it 
 
A'top o' the World 43 
 
 rests our souls as we gaze with contemplative awe 
 upon it. The light is slowly curtained with a falling 
 drapery of ethereal softness, and the most that ope 
 can do in the presence of this new splendor is to rest 
 upon these rocks of time and ponder on the marvel, 
 and to wonder if ever the picture will be finished. 
 The green trees smile upon the reverie. Across the 
 slanting walls of the Canyon are what appear to be 
 tiny shoots of winter moss; yet through the glasses 
 you find the moss in reality resolves into vast groves 
 of tall pine trees that have struggled for a foot- 
 hold on the eroded parapet. Such is the solemnity 
 of the Canyon at vesper time. 
 
 Half-closing the eyes and peering into the waters 
 below, the turbulent ripples appear to be still. 
 
 There in the depths of the torrent you may see 
 the foam rushing by like clouds of the sky in the mir- 
 rored depths. 
 
 The lights are constantly changing, and with each 
 view comes the thrill of discovery. 
 
 In the lazy hours of the afternoon a thrilling spec- 
 tacle, not surpassed in the movies, is presented to 
 the spectators. A venturesome young tourist has 
 not been able to suppress his longing to scale the 
 precipitous slopes of the Canyon. For four hours 
 the spectators breathlessly watch the rescue by a 
 ranger. The tourist, breathless from exhaustion, is 
 able to climb no farther from a point within a hun- 
 dred feet from the top. His cry has brought the 
 
44 A' top o' the World 
 
 ranger to his rescue. A rope is thrown down, the 
 explorer seizes it. Then, because of his exhausted 
 condition he is lowered in order that he may drink 
 of the refreshing water in the river below. He is 
 so revived that he is able to be hauled to the top 
 by means of an easier trail. The onlookers watch 
 the rescue with bated breath. A hearty cheer goes 
 up as they appear above the surface of the rocks, 
 and a prayer of thankfulness for his safety is on 
 every lip. The brave ranger and the hotel boy have 
 saved a human life. 
 
 We are farther, farther away from the falls, but 
 even the music of the waters seems to be softened to 
 harmonize with the sweet, soft lights of the vesper 
 shadows, as the evensong blends with the fading 
 lights through memorial windows in the "little 
 church" back home. 
 
 All along in this balcony are the many points of 
 observation, thronged with those looking on in 
 silence. The one picture that never will fade from 
 memory is that of the old man and his wife sitting 
 on the rocks, snuggling close together like lovers. 
 With his arm about her waist, he is pointing here 
 and there, as if indicating the pathway that comes in 
 the Last Sunset. 
 
 There is the sweet, soft, lingering smile on her 
 face, the glorified reflection of the smile of the lass 
 she was when she looked into the face of her young 
 lover in "Auld Lang Syne." We do not need to be 
 
A'top o' the World 45 
 
 told her life's history nor that of the old man at her 
 side; the picture is before us, the picture to which 
 still clings the hallowed sweetness of the bridal hour. 
 Their hands are withered and wrinkled, their brows 
 are furrowed, and in the lengthening rays of the ap- 
 proaching twilight, their hair glistens with the silver 
 of a brooklet in the meadowland at Springtime. 
 On this peak, all alone, sit "Darby and Joan." 
 
 "Always the same, Darby my own. 
 Always the same to your old wife, Joan. 
 Hand in hand when our Ufe was May, 
 Hand in hand when our hair is gray, 
 Shadow and sun for everyone. 
 
 As the years roll on; 
 Hand in hand when the long night-tide, 
 Gently covers us side by side — 
 Oh! lad, though we know not when, 
 Love will be with us forever then; 
 Always the same. Darby, my own, 
 Always the same to your old wife, Joan." 
 
 Hand in hand during Nature's vesper hour the 
 prophecy of the past is revealed. 
 
 And in these vesper shadows the pledge is re- 
 newed, for it was at vesper time half a century and 
 more ago when Darby and Joan pledged "love 
 forever." 
 
 "Shall we sit together some day in life's broken 
 shadows.?" 
 
 Passing youth paused: it was love's sacrament. 
 
VIII 
 
 Sunset on the Summit of the Rockies 
 
 UPON the summit of the Rockies 
 sheathed in snow and primal pines 
 we feel like "watchers of the skies" 
 at the high altar where the moun- 
 tain peaks are robed in azure hue — an 
 earthly token of its eternal majesty! 
 The precipitous heights loom be- 
 fore us as the woods end, but winding up, foot by 
 foot under the cracking pressure of gasoline in the 
 motor cars, we are soon a mile and a half in the air 
 above our friends at home, who may now be reading 
 our souvenir postal cards. Up and up we climb, 
 amid the "shooting star" blossoms, looking back- 
 ward now and then as the great scroll of an epic 
 written by the finger of God unfolds to wondering 
 eyes at our feet. 
 
 Here the wrinkled, rugged outlines of the peaks 
 soften in the approaching sunset. Old Sol reign- 
 ing in the west, still defiant and resplendent — ^the 
 symbol of creative glories and visual proof of the 
 unseen, struggles bravely against the "haunting 
 hour" when spirit mysteries are to reign in shadows. 
 It seems a veritable ascension as we look upon this 
 
 46 
 
A'top o' the World 47 
 
 great, silent mountain, the incarnation of Faith, 
 leading to that peace in the glory of the sun. 
 
 This is indeed the end of a wonderful day, this 
 day in the Yellowstone — a day in God's workshop, 
 begun in the light of morning stars — now transfigured 
 with splendor in the grandeur of His setting sun. 
 
 How kaleidoscopic it appears! Rainbow is piled 
 upon rainbow; prisms are crowded in bewildering 
 succession of hues in a pageant of color — all called 
 to worship at the glorious altar of the God of Crea- 
 tion — ^the trysting place, where Heaven and Earth 
 meet in nuptial panoply! 
 
 It is a picture beyond the power of an artist to 
 depict on canvas, and words can only suggest the 
 feeling that overwhelms in this view of a promised 
 land — this mountain standing out like "an amethyst 
 of light — a sculptured isle in a blazing sea of gold." 
 
 We are ascending the famous Park promontory, 
 the highest peak in the park accessible to the yellow 
 "chariots." Thrill and chill come in that ten-mile 
 climb. As the summit is gained, we can only stand 
 enthralled. Long spears of sunlight shoot out from 
 the blazing disc, like sentinels guarding the dying day. 
 
 Look now upon the outline of the Lake, lying 
 there like a glistening jewel in the bosom of the 
 Rockies; the stately snow-capped peaks; the Can- 
 yon in its chasmed gloom; the plains and the prai- 
 ries, the rolling hills, the winding rivers, and the 
 wooded landscape — one grand ensemble of Nature 
 
48 A'top o' the World 
 
 sublime, pictured within the sweep of the human eyes 
 piercing the veil of the real into the land o' dreams. 
 
 It is on these heights that we feel the pinnacled 
 glory of the mountain. Here it is possible for mor- 
 tal vision to glimpse the earth's grandeur and feel 
 the substances of dreams. As in the sunrise at the 
 Terraces of the Gods, we now can understand the 
 awe and devotion of the Sun-worshippers of long 
 ago to the Eternal light of the east and the west. 
 
 Flecking the mountainside, like sheep in a green 
 pasture, are the filmy clouds. As the sun's rim dips 
 behind the jagged peaks shadows cling to the pur- 
 ple hills dissolving into the softening lights that 
 play down in the valley, giving each peak its even- 
 ing bath of golden sunshine. 
 
 Slowly and majestically, like a King descending 
 from his throne, the Royal Sun gathers about him 
 the mantled light of the fading day. 
 
 As the sun is sinking, a cloud sweeps across its 
 face, bringing a flush of fiery glow, as if the old orb 
 was annoyed at the obstruction. A dazzling disc 
 glistens with the intensity of a deeper red, and then 
 comes the purple tinge, blending into the orange 
 that blazes like heated sparks from the forge of 
 Vulcan. Tiny clouds that dare to cross the path- 
 way are scattered as the Majestic King of Day in 
 his flaming chariot swings on in the endless orbit, 
 leaving in his farewell a promise of sweet dreams. 
 
 And then, the afterglow — Tomorrow is pledged. 
 
IX 
 
 Entrancing Twilight in the valleys 
 
 ^WILIGHT in the valleys evokes 
 soothing and entrancing sentiment. 
 The valleys are interlaced with can- 
 yons, extending through the vast 
 stretches of country. On either side 
 are the pasturages which form graz- 
 ing grounds, where deer, buffklo, 
 antelope, and elk roam at will. 
 
 As we approach Gibbon Canyon and glide over 
 the great, grassy tract of Gibbon Meadows, we the 
 tourist band just lean back in our seats while the 
 shadows of dreams begins. 
 
 The sable sheets of night are touched with mystic 
 light. Our heads are filled with vivid imaginings, 
 and our hearts are replete with love for every plant 
 and flower and wild creature that inhabits the place. 
 Yea, and our very souls are feasting. 
 
 We cross the Gibbon River, then the Firehole. 
 The mountain to the right is National Park Moun- 
 tain, at whose base the Washburn-Doane exploring 
 party, before their campfire in 1870, laid plans for 
 the establishment of Yellowstone National Park. 
 J^eading out of the Gibbon and Firehole, joined here 
 
 49 
 
50 A'top 'o the World 
 
 to form the Madison River, are the gorges, splashed 
 with cascades and rapids. We are told by our 
 "gear- jammer" that the Madison, flows on into Mon- 
 tana, where, close to the Northern Pacific Railway 
 in the Gallatin Valley, it flows down with the 
 Jefferson and Gallatin rivers to make the great 
 Missouri. 
 
 Among the old roads and trails of historic interest 
 is the route of Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce Indi- 
 ans, who made his last stand for the Redmen north 
 of here in 1877. The waters of Nez Perce Creek 
 chant a requiem, remindful of the days of the last 
 council of war and the attack of the savages which 
 was a closing tragic chapter of Indian warfare in 
 the nation's great playground. 
 
 Soon we are gazing with wonder at Mammoth 
 Paint Pots, sputtering ca,ldrons of fascinating mud. 
 "A perfect heaven for mud-pie makers," sighed the 
 little school teacher, who was growing younger 
 every mile. 
 
 A side path lures us through pines to the Fountain 
 Geyser, which happened to be taking a nap at the 
 moment of our visit. Close at hand Clepsydra, 
 Bellefontaine, Jelly and Jet Geysers — small to be 
 sure, but busy — were doing their level best to enter- 
 tain. 
 
 On a branch road, the Black Warrior or Steady 
 Geyser points the way to Firehole Lake, which at 
 times has a muddy tinge, and flickers back and forth 
 
A'top 'o the World 51 
 
 like a torch. In the twihght the illusion is perfect, 
 and the hidden fires produce a sensation of weirdness 
 firing our imaginations with the things that may be 
 going on under the earth beneath our feet. 
 
 Firehole Pool, hot as steam, gives the same illu- 
 sion. We see in its waters a flame of fire. But 
 other wonders claim notice — the Great Fountain 
 Geyser, hurling a mountain of water aloft, the Five 
 Sisters, Bath Lake, Buffalo Springs, Twin Buttes, 
 Broken Egg Spring. 
 
 We must hurry on to Midway Geyser Basin with 
 its beautiful Excelsior Geyser, once the largest in the 
 park. Adjectives fail here. The rainbow tints and 
 colors of Prismatic Lake and Turquoise Spring, huge 
 ponds of clear boiling water, must be seen. Their 
 beauties cannot be described. 
 
 In Biscuit Basin, Sapphire Pool, Jewel, Silver 
 Globe and Artemisia geysers are found. Msytic 
 Falls sing on the river to the west. 
 
 Shadowing the basins are the mountains and 
 forests, with cool streams and gulches, inviting grass 
 plots amid trees beckoning to wearied minds and 
 fagged souls. 
 
 Those who have lived for many years amid the 
 beauty of Yellowstone never tire of it; they find 
 more of interest in these restful nooks than in the 
 valleys; each day's journeys grow more and more 
 fascinating, for there is always something new. The 
 valley seems to be a part of the vast arm of the 
 
52 A'top o' the World 
 
 lake which, in bygone days, must have covered the 
 faces of these mountains. 
 
 The curtain of night is closing in on the Twilight, 
 and the arc of the great stage is lighted up with an 
 afterglow in silence serene. Suddenly a strong voice 
 breaks out into song that echoes up and down the 
 valleys. Others join in, and a chorus of young folks 
 sets our hearts ringing, particularly when the old 
 songs of yesterday come to our ears. 
 
 There is a tender expression in the eyes of the 
 golden-haired lass and the sombrero boy, when the 
 leader begins "Love's Old Sweet Song." These are 
 good singers in the yellow bus. Never was this old 
 melody rendered in such a setting and with such 
 effect. We cannot help but observe the two in the 
 back seat of the car — one the golden-haired girl, the 
 other the sombrero boy. His strong right arm is 
 not lying in his lap, and we can feel that there is 
 something said in those bright blue eyes, beneath 
 the wavy golden locks — love is working fast. And 
 although it is not exactly chilly, it is but natural 
 that the twain snuggle closer together under the 
 robe. 
 
 As the old poet said, "Twilight is the wooing 
 hour." In the dim and imperfect lights, the high- 
 lights of the face and the expression are softened. 
 Raganok, the Indian poet, revelled in the twilight 
 of the gods. 
 
 Here in the diffused lights, our thoughts seem to 
 
A'top o' the World 53 
 
 concentrate in keeping with the loveliness around 
 us. Every twilight has a way of reflecting the 
 spirit of the day, and the evening dews sparkle in 
 the semi-light, defying the derivation of the word 
 given to this hour of the day, "twice-Kght" or the 
 velvet vision soft focus in Nature's camera. 
 
 It is at this time that there comes to us the theme 
 of Milton — his visions of Paradise Lost and Para- 
 dise Regained. It is now, in the growing gray, giv- 
 ing to all things a sombre livery, bird and beast to 
 their haunts retire. They instinctively realize the 
 voice of prophecies from Holy writ: "None shall 
 kill or destroy in all my mountains." 
 
 The silvered waters of the Firehole still stand 
 out, in the deepened shadow of the trees, and along 
 the winding course of the river, reveal the "half- 
 lights" riding continuously with the rugged peaks 
 of the mountains on every hand. 
 
 Tourists will insist before they have finished the 
 tour, that his Satanic Majesty has pre-empted a 
 large area of the playground Empire — ^for here is 
 the Devil's Elbow. A sharp turn of almost a hun- 
 dred and eighty degrees is made around a jutting 
 point of rock. The whispering leaves sing as we 
 ride on to the Wedded Trees, where two tall pines 
 are permanently united with a growing limb be- 
 tween them. These freaks of nature are often 
 noted as we pass through the park forests, but this 
 phenomenon is too much for the twain in the back 
 
54 A'top o' the World 
 
 seat. They look at it, sigh, and then everybody 
 
 looks at them. It is but a reminder of a romance 
 
 going on in the good old way, bringing to mind 
 
 Wordsworth's lines 
 
 "Her eyes as stars of twilight fair. 
 Like twilight, too, her auburn hair." 
 
 It is quite like the reading of a novel, where the 
 author spends many hours describing the process of 
 love-making. Here we are, observing love's light 
 fancy full abloom in twilight under natural environ- 
 ments, without the artificial processes that one often 
 must endure in fiction. When we behold the two 
 holding hands and looking more intently into each 
 other's eyes, the "old grouch" who occupies the 
 front seat with the "gear jammer" cracks his face 
 into half a smile and ventures, "It's going fine!" 
 
 The twilight ride in the valleys brings varied emo- 
 tions. The bus stops at the site of the "hold-up" 
 in 1897, where bandits stopped some of the tourists 
 of that day, including a government conveyance in 
 which rode an army officer. The pockets of the 
 entire party were emptied of valuables. This was 
 before the days of the ranger, and it was these in- 
 cidents exploited in dime novels that led to the vig- 
 orous policing of the Park. Now the doors of the 
 cabins, tents and shacks are left wide open, for now 
 the ranger soon knows "Who's Who" within the 
 borderland of the Park. 
 
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A'top o' the World 57 
 
 where the robbery of the stage coaches took place, 
 and again it brings to mind the old, red, weather- 
 beaten stage coach at Mammoth, making it seem 
 even more fascinating as a relic of the old days. It, 
 too, was one of the coaches that was "held up" in 
 those days of adventure "out where the west begins." 
 
 For some reason, we cannot recall all at once, the 
 scenes of certain routes and various drives, taken 
 separately; we think more in terms of the scenes of 
 each day as it passes, co-relating our thoughts to 
 the time of the day in which the picture was pre- 
 sented — the real picture that makes the wonder 
 days a part of our very souls. 
 
 The clattering Klaxton of the automobile an- 
 nounces the arrival of the party at the Inn. Some 
 of the old tourists have gathered on the veranda for 
 a little talk. There, seated in a rustic seat, we also 
 observe the ranger and the titian-haired miss, still 
 continuing that little chat which they began at sun- 
 set. We arise considerately and say good night in 
 the early shank of the evening, for we know that 
 there is a something about the sympathetic twilight 
 that has entered the hearts of these two happy souls 
 with a single thought. As we look upon them once 
 more, we bow before the tender sentiment that 
 blossomed during the entrancing twilight ride through 
 the valleys. 
 
X 
 
 Witchery of Moonlight on the Lake 
 
 'ONIGHT Yellowstone Lake is lying 
 placidly in the witchery of the 
 moonlight, on the bosom of the 
 Rockies, with the expanse of an in- 
 land sea. A mile and a half above 
 the ocean level is this peerless jewel 
 of the Park, with its shore line of 
 more than a hundred miles. Fed by the springs 
 and the snow drifts of Absaroka Range, its waters, 
 cold and clear and transparent, reveal pictures of 
 fishes in their nooks, enjoying the full freedom of 
 the park waters. 
 
 Fishing by moonlight is a romantic experience; 
 and each visitor is permitted to catch ten trout and 
 ten minutes is the record time for the quota. The 
 lake was formerly shaped somewhat like the human 
 hand, but all that now remains of the fingers is what 
 appears to be the Thumb. There are but few large 
 lakes in the world with higher altitude than Yellow- 
 stone, and these rest in the unexplored regions of 
 the Andes and in the lofty tablelands of Thibet. 
 
 The sunsets and sunrises on Yellowstone Lake are 
 known for their beauty, but nothing can surpass 
 
 68 
 
A'top o' the World 59 
 
 this moonlight picture, when the resplendent waters 
 rest in the halo of Luna's splendor. The primeval 
 solitude of the night is broken by the merriment 
 of parties sailing on the lake, as their merry songs 
 echo over the dancing waters. 
 
 Through the transportation methods, the parties 
 are conveniently transferred. One group may go 
 out in the boat at one time, and others may join 
 the rollicking band of funmakers who are singing 
 their jolly songs on the shore. It develops a jovial 
 spirit of democracy and camaraderie among the 
 tourists. Ah, the boats are ready and our names 
 are being called. 
 
 Sure enough, here are the ranger lad and the 
 titian-haired belle again — and they're still talking 
 about something. What is it? Not for me to know 
 or to say. While the others of our party are in- 
 dulging in expressions of ecstasy and listening to 
 the stories of the Lake, the twain vanish aft and are 
 considerably forgotten. They are oblivious of all 
 else — save each other. 
 
 Once fairly gliding out on the waters, we notice 
 a series of strange, indefinable sounds coming from 
 overhead. We are told that these are found in no 
 other place. They have an apparent motion through 
 the air in the general direction as from north to 
 south. They resemble the ringing of telegraph 
 wires, or the humming of a swarm of bees, beginning 
 softly in the distance and increasing in gentle 
 
60 A'top o' the World 
 
 crescendo until they seem to be just overhead, like 
 the drone of an airplane; then they fade in the 
 opposite direction. 
 
 Over on the Absaroka Range of Mountains there is 
 a formation known as the Sleeping Giant. The out- 
 lines of his face, upturned to the sky, are as of the per- 
 fect features of a man, a huge giant, sleeping under 
 the stars. We can even imagine that his chest moves 
 up and down as he lies at rest. Perhaps this weird 
 sound which we hear is the deep breathing of this 
 old man of the mountain. At least, it is reasonable 
 to suppose that the Indians might have added this 
 to the superstitions, the reverence and the dread in 
 which they held this lake. 
 
 The giant continues his eternal slumber, as the 
 throng in the boats sing and laugh, but the wrinkles 
 of the peaks which form the profile skyline soften 
 in the moonlight. A practical minded Yankee 
 grocer in the party declared: "The old giant snores 
 almost as loud as Deacon Barnes back home." It 
 was a geyser speaking. 
 
 There is the single clap of thunder — a veritable 
 bolt from the clear moonlight sky, coming without 
 warning and without the accompaniment of rain- 
 drops. It was in one of these lightning flashes 
 accompanying a clap of thunder that a member of a 
 government surveying party was killed in 1885. 
 For Yellowstone Lake has also its tragedies. 
 
 The sheen of the waters adds a piquancy to the 
 
A'top o' the World 61 
 
 sight of the lover-Uke, age-old, twin Teton peaks in 
 the distance, lying like great, white pearls surmount- 
 ing a necklace formed by the snow-capped peaks of 
 the range, glistening in the moonlight. 
 
 All suggests the quietude and grandeur of a 
 heavenly peace — a peace that has ever been a 
 blessed message to man in Yellowstone. 
 
 Time is forgotten. 
 
 Days pass by; the petty things of the world are 
 lost as the eye, reflecting the peace of the soul, 
 gazes in wonderment by night and by day upon the 
 majesty of God's handiwork. 
 
 At Yellowstone the calendar is forgotten; time is 
 measured only by the moods of Mother Nature that 
 diffuse through the very being of man and give to 
 him that unconscious knowledge that the hours are 
 passing for Time and Eternity. Under the spell of 
 a natural, unrestrained goodness, all creatures and 
 even the forests that stretch themselves out under 
 the canopy of the heavens, seem to be imbued with 
 a spirit of goodness and godliness. Our senses are 
 inspired with prayer — ^not a prayer of words, but an 
 overwhelming sense of gratitude to the Almighty, 
 who has permitted us to live and to stand aloft on 
 the heights, even as stood Moses, and to lift up our 
 hearts in an ecstasy of praise; "yea, let the heart of 
 man sing unto God of the glories of heaven and the 
 wonders of the earth." 
 
 Yellowstone Lake is queen of the thirty-six 
 
62 AHop o' the World 
 
 named lakes in Yellowstone Park. It covers an 
 area of one hundred and sixty -five square miles. 
 During the summer the crystal waves dance and 
 sparkle, proclaiming their freedom and proving that 
 lakes, like human beings, have their emotions. 
 
 As the boat turns her prow shoreward and nears 
 the wharf, the young couple from aft appear again. 
 They, probably, have not been thinking of all of 
 the details, dimensions, and facts concerning the 
 Lake and its beauty; but under the lure of the 
 moonlight on the silvery waters, it is evident that 
 Luna once again has held sway. The diary records 
 that these lovers found their try sting place beneath the 
 spell of the witchery of moonlight in Yellowstone Lake. 
 
 Say farewell to the lake, for we are on our way 
 out into the meadow land and canyons rising from 
 Yellowstone River. Nobody, save the moon and 
 the winding river, is here to see. North and south, 
 east and west, stretch out into long strips of sage 
 and thistle. The trail follows the inundations of 
 the river. On either side are the virgin hay fields 
 where the elk feed. We find ourselves on the edge 
 of a pine forest. Here are the motorists, the tramp- 
 ers and the campers, all bringing their little tents to 
 pitch them on Uncle Sam's Playgrounds, for there 
 is room for all. His hospitality reaches from Maine 
 to California. Now they have gone to bed for the 
 night, the camp fire songs are ended, and all is quiet. 
 
 Pit-a-pat! There is a soft rustle of crackling foot- 
 
A'top o' the World 63 
 
 steps through the dry pine needles. The sound is 
 nearer. Two large, bright eyes glisten in the moon- 
 light. 'Tis an elk, come down from the hillsides for 
 a refreshing drink in the stream. He sees me, and 
 I almost expect to hear the fraternal "Hello, Bill." 
 He pricks up his ears for one brief moment, knows 
 that all is well, and slowly lowers his graceful neck 
 until his nostrils touch the cool waters. Here it is 
 that man and beast know and love each other; the 
 elk, the bear, the deer, the moose, the buffalo and 
 the jack-rabbit, the woodchuck and the chipmunk 
 — all make their homes together in peace, here in 
 the playground of men. 
 
 The wild flowers have all folded their petals in 
 peace for the night, and the world is asleep. Let us 
 slip away from this sacred spot and journey upward 
 in the mountain trails until we feel as though we 
 may reach out with our hands and touch the silvery 
 points of the heavenly crescent. Yea, God is near. 
 
XI 
 
 Midnight Revels on the Devil's 
 Golf Course 
 
 'IS the midnight hour, "dim-paneled 
 in the painted scene of sleep." The 
 night owl is hooting in the sombre 
 hours of low twelve, while the moon 
 seems to leap from cloud to cloud 
 on its nightly course. Cloud shad- 
 ows play hide-and-seek on the shin- 
 ing sands of the moonlit geyser basin. Among the 
 rocks of the Hoodoo, jagged and grim, the goblin 
 geysers hold high carnival. The mocking bird, 
 singing to his mate the long night through, finds 
 cadence in the night owl's mournful call. The 
 plains are strewn with geysers, seething and gurg- 
 ling through the thick hours of the night, while 
 Old Faithful keeps its hourly vigil. 
 
 What a setting for a gambol of the gods! 
 Everything in Yellowstone is measured only in 
 superlatives. 
 
 Here imagination revels and realities are for- 
 gotten. 
 
 This Inferno, illuminated by the lurid gleam of 
 phosphorus vapors, vivifies the pages of Dante's 
 tragedy. Sizzling ghostly fumes of steam from the 
 
 64 
 
A'top o' the World 65 
 
 subterranean depths join in a rumbling, discordant 
 chorus in the sulphur-laden air and hold high car- 
 nival in ghoulish glee. 
 
 Sir Lucifer himself, on such a night, finds relax- 
 ation on this Devil's Golf Course, a'top o' the Rockies. 
 The solitary glacier rock, fifty feet in diameter, 
 darkened by the battering of ages, lone relic of the 
 time when the valleys were filled with seas of grind- 
 ing ice, tempts the devil for a midnight game of golf. 
 
 With the mighty thunderbolt of Jove, he drives 
 from a tee on the heights of the Teton Mountains, 
 and the ball soars over hill and dale, lake and 
 crag, sixty miles away to the first "green" at Ex- 
 celsior, where the deserted Fountain House tells its 
 story of a glorious past. From the boiling Mam- 
 moth Paint Pots, he makes a mashie approach to 
 the yawning crater and sinks it into the Turquoise 
 pool in par. With sardonic grin, he tees the ball 
 for number two, a short drive to Black Growler 
 Vent spewing forth its murky venom. The ball lands 
 in Frying Pan Spring. Sir Lucifer, with sulphurous 
 remarks, brings the niblick into play and finishes 
 the hole, two under bogie. Mopping the perspira- 
 tion from his brow, now forming rivulets that flow 
 down the mountainside, he drives towards the 
 Devil's Kitchen at Mammoth. Here, under the 
 halo of Angel Terrace of snow-white purity, scintil- 
 lating, mirror-like, in all of its pristine beauty, he 
 realizes the bunkers and hazards that must ever 
 
66 A'top o' the World 
 
 keep him from winning the contest against the heav- 
 enly embattlements. Yet, with a mighty swing, he 
 carries it with a golfer's "hook" over Roosevelt 
 Camp, above the tops of the petrified trees, across 
 Wraith Falls, and into the Buffalo Farm. 
 
 "Fore!" he shouts, and the great herds of buffalo 
 scatter in wild stampede. 
 
 Teeing the ball, he spans the Grand Canyon in 
 one mighty stroke before the gallery of wild-eyed 
 bison, sending it to rest at Inspiration Point. Here 
 even the Devil himself is entranced by the beauty 
 of the spot, but forces himself to go on with the 
 game. From this high pinnacle, he drives to Os- 
 prey's Nest, near Turbid Lake and the Wedded Trees. 
 
 On the apex of a petrified stump, he tees his 
 ball for the next long drive across Yellowstone Lake 
 to West Thumb, but falling short, loses his ball in 
 the Lake. He indulges in more golf vernacular. 
 
 Taking a magnet from Electric Mountain, he 
 fishes it out for his next shot. Heart's Lake, which 
 lies under the shadow of Mt. Sheridan, across the 
 Continental Divide. He makes a flub which starts 
 an avalanche. Back again across the divide, and 
 over Shoshone Lake, he drives to the ninth hole, 
 where the Morning Glory Pool reigns in all her 
 royal robes in the shadow of Old Faithful. After 
 a bad slice, he misses his mark and a new geyser 
 explodes where the ball strikes. Then, as the 
 morning rays of the sun glisten on the edges of the 
 
A'top o' the World 67 
 
 mountain peaks, he takes himself back into the 
 mountain fastnesses, as the geysers, marking the 
 holes on the Eighteen Hole course, spout forth in 
 ghoulish glee over his flub score. 
 
 Such is the nightmare of the golf fan when he 
 realizes on that night that there is no golf course — 
 or eighteen holes, within the park, on which to 
 measure his own strength with the hazards of nature. 
 
 Only a golf fan would have such weird, fan- 
 tastic hallucinations; but, after all, why not let 
 imagination run riot now and then, and have a 
 game on a sporty course that is not mapped out in 
 the domain of golfdom.? The folk are all wearing 
 knickers, boys and girls, men and women — all of 
 which suggests goK — so golf it is. 
 
 The nocturnal goU game of his Satanic Majesty 
 has not scored to his satisfaction, and again tradition 
 records the fall of Lucifer. He has not been able 
 to use his brassie because of the magnetic influence 
 of Electric Peak, which defies all of the surveying 
 instruments of man, and causes an ordinary com- 
 pass to dance the jazz. 
 
 The picture of Yellowstone Park as a playground, 
 with a fanciful golf course dotted with brimstone 
 greens and suffused with sulphur hazards is almost 
 complete. To finish this dream picture, the con- 
 trast is furnished in the story that now lurks alone 
 in the mysterious traditions of the Midnight Revels 
 on the Devil's Golf Course. 
 
XII 
 
 Glee of Geysers in the Wee Sma' Hours 
 
 c 
 
 'ONCEIVE of a more weird hour to 
 
 visit the geysers and pools than dur- 
 
 Iw^^^s-i^.^^ ing the wee sma' hours of the morn- 
 
 '"^"^ »T--^-^ jj^g^ when woodland and stream lie 
 in the peaceful shadows, awaiting 
 the approach of the dawn. 
 
 Scientists record that the geysers 
 are water volcanoes which occur only where the in- 
 ternal heat of the earth approaches the surface. 
 Water, trickling through the crevasses in the rocks, 
 orfrom subterranean springs, collects at the bot- 
 tom of the geysers, and, striking the strata of 
 intense heat, throws off steam in a manner similar 
 to that of water boiling on a red-hot stove. The 
 steam gathers under the great pressure and in such 
 quantities that it is naturally forced out by its own 
 powers. 
 
 From these geysers the onlooker learns the same 
 lesson learned by Watt when he observed the boil- 
 ing of his mother's teakettle and discovered the 
 use and power of steam. The approach of the tri- 
 umph of the age of steam is found in these hot 
 springs which cover the largest area in the world, 
 
 68 
 
A'top o' the World 69 
 
 save in Iceland and New Zealand, where the vol- 
 canic fires are still active. 
 
 These are natural steam engines, and in the 
 ghoulish hours of the night there is something about 
 ^ the geysers that seems more supernatural than dur- 
 ing the daytime, when passing in review under the 
 eager eye of the tourist. 
 
 In the wee, sma' hours, there is nought that can 
 be more beautiful than Grotto Geyser, of the Upper 
 Basin, in its bath of steam, and Riverside Geyser, 
 shouting to us across the river, and keeping up its 
 play. Oflf through the lace-like shadows, we hear a 
 rushing, gushing, like a silver-throated song-bird. 
 This is Solitaire, the one big geyser that furnishes 
 the water for the mineral baths at Old Faithful 
 Camp. All alone it stands; yet its life means 
 much to us all, and as we bathe freely in its waters, 
 we cannot help but think of it as a friendly pool of 
 Siloam; wholesome, kindly friend, toiling alone, un- 
 noticed by the people of the world, but never failing 
 in his mission of cleanliness. 
 
 It is then that Old Giant Geyser, monarch of 
 them all, deigns to survey his observers and to defy 
 the curious and watchful eye as he gives vent to 
 his wrath in belching volleys of steam. There are 
 also Beehive, ever busy, Beauty Pool, and Black 
 Sand Geyser. Fountain-like springs up the Daisy, 
 a fitting companion to her friend, the Sponge, 
 named for its algae formations which resemble a 
 
70 A'top o' the World 
 
 huge sponge. And let us not forget the China- 
 man's Laundry Tub. 
 
 We are told by the rangers that any object thrown 
 into a hot spring may produce a dangerous geyser, 
 and that soap thrown into a hot spring will fre- 
 quently set up a reaction that may cause a violent 
 explosion. 
 
 Here at the Laundry Tub, runs Park tradition, 
 a famous Chinaman who discovered the hot spring, 
 determined to establish a laundry, where he might 
 do business for the tourists. He pitched his tent 
 over the spring, thinking to save his fuel bill in the 
 cause of heating the water, and set to work in 
 earnest. 
 
 All went well and he established a thriving busi- 
 ness. One day he accidentally dropped into the 
 boiling pool his big cake of laundry soap. Blu-u-s-h! 
 up went this hot spring into a geyser, taking with 
 it the Chink and his tent, together with his week's 
 washing. Never since that day has even a remnant 
 of that Oriental been found. 
 
 From the veranda of Old Faithful there is an in- 
 dicator. When that indicator scoots around, it fore- 
 shadows an eruption of splendor. Nearly every one 
 of the thirty-three hundred square miles of Yellow- 
 stone region is covered with an area of geysers, 
 many of which are marked and named, and even 
 in the sunlight or moonlight is the visible sign, 
 "DANGEROUS AREA" 
 
A'top o' the World 71 
 
 Down in Black Sand Basin we find also the 
 Handkerchief Pool, which, even better than the 
 Get-it-Quick Laundry, serves as a place to launder 
 our soiled handkerchiefs. You may throw your 
 handkerchief in. It disappears from sight into a 
 whirUng eddy in the center of the pool. It comes 
 back after a minute or two, and we harpoon it with 
 a cane, all fresh and clean. If the handkerchief 
 stays down longer than a few minutes, you may be 
 sure that the Old Boy has use for it, and that the 
 next time you see it, it will be hanging on a clothes- 
 line somewhere in regions warmer than in Yellowstone. 
 
 The little microscopic plants, the algae, continue 
 their magic work night and day in painting the sur- 
 roundings first red, then yellow, white and pink 
 and bluish gray. In warm weather they grow 
 more brilliant, only to vanish almost to nothingness 
 when the air grows cold. 
 
 In this tour, in the wee, sma' hours, we realize 
 more than ever that Yellowstone is of volcanic 
 origin, and that the scenes which we now gaze upon 
 furnish only a fascinating glimpse of the tempestu- 
 ous past that is indicated in the petrified forest, 
 where level after level of petrified trees are found in 
 alternating strata like the layers of strawberry 
 shortcake. 
 
 It all brings to mind the visions of Bobby Burns 
 and the wild ride of Tam O'Shanter and his tales 
 of the "wee, sma' hours a'yant of the twal." 
 
72 A'top o' the World 
 
 Suddenly coming upon the upper Basin, we are 
 told a good Jim Bridget yarn concerning the 
 "Ear", a hot spring of only about three feet in 
 diameter, but which has near the lobe section of its 
 ear-shaped circumference, a tiny geyser, whose 
 pool is about the size of a silver dollar, and whose 
 spouting power is only a few inches. Jim said that 
 when the old-time trappers failed to make good in 
 their expectations for the day, they would come 
 here and tell their tales of woe into this giant's 
 ear. At last the old man grew so tired of listening 
 to their troubles that he placed a tiny button (the 
 little geyser) on one side, so that he could fasten 
 the flap of his ear over and turn a "deaf ear" to 
 their complaints. 
 
 Under the rigid regulations, the park is in quietude 
 in the wee, sma' hours, but, strange to relate, this 
 is the time when the geysers disport themselves in 
 wild abandon and seem most human in the response 
 to their various moods. These are the hours when 
 they continue their work in building up their cal- 
 careous deposits of silica, the chief mineral in the 
 waters of the geysers. The word "geyser," is de- 
 rived from the Icelandic word, "geysa," meaning to 
 gush, and these were their gushing hours of ghoulish 
 glee. 
 
 Amid these ghostly apparitions, the geysers, 
 spouting up through the darkness like white-robed 
 specters, at times when they are least expected, the 
 
A horseback parly ready lo leave Camp Roosevelt for a seven-mile trip to the fossil 
 
 forests of the Yellowstone. These forests exhibit the largest area of star\ding 
 
 petrified trees in the world 
 
 A tent section in one of the permanent summer camps. At some camps the 
 
 sleeping quarters are bungalow tents; at others little cottages, and at others log 
 
 cabins. Note the hedge of elk antlers in the foreground 
 
C,up\ r ighL I:y J C. Hayn(;^ 
 
 Every variety of Nature's wonders seems to be included in Yellowstone. Here is 
 Crasshof^fJer Glacier: the figure of a man in the foreground indicates the propor- 
 tions of this glacier. It is of unknown age, and extends in a sheer white expanse 
 for a space roughly in extent between a mile and three-quarters of a mile. The 
 upper covering is compacted snoiv, the under layer blue ice. The surface of the 
 glacier to a great depth is filled with dead grasshoppers, hence its name 
 
A'top o' the World 75 
 
 animals, too, are roaming about in the freedom of 
 the wild. Only the beaver seems to reap the bene- 
 fit of a night's work after ceasing his gnawing of 
 aspen trees and building dams. 
 
 Here and there we may see the silhouette of the 
 black bear or of the cinnamon bear, moving about 
 restlessly with the heavy clump, clump, of his un- 
 gainly legs. 
 
 It is a magnificent sight, these geysers in play, 
 with their great arches of water dipping and flutter- 
 ing in a liquid column, as if in a shower of diamonds, 
 which, to many observers, has suggested a halo about 
 the head of Divinity. Every geyser seems to give 
 warning before the graceful column arises, and the 
 falling water rushes back in little rivulets as though 
 to prepare for another display. 
 
 The varied color of the waters in the lakes side 
 by side — the one purple, another glinted with red, 
 and a third a pure, transparent white, as though 
 the mantles of the Three Graces, are the glory of 
 the fountains of youth ever seeking to beautify the 
 brimstone depths below. Here there are truly 
 "sermons in stones, books in the running brooks, 
 and good in everything." 
 
 In Old Faithful Inn and in the camps along the 
 rivers and valleys, awhile mortals sleep, the geysers 
 stand vigil, giving to Yellowstone the dramatic 
 touch that breathes, and arouses emotions and im- 
 aginings that linger in the memories of a lifetime. 
 
76 A'top o' the World 
 
 Here are the things that we shall dream of in our 
 tired moments when we are struggling with every- 
 day work and troubles. Back in the whirl of the 
 world sweet thoughts will come to our minds, 
 when aweary we lie down on our pillows to sleep. 
 Then will come the refreshing memories of the days 
 at Yellowstone. Somewhere in the distance we shall 
 again hear the whirring of the wings of fairies in the 
 wee sma' hours, when the "goblins will get you" — 
 a willing captive in geyser land. 
 
 "Bubble, bubble, gurgle, splatter! 
 Always something is the matter! 
 I'm the Dragon's Mouth, the geyser — 
 Mother Earth, we do despise her. 
 Come not near me! 
 Can't you hear me? 
 E'en the beasts and wild birds fear me! 
 Down within me hear me roaring. 
 Hear my tumult and my snoring. 
 Belching forth with mud and sulphur — 
 Mother Earth I would engulf her! 
 Don't disturb me. 
 You perturb me, 
 
 There's no man nor beast can curb me! 
 Feel my hot breath on your hand here! 
 I'll destroy you if you stand here!" 
 
 Thus bellows the boiling pot of mud and sulphur 
 known as the "Mud Volcano." Quietly bubbUng 
 at one moment, it growls, spits, and curses the next. 
 Spouts of mud are splattering here and there, some- 
 times reaching as high as the trunks of the trees on 
 the crags above. I stand waiting for the next 
 
A'top o' the World 77 
 
 move, but even as I stand there comes to me a call 
 from far away — a beckoning to the snowflaked 
 mountains, a call from the pits of Lucifer to the 
 peace of the far-away hills, and with joyful step I 
 leave this turbulence of hell for the more peaceful 
 country of Old Faithful. Yet, even as I move away, 
 the demon seems to call after me: 
 
 "Ka-lop, Ke-lop! 
 I shall not stop 
 
 Until I've marred the great earth's features, 
 Scalded, blinded all her creatures." 
 
XIII 
 DAWN AT Old faithful, ETERNITY'S 
 
 Timepiece 
 
 [N many great dramas and operatic 
 masterpieces the curtain rises upon 
 the dim virgin hght of a new dawn. 
 It brings with it the atmosphere of 
 a beginning — a soothing prologue to 
 the birth of day. It carries the 
 echoes of the whispering night, when 
 the moon had beat to the windward, and stranded 
 on the palUd coast of morn. It all breathes of 
 the hope that springs Eternal in the human breast. 
 This closing chapter paradoxically deals with the 
 dawn. It is the scene that comes first and last to 
 mind in the magic of "Yellowstone" memories — the 
 Dawn at Old Faithful. It was the epilogue of the 
 days in Dreamland. 
 
 The great clock over the huge fireplace in the 
 lobby of the Inn, with its massive pendulum, is the 
 watchman of the night. 
 
 We are called early for the dawn. In the half- 
 awake moments the refrain of "Cadman's "Dawn" 
 rings in my ears, with its chromatic, melodic charm 
 sounding the bugle call of love, where "all the sounds 
 of morning meet." The filmy tenderness of cloudland 
 
 78 
 
A'top o' the World 79 
 
 in all its subtle, indefinable charm, seems all-per- 
 vading as we gather in groups on the veranda. We 
 have come by ones and twos, rubbing our eyes. All 
 are intent on the watches, counting the seconds to 
 see if Old Faithful will join the dawn-fest on time, 
 but this does not check an occasional yawn. There 
 are doubters, but faith is dominant among those 
 who have come to look upon the light of the great 
 Geyser which John Burroughs and Theodore Roose- 
 velt gazed upon and pronounced the "wonder- 
 fountain of Time." 
 
 Here before this great palace of rough-hewn logs 
 the christening party is gathered to see the new 
 born day baptized in the waters of a fountain Eter- 
 nal. To some it is the first, and to others the last 
 act witnessed in the drama of the Yellowstone. To 
 me it is the finale of the great play that began with 
 the Morning Stars, and passed through the other 
 Lights and Shadows of a Day Eternal. 
 
 There is a hush — the chatter ceases — no signal 
 flash is necessary. We feel that the moment has 
 arrived. Slowly rising from her earthly bed the 
 white light of the waters appears against the back- 
 ground of the forest. The sheen of the foam begins 
 to overpower the mists — it Uves! The waters rush 
 up and up; higher and higher it surges as if eager 
 to nestle in the bosom of the cloud overhead. The 
 overture medley of steam and vapor grows louder 
 with rapid crescendo. Onward, upward, the pillar 
 
80 A'top o' the World 
 
 of water climbs higher until it has reached more 
 than a hundred feet; then, as if shaking its head 
 triumphantly, it begins a graceful descent, and clings 
 to the whistling mane of morning wind. The dawn 
 has been christened in jeweled light of glittering 
 jets. 
 
 The sun is not yet risen. The dreamless drapery 
 of a peaceful awakening is drawn aside, and the 
 searchlight of the advancing rays of the Sun tints 
 the clouds with queenly radiance. 
 
 Old Faithful is crowned — Eternity's Timepiece. 
 
 In the beauty of dawn it presents a symbol to 
 man — ^fortifying Faith in man and his Maker. 
 Arrayed in the hues of the rainbow, it reveals the 
 new prophecy, remindful of that given to Noah, 
 "no more the deluge of human blood." 
 
 Hour after hour, for countless millions of hours 
 in days agone. Old Faithful has given its message 
 of loyalty and truth, measuring every hour as it 
 passes in the march of endless time. With an out- 
 burst of inanimate ecstasy, keeping step with Old 
 Father Time longer than any work of man's handi- 
 craft. Eternity's Timepiece brings its benediction 
 of good will and hope through the dawns of the 
 centuries. 
 
XIV 
 
 Yellowstone Traditions and Discoveries 
 
 ROUND the fireplace in the camp 
 we hear the story of the adventures 
 of Jim Bridger. The untrodden em- 
 pire of the Fire King is now open 
 as a playground for even babes and 
 children. The early tales of ad- 
 venturous spirits conquering the 
 wilderness fired the imagination of James G. Blaine, 
 who, as Speaker of the House of Representatives, 
 signed the bill which created the Park. 
 
 When one is actually in the Park the geography 
 of the United States looks different. It seems to 
 furnish one a bird's-eye-view-point that brings the 
 boundary lines of state and nation within quick 
 survey. 
 
 Now for the traditions. The reminiscences of 
 James Bridger, the Virginia-born scout, who lived 
 in these mountains as early as 1824, have the com- 
 radic interest of a discoverer. At the age of twenty- 
 four he was known as the "Old Man of the Moun- 
 tains." It was he who discovered the great Salt 
 Lake and the trails that bear his name. He won 
 the confidence of the Indians, by whom he was 
 
 81 
 
82 A' top o' the World 
 
 trusted and respected for he later married three 
 Indian wives in succession, one a Shoshone Indian 
 maid — but he always seemed to miss the confidence 
 of his white brethren as to the veracity of the appar- 
 ently wild tales he told of his newly discovered 
 wonderland. 
 
 James Bridger was a natural-born topographer. 
 With a piece of charcoal and a buffalo skin he was 
 able to mark out the first outlines of the region lying 
 in the trackless wilderness — the first map of Yellow- 
 stone ever drawn. Like Balboa, Jim Bridger has 
 the distinction of being a discoverer, for his record 
 is the first ever given of Yellowstone Park. 
 
 During a life of continuous adventures he related 
 tales that have been handed down in the archives 
 of the Park. Some day James Bridger should have 
 a monument in Yellowstone. When he returned to 
 civilization from the wonders of the Dreamland his 
 stories were not believed. Time has justified his 
 prophecies that Yellowstone would one day be 
 looked upon as one of the seven wonders of the 
 world. 
 
 James Bridger's romantic picture of the head- 
 waters of the Yellowstone, given in 1852, was tjie 
 first specific reference to the uncanny phenomenon 
 of the upper Yellowstone. He described the lake 
 as sixty miles long, cqld and pellucid, lying em- 
 bosomed among high precipitous mountains. He 
 told how the west side was a sloping plain, several 
 
A'top o' the World 83 
 
 miles wide, with clumps of trees and groves of pine; 
 that the ground resounded with the tread of horses; 
 geysers spouting up seventy feet high, with a ter- 
 rific, hissing noise, at regular intervals. Waterfalls 
 sparkling, leaping and thundering down the preci- 
 pices, and collecting in the prism-colored pools be- 
 low — the river roaring for fifteen miles through the 
 perpendicular canyon at the outlet. He insisted 
 that in this section the Great Springs were so hot 
 that meat was readily cooked in them, and pictured 
 the marble baths on the successive terraces; and on 
 the other side an acid spring, which gushes out in a 
 river torrent; below a cave, which supplies "ver- 
 milion" war paint for the savages. 
 
 All this was looked upon in thosedays as Jim 
 Bridger's yarns. Today we recognize in his crude 
 strong poetic picture of lake, geyser basin and Cin- 
 nabar Mountain the Yellowstone of today. No 
 periodical or newspaper would print Bridger's crude 
 and illiterate account in those days. His articles 
 were suppressed, because the editors were told that 
 if they printed any of Jim Bridger's yarns they 
 would be laughed out of town, "for it was nothing 
 more than one of James Bridger's lies." Time has 
 vindicated the "scout of the mountains." His 
 reckless exaggerations are now the foundation of 
 poetic rhapsody. Jim Bridger had the basis of fact 
 and the soul of truth, which a great philosopher said 
 "exists in things erroneous," 
 
84 A'top o' the World 
 
 One of Bridger's famous stories was concerning 
 the day he came in sight of an elk, which he fired at 
 but missed. He later discovered that he was firing 
 at a mountain of perfectly transparent glass, and at 
 his rear was the elk quietly grazing while he fired at 
 his image. 
 
 James Bridger turned everything to practical 
 account, using the phenomena of an echo, which 
 originating in one camp did not return for six hours, 
 as an ideal alarm clock. Upon retiring at night he 
 would cry out, "Time to get up!" and true to his 
 calculation, the alarm clock would roll back when 
 it was necessary for Jim to get up to see the dawn 
 six hours later. 
 
 Then there was Alum Creek. When he bathed 
 in it, it would so draw his face into shape that it was 
 impossible to get it straightened out for an hour or 
 so. There were also the boiling pools, where he 
 used to cook his lake trout, almost as soon as it 
 was caught. 
 
 The petrifications on Specimen Ridge were his 
 art gallery. He claimed that the mountain was 
 cursed by a medicine man and everything was in- 
 stantly petrified and has remained so ever since. 
 All forms of life are standing about in stone where 
 they had fallen under petrifying force. Even the 
 sage brush, grass, prairie fowl, antelope, elk, and 
 bears may there be seen as perfect as in actual life. 
 Dashing torrents and the spray mist from them 
 
AHop o' the World 85 
 
 stand forth in arrested motion, as if carved from 
 rock by a sculptor's chisel. FloWers are blooming 
 in colors of crystal, and birds soar with wings spread 
 in motionless flight, and Jim insisted that his horse 
 jumped across a petrified chasm because it was a 
 place where the attraction of gravitation was ossi- 
 fied. Bless the soul of James Bridger! With his 
 sense of humor and his wild flights of imagination 
 he finally led the scientists on to the new Eldorado. 
 
 Gold seekers did not pass by the wonders of Yel- 
 lowstone, but they found no treasure. Curiously 
 enough there seemed to be a something that deterred 
 the settlers and pioneers from utilizing these won- 
 der spots. With all its tempting pasture lands, 
 trees and wealth of color and mineral splendor, the 
 frontier pioneers did not linger long in the land of 
 the geysers. 
 
 It is recorded that Walter W. DeLacy might have 
 been given the distinction of being the real dis- 
 coverer of Yellowstone, but he failed to appreciate 
 the importance of what his eyes beheld as did Jim 
 Bridger. Today the traditions of the old trappers' 
 tales are familiar to the children in the schools, 
 poring over their geographies, and looking upon 
 that magic area indicated in a yellow block on the 
 map, now christened Yellowstone National Park. 
 
 Cornelius Hedges, a member of the Washburn- 
 Doane party of explorers who left the Prickley Pear 
 Valley, below Helena, Mont., in 1870, is oflScially 
 
86 A'top o' the World 
 
 credited with being the father of the National 
 Park idea. It was an evening in camp at the junc- 
 tion of the Gibbon and Firehole Rivers. The ad- 
 venturous explorers, their minds filled with " the 
 glories of the Yellowstone, were speaking of its 
 future. Some suggested that they should file claims 
 to the region, set up a toll gate and charge admit- 
 tance like a circus. But no. Mr. Hedges finally 
 spoke the convictions of all when he said, in effect: 
 "Men, this is too big a thing for private gain. 
 This belongs to all the people. It should be a 
 National Park, free and open to everybody." Thus 
 was born the National Park idea. 
 
 The Earl of Dunraven, the English explorer, vis- 
 ited the Park in 1874 and paid one of the earliest 
 tributes to Yellowstone: "All honor then to the 
 United States for having bequeathed as a free gift 
 to man, the beauties and curiosities of 'Wonderland.' 
 It was an act worthy of a great nation, and she will 
 have her reward in the praise of the present army of 
 tourists, no less than in the thanks of the genera- 
 tions of them yet to come." "Dunraven Pass" is 
 named in honor of this English enthusiast. Gen- 
 eral W. T. Sherman (Old Tecumseh) visited the 
 Park, and added to his classic utterance: "War is 
 hell": "Here are evidences of hell in leash." 
 
 The only monument that remains in the Park 
 recalling James Bridger is "Bridger's Lake," a quiet 
 little water jewel among the mount9.ins that he 
 
A'top o' the World 87 
 
 loved so well. Around the shores of these waters in 
 the light of a camp fire, we heard the traditions and 
 park-lore from the lips of an old ranger. 
 
 As he arose to say good-night, he stretched him- 
 self to full height: 
 
 "Jim Bridger's face appears every night to me in 
 fancy mirrored in these still waters and I shout back, 
 'Jim, they found it out — another miracle has hapr 
 pened — all the world believes Jim Bridger's yarns'!" 
 
XV 
 
 Glories of the Golden Anniversary year 
 
 ^HERE is a glow and charm about 
 golden weddings that is irresistible. 
 This is the golden anniversary 
 year of Yellowstone. It is cele- 
 brated in a motion picture of Na- 
 ture's great romance flashed upon 
 the screen of the sky and earth- — in 
 God's open, where, under the light of the vaulted 
 heavens, an audience of over one hundred thousand 
 visitors will attend and celebrate the event. 
 
 The first open door for an acquaintance with 
 Yellowstone wonders came through the building of 
 a transcontinental railroad. This was followed by 
 the courage of pioneers in constructing hotels for 
 the tourists, who follow in the wake of hotels. 
 
 For more than half a century the Northern Pacific 
 Railway has been active in the development of 
 America's premier national park. Even before the 
 last spike was driven, completing this transconti- 
 nental railroad in 1883, they had begun advertising 
 its wonders, and surveyed a branch line from Livings- 
 ton, Montana, to Cinnabar, later extending it to 
 Gardiner. This is the original gateway into the Park. 
 
 88 
 
A'top o' the World 89 
 
 For many years the returns were not sufficient to 
 pay for the heavy investment in the park branch. 
 Many thousands of dollars had been expended in 
 providing accommodations and transportation for 
 visitors. There were large deficits in those days, 
 but the railroad continued to care for the proper 
 handling of people in the park, confident of the 
 future. 
 
 In these critical times, the vision' of Mr. Howard 
 Elliott, then president of the Northern Pacific Rail- 
 way, carried Yellowstone on. Through his leader- 
 ship, the resources and credit of a great railroad 
 were pledged to the park. New hotels were financed, 
 improved transportation provided — no funds were 
 spared to make Yellowstone easy to reach, to see 
 and to enjoy. 
 
 When others doubted, it was Howard Elliott who 
 insisted that Yellowstone should become the world's 
 greatest park. It was his foresight, courage and 
 faith that drove ahead the Yellowstone's develop- 
 ment in days when faith was needed. 
 
 The Northern Pacific brought America to Yellow- 
 stone in the beginning and America has spread its 
 fame and its glories. This year nearly one hundred 
 thousand people visited the park and are far richer 
 for the experience. The vision of Howard Elliott 
 is fulfilled. 
 
 Today the United States government is adminis- 
 tering and developing the assets of its work in a 
 
90 A'top o' the World 
 
 thorough and commendable way through Superin- 
 tendent H. M. Albright, with his loyal and efficient 
 corps, counting much on the co-operation of the 
 pioneer railroad. 
 
 The Old Inn at Mammoth was the pioneer. In 
 1872 Ulysses S. Grant, President of the United 
 States, signed the bill that made Yellowstone Park 
 the playground of the people. Year by year the 
 welcome has widened for the traveller-tourist to this 
 treasure land of Nature. 
 
 The Yellowstone Park hotels are accepted models 
 the world over. Harry W. Child built them. Chal- 
 lenged by nature, he devoted his finest talents and 
 personal means to give the park a system of hotels 
 of which the nation might be proud. Each one of 
 them fits a particular environment. Aided by a 
 young architect, Robert C. Reamer, Mr. Child 
 created Old Faithful Inn, a log-cabin glorified into 
 a magnificent hotel. 
 
 They had traveled far over the world in search of 
 suggestions, but held to their dominant purpose to 
 construct everything in keeping with the environs 
 and the site. Mr. Child felt that these features 
 could not be improved upon, and that it would be 
 an impertinence to strike a discordant note in the 
 lines for these castles in Dreamland. 
 
 There was the old yellow Fountain House, now 
 deserted. It was calcimined with the product of 
 Mammoth's paint pots near at hand. 
 
Photo by J. E. Haynes 
 
 The music of the twain of Yellowslone Falls, sounding like a great diapason of 
 the organ playing the wedding march of Heaven and Earth, go on and on forever 
 
A'top o' the World 93 
 
 In the days gone by, stage coaches, drawn by 
 prancing steeds, pushed on through the clouds of 
 dust to the scenes of mystic wonders, at a slow pace 
 compared to these days of motors. 
 
 Among these triumphs is the hotel at the Canyon, 
 with its square timbers so harmoniously fitted to 
 reflect the spirit of the surroundings. The sharp 
 angles of square rafters and pillars soften into arch- 
 ways and recesses. Every vista is like a framed 
 picture. The perspective, looking down into the 
 great Lounge, or toward the Lobby from the far end, 
 suggests a spacious baronial hall, harking back to 
 the beauty and symmetry of Egyptian temples. 
 The architect rendered cryptic expression and car- 
 ried the ideals of primal shrines. 
 
 The interior furnishings are trophies brought 
 from all over the world in order to make interesting 
 this resting place for the world traveller. The Lounge 
 at the Canyon is a view of superlative beauty and 
 restfulness and renowned the world over. 
 
 The building of the Canyon hotel is chronicled as 
 one of the miracles in the constructive work in the 
 Park. It was erected amid great hardships and 
 serious handicaps during the winter months. The 
 achievement is a tribute to the energy and courage 
 of American craftsmanship. The materials were 
 hauled up the mountain by two hundred teams and 
 fifty drivers who faced the fury of mountain blizzards 
 with the thermometer racing down to forty degrees 
 
94 A' top o' the World 
 
 below zero. The clatter of the hammers sounded 
 like muffled musketry fire directed upon a real 
 machine-gun nest "objective." 
 
 "Camp Roosevelt," a snug log hut camp named 
 for the late President Roosevelt, is surrounded with 
 a hedge of elk antlers. These antlers, which are 
 seen here and there, are not taken directly from the 
 elk. Each year these animals shed their horns, as 
 if to add something to adorn appropriately the 
 habitations of the Park. Located not far from the 
 Buffalo ranch. Camp Roosevelt seems to partake of 
 the virile spirit of the sturdy American for whom it 
 was named. Leading about in all directions are the 
 tracks of wild animals. 
 
 Yellowstone Park has been visited by three Presi- 
 dents while in office. President Arthur and his 
 Cabinet were there in '83, with a party conducted 
 by General Phil Sheridan, the hero of Winchester, 
 "20 miles away." With this party was Robert T. 
 Lincoln, son of President Lincoln, who was at thaf 
 time Secretary of War. Senator Vest of Missouri 
 here added his eloquent and glowing tribute to the 
 natural beauties of Yellowstone, not forgetting his 
 classic tribute to his faithful dog. 
 
 As President of the United States, Theodore 
 Roosevelt laid the cornerstone of the Gardiner Gate- 
 way, making an address to three thousand people 
 who had gathered from the surrounding country in 
 the chill of April days in 1903. The vigor of the 
 
A' top o' the World 95 
 
 day suited well the sturdy spirit of the intrepid 
 Roosevelt. 
 
 His tribute at that time has already become a 
 prophecy fulfilled. 
 
 On a full-orbed August day an humble, round 
 pool, lying near the source of Obsidian Creek, burst 
 forth in wild abandon, throwing a column of murky 
 mud and rocks in mid-air over three hundred feet. 
 It continued for some minutes and responded, as 
 with an encore, at irregular intervals, shooting up 
 a column of mud and water higher than the Bunker 
 Hill Monument, breaking all altitude records for 
 geyser-spouting within the park. A well-traveled 
 automobile road and several acres of geyser land 
 near Norris Basin, were deluged with the Styxian 
 flood, suggesting impish fury that the queenly purity 
 of an Old Faithful should have so long held the 
 center of the stage. Boulders were even fired by 
 hydraulic pressure, bombarding the automobiles 
 waiting nearby with people while viewing this un- 
 usual spectacle. 
 
 This was in the golden anniversary year, 1922, 
 and the plebian mud pool was now christened "Semi- 
 Centennial Geyser" in honor of the fiftieth anniver- 
 sary of the opening of the park as a national play- 
 ground. Lights and shadows come and go in the 
 Empire of Geyserdom. The Prince of Darkness 
 now and then rallies his envoys of gloom and despair 
 — but the Queen of Day reigns supreme in her court 
 
96 A' top o the World 
 
 of sunshine, ever responding to the first command 
 of God, "Let there be light." 
 
 By day and by night, in storm and sunshine, 
 courtiers in gleaming armor of white foam bid defi- 
 ance to the mud-flinging monsters and carry high 
 the shining symbols from earth to cloudland, to 
 have and to hold the weird goblin land of geyser 
 realms under the celestial colors of light. 
 
XVI 
 
 Theodore Roosevelt's Prophetic Tribute 
 TO Yellowstone 
 
 ^URING a bitter cold day, April 24, 
 1903, Theodore Roosevelt, then Pres- 
 ident of the United States, delivered 
 an official estimate and personal trib- 
 ute to Yellowstone at the borders 
 of the Park. The occasion was the 
 laying of the cornerstone of the im- 
 pressive archway at the Gardiner entrance. Several 
 thousand people gathered from these sparsely settled 
 parts and listened with bared heads and appreciative 
 ears to this tribute from one who knew and had felt 
 the power of Nature's charms in God's open. 
 
 Cowboys were there — cowboys who rode the range 
 in the eighties when young Roosevelt was at the 
 Medora Dakota ranch, recuperating and storing up 
 the health and vigor that later enabled him to hold 
 firm the torch of Conscience and light the pathway of 
 duty for the people of his beloved country during the 
 World War. That vigor, too, played its part in mak- 
 ing him a man of destiny as President of the United 
 States. He understood this domain of the free West. 
 His words at this time are historic and prophetic. 
 From . the hands of Mrs. Roosevelt herself I 
 
 97 
 
98 A' top d the World 
 
 received a copy of his treasured address at Yellow- 
 stone to include as a climax to my own work — a 
 voice from the heights — words which will never be 
 forgotten — a glowing tribute to the Nation's Won- 
 derland — a place "not wholly to be paralleled else- 
 where on the globe." 
 
 "The Yellowstone Park is something absolutely unique 
 in the world, . . . Nowhere else in any civilized country is 
 there to be found such a tract of veritable wonderland made 
 accessible to all visitors, where at the same time not only the 
 scenery of the wilderness, but the wild creatures of the Park 
 are scrupulously preserved;' the only change being that these 
 same wild creatures have been so carefully protected as to 
 show a literally astounding tameness. 
 
 "The creation and preservation of such a great natural 
 playground in the interest of our people as a whole is a credit 
 to the nation; but above all a credit to Montana, Wyoming, 
 and Idaho. It has been preserved with wise foresight, and 
 the scheme of its preservation is noteworthy in its essential 
 democracy. Private game preserves, though they may be 
 handled in such a way as to be not only good things for them- 
 selves, but good things for the surrounding community, can 
 yet never be more than poor substitutes, from the standpoint 
 of the public, for great national playgrounds such as this 
 Yellowstone Park. This Park was created, and is now 
 administered, for the benefit and enjoyment of the people. 
 
 "The Government must continue to appropriate for it, 
 especially in the direction of completing and perfecting an 
 excellent system of driveways. But already its beauties can 
 be seen with great comfort in a short space of time and at an 
 astoundingly small cost, and with the sense on the part of every 
 visitor that it is in part his property — the property of Uncle 
 Sam, and therefore of all of us. 
 
 "When we have a good system of carriage roads throughout 
 the Park — for, of course, it would be very unwise to allow 
 either steam or electric roads in the Park — we shall have a 
 region as easy and accessible to travel in, as it is already every 
 
A'top d the World 99 
 
 whit as interesting as any similar territory of the Alps or the 
 Itahan Riviera. The geysers, the extraordinary hot springs, 
 the lakes, the mountains, the canyons, and cataracts, unite 
 to make this region something not wholly to be paralleled 
 elsewhere on the globe. It must be kept for the benefit and 
 enjoyment of all of us; and I hope to see a steadily increasing 
 number of our people take advantage of its attractions. At 
 present it is rather singular that a greater number of people 
 come from Europe to see it than come from our own eastern 
 states. The people nearby seem awake to its beauties; and 
 I hope that more and more of our people who dwell far off 
 will appreciate its really marvellous character. 
 
 "I have always thought it was a liberal education to any man 
 of the East to come West, and he can combine profit with 
 pleasure if he will incidentally visit this Park, the Grand 
 Canyon of Colorado, and Yosemite, and take the sea voyage 
 to Alaska. 
 
 "But of course this Park, also because of its peculiar feat- 
 ures, is to be preserved as a beautiful natural playground. 
 Here all the wild creatures of the old days are being preserved, 
 and their overflow into the surrounding country, so long as the 
 laws are observed by all, will ensure to the people and to their 
 children and to their children's children much of the old-time 
 pleasure of the hardy life of the wilderness and of the hunter 
 in the wilderness. This pleasure, moreover, can, under such 
 conditions, be kept for all who have the love of adventure 
 and the hardihood to take advantage of it, with small regard 
 for what their fortune may be. I cannot too often repeat 
 that the essential feature in the present management of the 
 Yellowstone Park, as in all similar places, is its essential 
 democracy — it is the preservation of the scenery, of the forests, 
 of the wilderness life and the wilderness game for the people 
 as a whole, instead of leaving the enjoyment thereof confined 
 to the very rich who can control private reserves. I have 
 been literally astounded at the enormous numbers of elk, 
 deer, antelope, and mountain sheep which I have seen on 
 their wintering grounds; and the deer and sheep in particular 
 are quite as tame as range stock. This is a territory which 
 I look to see develop astoundingly within the next decade or 
 two." 
 
100 A' top 'o the World 
 
 Nineteen years after this utterance Yellowstone 
 Park has witnessed the prophecy fulfilled and going 
 on to further fulfillment. Nearly one hundred thou- 
 sand people of varied wealth and station have rev- 
 elled in the delights of Yellowstone Dreamland 
 within the three brief summer months. Its wonder- 
 ful highways are open to the public. The records 
 of W. M. Nichols, in charge of hotels and transporta- 
 tion, and the report of Superintendent Albright, 
 director of the park, prove mathematically that the 
 fiftieth anniversary year of Yellowstone Park was 
 a golden memory to a myriad of delighted guests 
 in Uncle Sam's great playground domain. 
 
Photo h, J, L. 1 laNili... 
 
 Atop o' Ml. Washburn, the one point where the visitor feels that he is truly above the 
 world. The road leading to the summit of this peak of the Rockies is a marvel of 
 engineering. Here the visitors may enjoy a blizzard in July, coming in contact with 
 the caprice of nature in cloudland. Traveling by automobile to this summit is a thrill 
 of mountain climbing. The altitude is over 10,000 feet — two miles in mid-air above 
 
 sea level 
 
 PhotobyJ.E.Haynes 
 
 There is a magnetic majesty about Electric Peak, eleven thousand feet high. It is the 
 hiihest mountain in the Park. The mountain contains a large amount of magnetic 
 ore which defies all surveying instruments and invites lightning flashes during an 
 electric storm, vividly portraying the battlements of heaven, furnishing a glare that no 
 human device has ever been able to simulate 
 
 101 
 
Copyright by J E. Haynes 
 
 The nuptials of heaven and earth are vividly portrayed at Hymen Terrace near 
 Mammoth Hot Springs. It is a glow of color that thrills the heart of the artist. 
 A veil of steam softens and blends its vivid colorings, while innumerable water- 
 glazed knobs reflect the sunlight like a thousand mirrors 
 
 Photo b\ J b H.i\ncs 
 
 At a fitting celebration of the golden anniversary of Yellowstone Park, Superinten- 
 dent H. M. Albright and C. W. Cook, explorer of the Cook and Folsom Expedition 
 of i86q, gathered at the junction sign to do honor to the occasion, while Miss 
 Dixie Anzer christened the sign with the floral emblem 
 102 
 
XVII 
 
 "Every Gate A Pearl" of Nature's 
 Wonders 
 
 IKE King Solomon's Temple, Yellow- 
 stone has four gates indicated by the 
 points of the compass — North, South, 
 East and West. Each entrance has 
 its own distinctive and varied charm. 
 One eminent American has remarked 
 that these four portals encompass 
 scenic vestibules unsurpassed, and that the tourist 
 does not fully know the park unless touching at more 
 than one of these unparalleled pathways to Nature's 
 wonderland blazed through the trackless Rockies. 
 
 When the Union Pacific pushed on over mountain 
 and valley to open the West Yellowstone Entrance, 
 it required vision and courage. The task was a 
 triumph in further expanding the myriad vistas to 
 the great throngs of tourists, with a scroll of scenic 
 grandeur in the approach to this acme of Nature's 
 allurements. 
 
 When the long passenger trains, following the 
 Overland Trails, or after a night's run from Salt 
 Lake, arrive at West Yellowstone, there is first of 
 all a meal at the restaurant that has the suggestions 
 of a Waldorf spread. It is a repast that has the 
 
 103 
 
104 AHop o' the World 
 
 blend of Biltmore's best and mother's own break- 
 fast. It is served with a smile and carries a welcome 
 that makes the visitor look forward to a few days of 
 unalloyed pleasure and freedom in a gambol amid 
 the wilds of primeval nature. 
 
 The West Yellowstone entrance is a mountain 
 village in the making. This is the panorama sug- 
 gested in the surroundings, the winding drive down 
 the Madison River, bordered by mountains, fes- 
 tooned with pines. There is an air of freedom that 
 comes when passing the boundary line, looking out 
 upon the snow-capped peaks standing out like 
 sentinels eternal. The West Yellowstone entrance, 
 paradoxical as it may seem, is the gateway for many 
 thousands from the East. 
 
 The new station, enveloped in its mountainesque 
 atmosphere of a Swiss chalet, contains rest rooms 
 where the traveler, going or coming, may brush up, 
 wash up, rest up and prepare, if he needs, for a social 
 function after a day's drive through the park. Here 
 the tourists, arriving and departing, continue the 
 bombardment of souvenir postals fast and furious. 
 Many postals are written with sentiments of fare- 
 well, by those arriving, as if they were leaving for a 
 foreign land. The tides of tourist travel here meet 
 with the ebb of those leaving, and the flow of those 
 who are to ever after refer to the "days I was in 
 Yellowstone" with an air of pleasant reminiscence 
 and supreme satisfaction. 
 
AHop o' the World 105 
 
 The yellow label of Yellowstone, with its bear 
 crest on valise, suit case, or trunk, is a hallmark of 
 distinction to the American traveler. It is the 
 mark of a climax or post-graduate travel course. 
 The West Yellowstone unfolds to the tourists, mile 
 by mile the scroll of Yellowstone wonders, leading 
 on to climax after climax, until the realities of the 
 photographs seem tame. Rolling over the fine 
 roads in the yellow-bus chariots, the visitor pinches 
 himself and finds in this dreamland a realization that 
 surpasses all fantastic conceptions. Whether it is 
 North or West, East or South, the entrances to 
 Yellowstone mark the spot where the curtains are 
 drawn and the dramatic revelation of Nature's 
 wonders proceeds, without plot or sequence, in 
 scenes that thrill with the vision of Revelations — 
 "and every gate a pearl" — of memories that abide. 
 
XVIII 
 
 Mother Earth's Day of Peace Eternal 
 
 OLDEN, glorious hours in a day of 
 peace eternal are the memories that 
 J remain of my tour of the park. 
 
 Every part of each day has its 
 moods. Every scene fits into its ap- 
 propriate niche. An oriflamme, herald- 
 ing the symbol of mature motherhood 
 appears so supreme, so kind, so maternal in these 
 days. She understands, as a mother would, every- 
 thing that might come to pass. And I just laid my 
 head in Mother Nature's lap and let her tell me 
 stories. Here she reigns supreme; man and beast, 
 bird and fish seem to realize that they belong to 
 the one great kinship in the household of God. 
 
 Mother Earth Eternal is ever ready to comfort 
 and to heal the wounds of her children; the scars 
 of Time struggles are softened in the beauties of 
 floral remembrance, ready to hold us to her great 
 breast and to soothe vis off to slumberland; ready 
 to care for the weak and to rejoice in the dominant 
 strength and grandeur that creation presents to adorn 
 this realm. In her moments of wrath, she defends her 
 own with the ferocity of a mother shielding her young. 
 
 106 
 
A' top o' the World 107 
 
 Mother Earth's peace conference agenda is trans- 
 cendent in proving the impregnable honesty of 
 nature, as the ideal motive of life — away from the 
 language of lies, and speaking the heart truth. 
 Every creature, every light and shadow, things ani- 
 mate and things inanimate — all join us in a tribute 
 to the great Mother, who reigns in her Day Eternal. 
 
 There is no heavy alarm of thunder, and the 
 tongues of lightning speak without roar or pomp. 
 The week is even as a day in this sanctuary where 
 God and man dwell at peace with all things. The 
 trapper and the huntsman have gone; the Indian 
 and the soldier have passed away; and as we stand 
 in the midst of Nature's glories, we fancy that we 
 hear the song that the cowboy sang to his cattle in 
 years gone by, while the Indian lighted his signal 
 fires, which were flashed back in reply from the 
 vastness of the mountains many miles in the dis- 
 tance — but now all is peace — the hope of the world 
 — in the harmony of happiness. 
 
 The enchantment is intensified in the understand- 
 ing of every passing moment of the day and night. 
 Each has its influence and plays its part in this 
 great arena, where generations ago, the tourists be- 
 gan to gather, following in the footsteps of the early 
 adventurers who blazed the old trails. We think of 
 the brave pioneers who traversed these labyrinths 
 of fallen timbers and builded the roads through this 
 primeval fastness, where sunshine turns the clear 
 
108 A' top o' the World 
 
 water into glittering crystals and plays with the 
 curtains of steam from the geysers. 
 
 In all this we seem to feel the benediction of the 
 23rd Psalm and hear the voice of David singing. 
 Mother Earth as shepherdess day and night cares for 
 her own and want is unknown. Here are the green 
 pastures and the still waters. We walk through 
 the valleys and the shadows, and yet man or beast 
 fear no evil, for God is there. The rod and staff of 
 Mother Earth ever sustains and comforts. Before 
 us is spread a table in the presence of the Devil 
 and his furies, and the soul is annointed with the 
 oil of kindness. Everywhere goodness and mercy 
 seem to follow in the hours of eternal day. From 
 the bosom of Mother Earth comes all of the sus- 
 tenance of man and beast. 
 
 Looking upon Mother Earth we see the reflection 
 of our own mother's eyes, and recall tender days of 
 childhood when in joy and sorrows we always found 
 our refuge with Mother. There is only one mother 
 — one who seems to always know and understand at 
 all times and during all time. What a comfort to 
 know that Mother Earth will at last enfold us. She 
 reveals a blush of pride on her cheeks as she travels 
 on in limitless space and turns the splendors of 
 Yellowstone to the greeting of the golden sunrise, or 
 to the glory of the moonbeams that fall like a curtain 
 of light in the blue Bethlehem sky of the night 
 heralding the enthronement of maternity. 
 
A'top the World 109 
 
 As I stood on the bridge immersed in a floodtide of 
 life memories I could feel the spirit of my sainted 
 mother close at hand. The touch of a vanished hand 
 on a fevered brow; her blue eyes, the beacon light of 
 my life, looking into my own — flesh of her flesh — 
 soul of her soul. Mother — our ideal of eternal love. 
 
 A little gust of wind pushed along a folded paper 
 that someone had dropped. I stooped to pick up 
 the waif. Here I found this tribute written in hand- 
 writing on a page dotted with teardrops. The 
 author's name was not given, but someone in an 
 outburst of heart-love to Mother expressed my 
 emotions on that day "A'top o' the World," when 
 I seemed very close to the dear old days with my 
 Mother and nearer the Heaven where she abides. 
 
 "I count my mother the most precious gift of God. Her 
 love answers every longing. I yield to her affections and in 
 doing so I am not deceived. Her trust in God reveals to me 
 a faith which is like a star in darkness and uncertainty. 
 Prayers from her lips urge me to carry on. The sovereignty 
 of my soul is strengthened by her patience and guidance. 
 On her bosom I find a refuge that nourishes me back to 
 strength. Her words are measured in the depths of sin- 
 cerity. Her symbol of Truth has won inviolable love." 
 
 In Mother Earth's welcome to this garden of 
 dreams she gives to us all a vision of a peaceful Day 
 Eternal; stretching from morning stars to succeed- 
 ing dawn, the lullaby that she sings is ever attuned 
 to the harmonies of the great oratorio of Time, while 
 angels joyfully sing the endless choral of creation: 
 
 "7n the beginning God created the Heaven and the Earth." 
 

 
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