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 LIBRARY OF. CONGRESS. 
 
 ChapL^i^ Copyright No. _ 
 
 SheltiS 14 Gif- 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
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NOV 30 1898 
 
NOV SO 1898 
 
 In the San Juan 
 
 Colorado 
 
 SKETCHES 
 
 REV. J. J. GIBBONS 
 
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 i.9fi> 
 
 Copyright, 1S9S 
 
 REV. J. J. GIBBONS 
 
 f^o** V 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FIRST SKETCH 
 
 Page 
 
 First Experiences in the San Juan— Land of 
 mountains and plains — Home of the Cliff-Dwell- 
 ers — Mummy apostrophized — Trip to Telluride 
 — Young Canadian falls over a precipice — A 
 flourishing mining camp — Silverton in Christ- 
 mas attire — The "Gloria in Excelsis" — The 
 sacred strains in the midnight air — Perilous 
 night ride. - 7-25 
 
 SECOND SKETCH 
 
 Funeral in the Rockies— A daring and expert 
 horseman— The cowboy and the wild broncho — 
 Sensational drilling contest — Chattanooga's two 
 inhabitants — Sunset on Ophir's range — Disaster 
 befalls a tenderfoot — Skeleton recalls a tragedy 
 — "Marry in haste, and repent at leisure" — 
 Mountains echo the "Requiescant in pace" — 
 A sudden storm. - 26-38 
 
 THIRD SKETCH 
 
 From Dallas to Telluride— A genial stage- 
 driver — A hero of the Crimea — Fatal accident 
 at the Sheridan — A picturesque canon — Dread- 
 ful catastrophes — Train of burros — Sequel of 
 right line movement — Religious services at Tel- 
 luride — Summoned in haste to a deathbed. 39-55 
 
 FOURTH SKETCH 
 
 A Social and Religious Center— Hospitable 
 family on the Divide — Pastoral scene — Excur- 
 sion party in the interests of science and re- 
 ligion — A few shots from a rifle bring relief in 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 a dilemma — Medicine administered at the point 
 of a gun — Sick call to Turkey Creek — An in- 
 valid and his queer nurse — Curiosity punished 
 — Navajo Indian — Trout L,ake, a romantic spot 
 — Fifty-five miles in the saddle. - - 56-71 
 
 FIFTH SKETCH 
 
 Celebration of a Festival — An unhappy mar- 
 riage — Bear Creek Falls festooned with snow — 
 The Mother Cline snowslide — Ironton's unique 
 character — Hairbreadth escape in a storm — 
 Racy ballad, "Patrick's Day in the Morning" — 
 Sick-bed conversions — The hospital, from a mis- 
 sionary standpoint. - 72-83 
 
 SIXTH SKETCH 
 
 Thrilling Incidents of a Hunting Trip— 
 Superior qualities of the broncho — Breakneck 
 race down cork screw trail — The deer that never 
 came — The Cascade of Ouray — Mountain scen- 
 ery at its best — The bear and the prospectors — 
 "The burnt child dreads the fire" — The moun- 
 tain lion — The Snowslide in verse — Perplexing 
 situation — The welcome stream — Home again. 84-103 
 
 SEVENTH SKETCH 
 
 A Devoted Mother in Adversity — A captain 
 meets reverses of fortune — Sad deathbed scene — 
 Manual and Industrial training of the young — 
 Education in the right line — Solemn religious 
 service at early morn — By the Hermosa — A 
 red-haired stranger — A "friend in need is a 
 friend indeed" — Strange chorus in a storm — 
 Verses on the burro, "He's a bird — a true 
 canary." 104-119 
 
 EIGHTH SKETCH 
 
 The Blasphemer's Fate — Some of Ouray's 
 sociable characters — Life above timber line — 
 Appalling misfortune — Prince, the beautiful set- 
 ter — Faithful friends lost in an avalanche — 
 4 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 Edifying death of a miner — Told in verses by a 
 
 local poet. 120-137 
 
 "Only the Actions of the Just, 
 
 Smell sweet and blossom in the dust." 
 
 NINTH SKETCH 
 
 Baneful Effects of Intemperance— John, 
 the soldier — Spending a fortune — ' 'Nothing 
 heavenly in the miser" — A promising career 
 ruined by drink — Reflections upon the evils of in- 
 temperance — Triumph of grace — Reconciliation 
 —"All's well that ends well." - - 138-153 
 
 TENTH SKETCH 
 
 Ten Days on a Sick Call— Old Gray, the horse 
 with one ear — On a hogback — Dolores and the 
 early missionaries — Attending a sick man under 
 difficulties — A tidy bachelor's hall — Dies on his 
 way to the lowlands — How funeral expenses 
 were defrayed — A mail carrier, faithful in death 
 — Ingenious use made of an ulster. - 154-166 
 
 ELEVENTH SKETCH 
 
 Virtue, the only Nobility — The boys of Done- 
 gal — Pleasant companions on a stagecoach — 
 Rico's second boom — Telluride's bank robbery 
 — Sheriff's posse in pursuit of robbers — Baptism 
 at the Springs — Weird scene at early dawn — 
 Death's lesson. .... 167-182 
 
 TWELFTH SKETCH 
 
 Colorado among the States — Her people and 
 her resources — San Juan's future — A great city 
 of the southwest — "Fountain of Perpetual 
 Youth" — Las Animas canon — Sublime scenery 
 — How a mine is worked — A miner's mode of 
 living — His intelligence — A land "where the 
 peach and apple grow" — Ouray, the Pic- 
 turesque. . 183-194 
 5 
 
PRESS OF 
 
 Calumet Book & Engraving Co. 
 
 168 S. Clinton Street. 
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
FIRST SKETCH 
 
 IN August, 1888, I received my appointment 
 to the parish of Ouray, which included pretty 
 nearly the whole of the San Juan country, 
 the scene of these sketches. San Juan is the 
 familiar designation of southwestern Colorado. 
 Bounded on the north by rugged ranges, on the 
 south by New Mexico, on the east by the Gun- 
 nison district and on the west by Utah's Blue 
 mountains; it is a mountainous country, diver- 
 sified by rolling uplands, smiling valleys, darkling 
 glens and rushing streams. 
 
 When, as a traveler from the east and on 
 my way to Colorado to enter upon my duties as 
 a priest of the diocese of Denver, the Rocky 
 mountains burst on my vision, Pike's Peak ap- 
 peared like a sentinel at the gateway of a new 
 world. For the flat plains which mark a 
 thousand miles' travel from the Missouri, I beheld 
 scenes of inspiring grandeur. My fancy pictured 
 the condition of a society where cities and towns 
 lie in the clouds, and people live in the presence of 
 perpetual snow and cutting frosts that penetrate 
 the earth to a depth of six or seven feet. I had 
 read of mines, sunk thousands of feet into the 
 bowels of the earth, and of railroads overhang- 
 ing dizzy abysses. I had not been long in this 
 wonderland, however, when I got some inkling 
 of the kind of life men live at this great altitude, 
 for I experienced the pleasures of a renewed 
 vitality and the clearness of a quickened brain. 
 "Land of illusions and magnificent distances," 
 cries the newcomer — where the atmosphere is 
 so rare that to visit before breakfast the foot- 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 hills, twenty miles from Denver, seems nothing 
 extraordinary, and where, upon mountain loops, 
 the railroad passenger of the rear car may well be 
 tempted to light his cigar at the headlight of the 
 locomotive. 
 
 From the time of my arrival in Colorado, I 
 was engaged in pastoral work at Georgetown 
 and Leadville, until I was sent to my southwest- 
 ern mission. It was an extensive one, covering a 
 territory perhaps as large as the whole of Ire- 
 land. It was not uncommon to be summoned 
 day or night to sick calls, involving trips of 
 150 miles. 
 
 The aboriginal inhabitants of this country, 
 the Cliff- Dwellers, belong to a race of men who 
 built houses of solid masonry, or chiseled caves 
 in cliffs, that seemed unapproachable. When 
 Coronado, 350 years ago, explored New Mexico 
 and the great region which contained my new 
 charge, he discovered towns with populations 
 varying from 10,000 to 40,000. The people 
 tilled the soil, built adobe houses as well as 
 more pretentious structures of cut stone, raised 
 cotton and made their own clothes; they owned 
 large herds of cattle, and the rich valleys bore 
 maize and vegetables of many kinds. Being 
 virtuous, they were happy, they kept the natural 
 law and paid religious homage to the sun from 
 their round towers at early dawn. To those 
 simple children of nature, the orb of day, 
 which is the light-giver and the heat-bringer, 
 was the chief object of adoration, and in their 
 bountiful harvests they recognized his secondary 
 action under Providence. The}* were, to be sure, 
 ignorant of the true God; but their idolatry was 
 pure and intellectual, compared with the gross 
 
The; Cuff-Dwfi^frs 
 
FIRST EXPERIENCES 
 
 worship of nations that adored crocodiles, leeks 
 and onions. Like the Persians they were fire- 
 worshipers, and therefore elevated in their 
 aspirations. Were they of Celtic origin ? Perhaps 
 they were; I do not think the most rabid ad- 
 vocate of an alliance, offensive and defensive, be- 
 tween Uncle Sam and John Bull, would claim 
 that they were Anglo-Saxons. Did they come from 
 Egypt, the land of some lost arts? They were a 
 people of culture; for their pottery, architecture, 
 agriculture, argue considerable progress in the 
 arts and sciences. Their origin and history 
 being veiled by the twilight of fable, it is not easy 
 to say anything definite about them; but that 
 they practised cremation is evident from the fact 
 that charcoal in abundance has been found in 
 their graves. It is certain that they wrapped 
 their dead in well-woven garments and deposited 
 the bodies in caves or tombs set apart for that 
 purpose. Several well-preserved skeletons have 
 been discovered, still clad in their burial robes, 
 the skin dried and shrunken upon the bones, but 
 retaining the natural features, thus furnishing 
 some clue to the past of a wonderful race. In- 
 deed, the lineaments of the face, the flowing 
 black hair, the long sharp nose, the desiccated 
 body suggest the mummy, which let me, a la Poe, 
 interrogate: 
 
 Say, mummy grim, tell me I pray, 
 From what mysterious laud you came ? 
 Was it from where fair Eden lay, 
 And Eve acquir'd her hapless fame ? 
 Your very face denies disguise, 
 And plainly tells of Afric's skies; 
 Your straight black hair and olive hue 
 Bespeak your race. — Th' Egytian Jew? 
 Your forehead's high, your face is clean, 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 Your caste's proclaimed in princely mien, 
 The home-spun round your limbs made fast 
 Suggest your culture to the last. 
 I ask not for your royal name: 
 But tell me, prithee, whence you came ? 
 Was it in Noah's ark you went, 
 And viewed the rainbow, Heaven-sent; 
 Dreading storms on Ararat bleak, 
 True comfort here you came to seek, 
 And high in cliffs, from perils free, 
 You built those houses we now see ? 
 Your pitchers bright may still be seen , 
 Artistic, tipped with glowing sheen; 
 The pots remain, the kettles too, 
 The race is gone, but who are you ? 
 Did you go forth from Abram's band, 
 When God spoke of the promised land ? 
 Or o'er the sea 'neath pillar's light, 
 When Moses saved from Pharaoh's might? 
 The manna, quails, the serpent's bite 
 Are facts historic in your sight. 
 I crave thee, tell us of your past, 
 For we're a nation living fast; 
 We thirst to know the how, the when, 
 The why, the that, the thus, the then. 
 Perhaps you're of a later age, 
 I'll jog your mem'ry with a page. 
 Did you e'er hear of Christ, the King 
 Of whom seers speak and angels sing, 
 Beth'lem's stable, the winter's night, 
 The shepherds' vision, Joseph's flight, 
 How water blushed e'en as he willed, 
 The loaves increased, the storm stilled, 
 The sick were healed, the demons fled 
 And men arose that erst were dead; 
 How for mankind His love to show 
 He suffered death, its pain and woe ? 
 Tw T enty of centuries — long space — 
 Have changed in much the human race, 
 While kingdoms, empires, rose and fell, 
 Writ in sanguine hues, hist'ries tell. 
 Years gone by, your mist-wrapped land 
 Columbus viewed, with cross in hand; 
 From Manco's plains and canons deep 
 Came Francis' sons with you to weep. 
 10 
 
FIRST EXPERIENCES 
 
 They found not man. On shelving rock, 
 Your doors were hingeless, broke the lock, 
 The corn untouched, the embers black, 
 Sole relics of your nation's track. 
 This land espied on western wave 
 Is now the fair home of the brave, 
 Whom despot rulers could not hold, 
 Here live in bliss like kings of old, 
 Serve the true God, enjoy their days 
 Compete in art and social ways. 
 Nature's dim veil they've deftly rent 
 And heaven's fire to uses bent; 
 The facile 'phone with ready sound 
 Conveys the news the country round, 
 The stately bike dots road and glen 
 Where women ride the same as men; 
 The phonograph, artistic scheme, 
 Keeps the speech of an ancient theme. 
 Had your ancestors saved its din, 
 We'd have your story, kith and kin; 
 We might describe your early fate, 
 Learn the myst'ries of Behrings strait. 
 No answer make you, nought you'll tell, 
 Good bye, queer mummy — fare thee well. 
 
 In my new parish there were only two 
 churches, one at Ouray, the other at Silverton, 
 twenty-seven miles distant. There were twenty 
 missions or stations, with new ones springing 
 up, as mines were discovered, saw mills put up, 
 or families settled on the mesas, west of the San 
 Miguel river. Having assumed my charge in 
 the latter part of summer, I had ample time to 
 visit all the stations before the winter set in. 
 Tom Knowles, who kept a hotel at Ouray, paid 
 me a ceremonious call on my arrival, and invited 
 me to take a horse and saddle whenever I 
 wished. It was a liberal act, for hay was worth 
 from eighteen to twenty dollars a ton, and grain 
 was always high. I availed myself of his kind 
 invitation. My first trip was to Telluride, and 
 11 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 my mission was to baptize a descendant of 
 Kosciusko and Brian Boru, a young Margowski. 
 The roads were good, and the most squeamish 
 could make the trip without special risk of life 
 or limb, save on the top of the pass at 
 an elevation of 13,000 feet. Here, for 300 
 yards you were compelled to take a trail 
 that was always slippery from the constantly 
 thawing snow, which fell nearly every time there 
 was a storm. The snow, however, remained in 
 the shady crannies of the rocks, melted during 
 the day, and trickling down the narrow path, 
 froze at night. Along the left of the trail was a 
 steep precipice, and I noticed far down on a plain 
 of rock several dead horses; but at the time I 
 never thought of horses falling and rolling a 
 quarter of a mile over the rocks. In going up 
 the narrow trail my horse came to his knees sev- 
 eral times, and, feeling unsafe, I dismounted and 
 walked up the way leading to the pass. The 
 trip to Telluride was made without an accident, 
 but on my return about two inches of snow 
 covered the ice on the pass. My horse's shoes 
 were not sharp, and he fell before we had de- 
 scended the mountain twenty-five yards. For 
 ten minutes I paused to consider what course I 
 should take. I concluded that I could not fol- 
 low the trail, so I went down the side of the 
 mountain, led my horse, and took chances. 
 Scarcely had I turned from the trail five yards 
 when a mass of snow, ice, mud and loose rock 
 began to move down the mountain, and we 
 moved with it. It was a sort of locomotion we 
 had not bargained for, and the situation was such 
 as to make the horse tremble with fear and great- 
 ly disturb me. At last, with much watchfulness 
 12 
 
FIRST EXPERIENCES 
 
 and care in keeping our feet, we arrived safe on 
 the rocky plateau below. A young man who, I 
 subsequently learned, was from Connecticut, was 
 just coming up the trail on his way to Telluride. 
 He asked me about the trail, as it was barely 
 visible over the broken rocks. I informed him 
 that unless his horse was well shod and the shoes 
 sharp, it would be the height of folly to con- 
 tinue his journey, but the stranger would make 
 the attempt. I went on; and, as I was on the 
 point of crossing the ridge of rocks that separates 
 the Virginius mine from the pass, I looked back 
 and saw the young man close to the top of the 
 range, making slow progress. The horse was 
 slipping, and I sat upon a rock to watch develop- 
 ments. When within ten yards of the pass the 
 horse fell, rolled off the trail and shot down the 
 mountain like a rocket. The young man threw ' 
 up his hands in terror and it was well for him 
 that he was not in the saddle at the time. The 
 horse must have tumbled for a quarter of a mile 
 among the jagged rocks, and I presume every 
 bone in his body was broken. I continued my 
 journey, having learned a useful lesson, never to 
 ride a poor horse, or one not properly shod. 
 
 The success of my first year in the San Juan 
 would have been greater, had the conditions of 
 the parish been more favorable to harmonious 
 action. Misunderstandings will arise in the best 
 regulated societies, and to realize to fruitful pur- 
 pose the divine constitution of the church, which 
 distinguishes the teaching from the hearing ele- 
 ment, needs a good will more than scholastic ac- 
 quirements. As order, which is heaven's first 
 law, requires this distinction, it follows that 
 when the subject undertakes to teach the su- 
 
 1S 
 
IN THE SAX JUAN 
 
 perior how to discharge his duties, nothing but 
 confusion prevails. "But heresies must be that 
 the approved may be made manifest. ' ' 
 
 It had been snowing for three days before 
 Christmas, and crossing the range was no 
 holiday pastime; but as Silverton was in my 
 jurisdiction, I resolved to brave the danger, say 
 the midnight mass there on Christmas night, and 
 on horseback return to Ouray, where I intended 
 to say two masses on Christmas day, which hap- 
 pened that year to fall on Tuesday . Accordingly, 
 I left the previous Saturday for Silverton, where 
 I said mass on Sunday. I had arranged with a 
 gentleman, named Fred Thornton, that he was 
 to come over on Christmas eve with two horses 
 from Ouray, not only to test the trail, but to 
 consider the feasibility of our returning after the 
 midnight mass, for, as there was no night stage 
 running between the two towns, I should be 
 obliged to return on horseback. Fred was an 
 expert horseman and an old mountaineer. I 
 discovered after his death that he had a history 
 of his own, as well as another name. He had 
 been in the regular service in the Far West. One 
 day while with a companion watching the horses 
 and mules some distance from camp, the Indians 
 swooped down upon them. The boys sprang to 
 their horses and made good their escape for a 
 long distance; Fred had the better horse and out- 
 ran his companion, whom the Indians overtook 
 and killed not far from camp. Fred rode in and 
 gave the alarm, having left his companion to die 
 alone. The soldiers regarded this as an act of 
 cowardice in Fred and despised him. Fred often 
 spoke to me of his hairbreadth escape and 
 claimed that he too would have been killed had 
 
FIRST EXPERIENCES 
 
 he attempted to make a stand. He concluded 
 that discretion was the better part of valor and 
 saved himself. It was after Fred's death, which 
 happened a year later, that I learned his real 
 name was not Thornton, and the probability is 
 that one bright morning he bade Uncle Sam good- 
 bye. Fred was no coward; several bullet marks 
 in his body, received in actual combat with the 
 Sioux and Commanche Indians, attested his 
 valor. Of a good family, fine personal appear- 
 ance, gentlemanly deportment, religious tem- 
 perament, moreover, a capital shot, Fred was 
 born to command. 
 
 I made the trip to Silverton on Saturday morn- 
 ing in the usual way by stage without any more 
 serious inconvenience than that of finding my- 
 self obliged to shovel snow, open the road and 
 help drag out the horses from the high drifts. 
 Napoleon's trip across the Alps may be con- 
 sidered pleasant when compared with the fatigue 
 and perils of a journey away up in the clouds 
 during one of the fierce storms which sweep 
 through the canons. At times it is hard to tell 
 which way the wind blows; it comes at once from 
 all points and so thick is the fine sifted snow 
 that you are almost blinded. Besides, midway 
 down in the canon on the narrow road drilled in 
 the side of the mountain out of the solid rock, 
 with 2,000 feet of giddy heights above and a 
 depth of 3,000 feet below, the mind is filled with 
 consternation and dismay at the boding terrors 
 around. But though the arrows of death fell 
 around me, I was safe; for the Lord was my 
 helper. The novice is so alarmed at the sight 
 of the abysses around him that even in the sum- 
 mer, when the roads are good and danger is re- 
 
 15 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 mote, he alights from the coach and prefers to 
 walk, not trusting himself to the best vehicle and 
 driver. The scenery baffles description — sublime 
 and awful alone can describe it. In the winter 
 only old stagers and people habituated to moun- 
 tain travel will essay the road. A false step, a 
 small snowslide, and an act of contrition is in 
 order. 
 
 There was much travel in those days, as the 
 mines at, and in the vicinity of, Red Mountain 
 were producing much ore; and, besides, the boys 
 often came down to the metropolis of the San 
 Juan to enjoy its famous baths and get a box of 
 Doctor Rowan's pills. This worthy son of iEscula- 
 pius had a specific for all diseases under the sun 
 and threatened to send every one who did not 
 use his spring medicines, about the time the 
 ground-hog showed himself, to Rowan's ranch, 
 which in local parlance meant the graveyard. 
 Two of the boys came down one day and, it is 
 said, indulged over-much at a resort of unsavory 
 reputation. Late in the evening they left for 
 Ironton, but one of them never arrived there. 
 The road follows the circuitous canon and it tested 
 all the genius of Otto Mears, thepathmaker of the 
 West, to construct it; it went east and it went 
 west, it twisted and turned and boxed the com- 
 pass, and on a dark night it would perplex the 
 most wide-awake traveler to know what to do on 
 this road. The two young men walked together 
 for some time; soon one, a Canadian, began to 
 lag behind, so the other pushed on and left his 
 companion. The latter, in rounding one of the 
 points, forgot to make the necessary turn and 
 walked deliberately over one of the most awful 
 precipices in the Rockies. Where he struck the 
 
 16 
 
FIRST EXPERIENCES 
 
 first protruding rock must have been 1,500 feet 
 below, and his swift flight downward was traced 
 by shreds of his clothing; nor did he stop there, but 
 on, down the dreadful abyss he shot, striking 
 here and there, bounding from rock to rock, 
 until at last in a direct sweep of a thousand feet he 
 was dashed into the creek below. Was he killed ? 
 I should think so; not a bone in his body was 
 left unbroken, and the very boots were torn from 
 his feet. The naked eye could not discern him 
 from Lhe road at that depth, where he lay for 
 days until men came down from the mine to hunt 
 him up. After a long search they discovered 
 the mangled form, which they decently buried 
 at the Ouray cemetery. 
 
 There are some remarkable instances in the 
 traditional history of Ouray which show that a 
 man may fall a great distance into a canon and 
 not be killed. For one such exception at least 
 I can vouch. For two years as I went up and 
 down the road I saw the remains of the wreck 
 lying in the bottom of the canon, and there is 
 every reason to believe that some of the sleigh 
 box is still there. The accident happened to two 
 miners whose names I have forgotten. They 
 had been at Ouray over night, and in the morn- 
 ing left for Red Mountain on King's stage with 
 Ike Stephens as driver, as good a Jehu as ever 
 cracked a whip over a six-horse coach. Ike was 
 a ' 'peach" and would stay with the horses to the 
 last. It had been snowing a little, but it was a 
 pretty fair morning when Ike pulled out for Red 
 Mountain, with a big load of eggs and general 
 merchandise, and for his live freight, the two 
 miners who made up their minds not to go home 
 until morning. They occupied the back seat in 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 the sleigh. Just as they were rounding the last 
 dangerous point before coming by the numerous 
 small slides that always came down when it 
 stormed, the accident to which I refer occurred. 
 On the cliff above there were two spires of rock 
 that shot up for many feet. The snow drifted in 
 between these and down upon the road, forming 
 a high bank, over which Ike had the temerity 
 to drive. The consequence was that when the 
 sleigh went down over the ridge of snow, the 
 box came from between the sleigh stakes and 
 started over the precipice, the horses plunged 
 forward, Ike held on to the reins and the now 
 frightened leaders drew him out of the box, but 
 the miners, the eggs and dead pigs, together 
 with a large amount of merchandise, w r ent over 
 and fell nearly a straight 250 feet. Strange to 
 say not a bone was broken; the two men escaped 
 with a few scratches and a big scare, but the box 
 was in flitters. It was no smooth slide — it was a 
 sheer fall straight down until they came within 
 twenty feet of the bottom, and then a tumble of 
 about the same distance into the creek. The 
 miners were in an india-rubber condition when 
 they realized where they were and resolved the 
 next time to go home before regular bed time. 
 I had a little personal experience, coming down 
 the same road from Ironton. To the left are two 
 little lakes. Old Joe was the driver and could 
 handle four horses as well as any man on the 
 line. He had a soft spot in his heart for me and 
 always tried to make me as comfortable as pos- 
 sible. The driver's seat was a coveted place; un- 
 less some drummer from Denver monopolized it 
 very early in the morning, old Joe to all inquiries 
 would reply "this seat is taken," for he knew my 
 
 18 
 
FIRST EXPERIENCES 
 
 day to go out. We left at the usual time for 
 I ronton, whither I was bound, to see after the 
 building of a church. On the return trip a large 
 excursion party was making the circle and there 
 were many passengers from New York and Bos- 
 ton. Joe had a light stage and the two wheel 
 horses of the Concord coach attached to it. I 
 sat by his side and we were enjoying the grand 
 scenery when the nigh horse shied at a piece of 
 wood in the roadway. The horse, which was a 
 powerful animal, crowded his mate over to the 
 edge of the bank in spite of Joe's hard pulling. 
 I reached out my right hand, caught the lines 
 and drew the horse's head back to the harness 
 saddle; it was too late, we were gone. The stage 
 turned completely over and slid down the em- 
 bankment through the brushwood and rock. 
 The horses fell and tumbled over and over, I 
 held on to one rein and Joe to the other, a lady 
 screamed and a gentleman from the Hub lost his 
 hat, exhibiting a bare head that would provoke 
 an Irishman's shillelah on a fair day in Ireland. 
 The spring seat seemed to catch the inspiration, 
 for it struck him fair on the exposed part and 
 opened the scalp fully four inches. I fared no 
 better, for the tire on the wheel struck me below 
 the knee, fracturing the bone and scraping me to 
 the ankle. The horses tried to walk over us, 
 but crippled though we were, we managed to 
 control the animals and get the wagon on the 
 road. We were happy to reach Ouray alive. In 
 compensation for the accident, the stage owners 
 politely furnished me with a pass over the road. 
 Those days are gone, and their associations of 
 mingled pleasure and pain, but the pass still re- 
 mains. I had many thrilling experiences on 
 
 19 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 these perilous roads, but I passed through the 
 ordeal unscathed and with an increase of valu- 
 able knowledge. The missionary has many 
 sources of consolation, when he observes in the 
 scene of his labors the wondrous operations of 
 grace as well as nature. While his labors are 
 many, the balance in the comparison of his 
 vocation with that of other men is in his favor. 
 Even here below he enjoys blessings a hundred 
 fold, and he has the promise of a special crown in 
 the future to nerve him in the battle of the pres- 
 ent life. 
 
 We arrived about one o'clock at Silverton, 
 very little worse for a rather exciting trip. Dur- 
 ing the afternoon I called upon most of the fam- 
 ilies in town, and notified them that on Sunday 
 we should have not only mass, but benediction of 
 the Blessed Sacrament and a Christmas mid- 
 night mass. Mrs. Prosser had charge of the 
 choir and was a musician of no mean degree. 
 A convert, intelligent, pious and charitable, she 
 was active in promoting Catholicity in that min- 
 ing camp. The Silverton church workers were 
 second to none in the state, and, strange to say, 
 were nearly all women. Practical woman suf- 
 frage was in wholesome operatioii there long 
 before it was embodied in the legislation of the 
 state. The women attended not only to the 
 proper duties of the altar society, but in no small 
 measure to the financial affairs of the church. 
 Fairs and balls were organized and managed by 
 them, the tickets were sold, the collections made 
 and the money put in the bank to the credit of 
 the church. I am happy to know that their zeal 
 has not abated, for word comes still that they 
 are not weary of well doing. I said that the 
 
 20 
 
FIRST EXPERIENCES 
 
 church workers were, strange to say , nearly all wo- 
 men, for I do not forget that representative Catholic 
 gentleman at Silverton, Barney O'Driscoll. Who 
 does not know Barney O'Driscoll of the San 
 Juan ? Who has not heard of him in the state of 
 Colorado ? Honored by his district with a seat 
 in the councils of his state, Barney has always 
 worked for the best interests of his constituents. 
 Familiarly styled the colonel, he is known of all 
 men. A military man as well as a lawyer, he 
 served in the Civil war, after which he drifted 
 with hundreds of others into the San Juan. He 
 has lectured in most of the towns of the south- 
 west on politics, the Bible and science, mineral- 
 ogy and all the live subjects of the day. Until 
 his grandchildren grew to a sufficient size to wait 
 on the altar, the colonel served mass every Sun- 
 day, and as long as he was around the camp the 
 priest did not shovel snow trom the church door, 
 or build a fire when the thermometer was twenty- 
 five below zero. Upon my arrival at Silverton 
 the colonel sought me out at once and looked 
 upon it as a crime if I remained at the hotel. 
 He loved to treat me with the best southern 
 hospitality, and ransacked the butcher shop for 
 the tenderest of the toughest Kansas chickens 
 and the freshest of the stalest Kansas eggs, which 
 found their way into the mountain camps. If I 
 was not at the colonel's I could be found at 
 Lonergans', Cramers', Higgins', Prossers'; in- 
 deed, the people of Silverton felt deeply offended, 
 if I declined their hospitality. 
 
 On this particular Sunday before Christmas, 
 the colonel waited, as was his wont, after mass 
 to escort me to his log cabin, which stood some 
 distance from the church, at the base of a moun- 
 
 21 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 tain that towers on the north far above the little 
 city, which nestles in its shelter. The lofty 
 peaks were hidden in clouds, dense mists swept 
 over them now and again, and streaks of light 
 illuminating the darkness, revealed the shifting 
 storm, which was raging on the summit of the 
 mountain. The colonel shook his head and said: 
 "You will have a hard trip across the range to- 
 morrow night. ' ' A good dinner at his hospitable 
 board caused me to forget the pangs of a long 
 fast and the thought of impending dangers. At 
 three o'clock, on returning to the church, we 
 found that it had narrowly escaped destruction in 
 our absence. The candle which I had left burn- 
 ing before the Blessed Sacrament, emitted a spark 
 which set the altar cloth on fire, and the fire 
 went out just when the cloth was burned from 
 the epistle side to the front of the tabernacle. 
 The colonel was in favor of pronouncing it a 
 miracle, but at all events, the church was safe 
 and we felt happy. 
 
 Little Joe, the colonel's nephew, then saddled 
 his famous burro, and fetched two large loads of 
 green spruce and pine for the Christmas night 
 decoration. The next day every one helped to 
 beautify the altar and the church. Boughs of 
 green were conspicuous everywhere. With the 
 paper roses that had been made by the ladies of 
 the altar society we decked the pine — strange it 
 was to see American beauties on pine trees, but 
 the simple artists thought the effect was good 
 and there were no others to be satisfied. About 
 five in the afternoon Fred Thornton arrived 
 from Ouray with the horses, which we were to 
 ride back after midnight mass. His report on 
 the condition of the trail was discouraging. It 
 
 22 
 
FIRST EXPERIENCES 
 
 was heavy, in part filled, and the mountains so 
 much covered with snow, that snowslides might 
 come down at any minute. I spent the evening 
 hearing confessions, instructing the children and 
 at intervals watching the finishing touches that 
 were given to the altar. At twelve o'clock the 
 church was filled to the doors with Protestants 
 as well as Catholics. It is customary for the 
 miner to come to town at least three times a 
 year, at Christmas, Easter tide and on the 
 Fourth of July, and if he is a practical Cath- 
 olic, the church is one of the first places he 
 visits. At Christmas, the town is alive with the 
 hardy sons of toil, who gather from far and near 
 to replenish the empty grub sack and buy pow- 
 der and other necessaries for the winter siege in 
 prospect. Most of the boys were in church that 
 night, and there was a regular round of hand 
 shaking and merry Christmas greetings before 
 and after the services. A little after twelve the 
 "Gloria in Excelsis" pealed through the little 
 fane and was caught up by the choir until it rang 
 out in sweet strains of music far up the streets of 
 the town. I preached a short discourse on the 
 Christmas holy day and the lessons that should 
 be drawn from the event. I was unable to ex- 
 tend my remarks, as I had to set out for Ouray 
 immediately after the services. The service over, 
 Fred soon had the two horses before the church 
 door. We sprang into the saddle and many a 
 God speed and merry Christmas followed us into 
 the storm and wind. We were soon rounding 
 Stoibers' mill and heading up the valley to Red 
 Mountain. The night was dark and a sifting 
 snow filled the air, making it necessary to go 
 slowly and feel the way. At the mill there were 
 
 23 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 several trails. Unfortunately we took the 
 wrong one and found ourselves crossing to the 
 opposite side of the valley. We endeavored to 
 turn in the narrow passage, where our horses 
 floundered in four feet of snow. After a while 
 they fell, compelling us to dismount, tramp the 
 snow and give them a chance to rise. When we 
 regained the old trail close to the railroad track, 
 I told Fred to follow me on the track to Red 
 Mountain. I had learned from a miner who had 
 ridden down the track on Sunday, that the trail 
 was fairly good. I knew there were no trains, 
 the bridges were few, and we hoped in some way 
 to get over them. Far up the height for a mile 
 or more the snow enveloped the mountain, and 
 the danger of a snowslide was great. When we 
 reached a place where twenty or thirty mules, 
 and I believe a man, were lost, several years be- 
 fore, we were struck with fear and Fred said 
 afterwards that while passing it he could 
 scarcely breathe; but no slide came down. At 
 times we walked to keep up the circulation in 
 our benumbed limbs and rest our wearied horses, 
 and then, leaping into the saddle, spurred our 
 animals on, hoping to reach Ouray by seven 
 o'clock, the time set for the first mass. At 
 Sheridan Junction we left the railroad along 
 which we had been steering our way and resumed 
 the trail, which proved to be a good sleigh road 
 from that to Red Mountain. Fred took a hot 
 cup of coffee and it must have been strong, as he 
 was more lively the rest of the trip, which, to the 
 gratification of our jaded horses, was down hill. 
 When we entered the canon it was still dark and 
 rendered more so by the snow which was falling 
 and drifting. All at once my horse stopped and 
 
 2-t 
 
FIRST EXPERIENCES 
 
 refused to move. I urged him, but he stood 
 stock still, then I struck him, and suddenly turn- 
 ing, he tried to walk into the canon. I wrenched 
 him back with all my might and, dismounting, 
 saw to my horror that there was a high snow 
 bank across the road and that the horse, unable 
 to go through it, had been trying to go around 
 it. We should have been precipitated to the 
 bottom of one of the most awful canons in the 
 Rockies, had the horse pursued the way upon 
 which I was urging him. Breaking a path 
 through the drift we were in the saddle again and 
 another hour brought us into Ouray on time for 
 the second mass, chilled to the bone and worn 
 out. I proceeded to say my other two masses 
 and was soon feasting on a breakfast of the 
 American bird. 
 
 25 
 
SECOND SKETCH 
 
 IT is a true, if flippant, saying of the political 
 orator, that people are certain of two things in 
 this world, namely: taxes and death. The lat- 
 ter is not so prevalent as the former in the greater 
 altitudes, owing perhaps to the fact that few who 
 have passed the meridian of life, attempt any con- 
 siderable elevation. Death, however, comes and 
 beckons the young and strong to its cold em- 
 brace here as elsewhere, with the same imperious 
 finger as those whose life is already on the 
 wane. 
 
 One Saturday afternoon in the early autumn of 
 1890, I received a despatch from Silverton, 
 
 notifying me that Mrs. was dead, and that 
 
 my presence was required at the funeral, the fol- 
 lowing afternoon. Silverton is twenty-seven 
 miles from Ouray, and beyond a lofty range of 
 mountains. Thirteen miles of the journey are 
 up hill and fourteen down. On Sunday I was 
 to say mass at Ouray at 9:30 a. m. and at Red 
 Mountain at noon. Red Mountain camp was on 
 the top of the range, 11,000 feet above sea level. 
 In 1890 it was in the heyday of its glory. 
 Everyone had work, and if I remember aright 
 the wages was three dollars and fift}- cents a day. 
 It was easier to get money than specimens of the 
 peacock and ruby silver, which came from the 
 famous Yankee Girl, a million-a-year producer 
 hard by. The Vanderbilt and Genesee, a few 
 hundred yards distant, were also big shippers of 
 gold as well as silver, and the town was in a 
 flourishing state. The lights never went out in 
 the camp, unless when coal oil failed, or a stray 
 
 2€ 
 
FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 
 
 cowboy shot up the town. The men worked 
 night and day, shift and shift about, and the 
 people were happy. The gambling halls were 
 never closed, the restaurants did a profitable 
 business, and no one could lay his weary bones 
 on a bed for less than a dollar. Whiskey was as 
 plentiful as the limpid water that gushed from 
 the hills behind the town, sparkling in the sun- 
 light. In those days it never cost a stranger any- 
 thing for drinks; he was welcome to eat, drink 
 and be merry; indeed, it was deemed an insult 
 to refuse to partake of anything that was going. 
 Tramps were as scarce as Indians on the shores 
 of Long Island. The prospector's cabin on the 
 mountain trail was left unlocked. You might 
 step in, cook your dinner and go on, or if tired, 
 unroll your blankets and rest to your heart's 
 content. If the owner was at home it was all 
 right, if not, the conditions of hospitality were 
 the same, and these were, ' ' come in, help your- 
 self, and go rejoicing on your way," — a strik- 
 ing contrast to great cities, where a selfish opu- 
 lence drives the needy from the door. The owner 
 of the mountain cabin, free with his money, 
 bacon or bunk, deemed it an hpnor to entertain 
 his caller, however poor. Should the reader ask 
 of what nationality such generous people were, 
 the answer is Americans, Irish-Americans and 
 IrisK In my work on the missions, I have 
 found Americans liberal and self sacrificing, and 
 I do not believe that I have any prejudice in 
 their favor, because I was born beneath the folds 
 of the Star Spangled Banner. Of the Irish and 
 the Irish- Americans there can be only one 
 opinion, and it is, that in the masses you will 
 find the two extremes, the worst and the best. 
 
 27 
 
IN THE SAX JUAN 
 
 They are great in faith, hope and charity when 
 they are good; but when they are bad they are 
 bad all over. The four little churches, whose 
 bells call the people to divine worship from 
 Ridgeway on the north, to Silverton on the 
 south, a distance apart of forty miles, tell of their 
 faith. With their own hands and money we 
 toiled together, until at every ten miles of the 
 way a bell hailed the name of Mary, Joseph or 
 Patrick. There was no church at that time at 
 Red Mountain; later one was erected two miles 
 below at a little town called Ironton. The 
 schoolhouse, an old store, or a private residence, 
 served as a place of worship, and the priest al- 
 ways received a warm welcome from the miners, 
 who never failed to drop their mite into the 
 basket on Sunday. A five or ten dollar bill or coin 
 was nothing strange to find in the collection. The 
 miner said, "He made a good talk and we ought 
 to help the preacher. ' ' I said mass at Ouray at 
 the usual time on Sunday morning, preached a 
 short discourse on the gospel of the day, and was 
 about to mount my broncho for Red Mountain, 
 when I espied my old friend Bill}- Maher, who 
 had just come down from Mount Sneffles, where 
 he had been working in the mines. I invited him 
 to accompany me to Red Mountain, and fulfil the 
 precept of hearing mass on Sunday. Billy as- 
 sented and hastened to the livery stable for a 
 horse, there to find only one wicked broncho 
 whose heel leverage was known far and wide. 
 This animal had the centre of gravity so well 
 focussed that he could buck a Kansas cowboy 
 out of the saddle, or give a Navajo Indian a pain 
 in the midriff for a week. But Billy, nothing 
 daunted, ordered him saddled and brought out. 
 
 2S 
 
FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 
 
 All the stable boys in King's barn tightened the 
 saddle girth at the imminent risk of their lives, 
 and the famous roan was led forth. Billy vaulted 
 into the saddle with all the grace of one of Sher- 
 man's troopers. In the twinkling of an eye the 
 horse stood on his hind feet as if to depart to the 
 world of spirits, and then came down, with his 
 fore feet stiff upon the ground, with a thud that 
 would break the heart of an ordinary man; in 
 another moment his hind feet were far in the air 
 and his head was bowed low, throwing Billy well 
 forward in the saddle; but the familiar half grin 
 remained on the face of the rider, who sat like a 
 rock on a mountain. Billy was an athlete. Born 
 at the foot of Keeper's Hill in Tipperary, he came 
 of a hardy peasantry that know no fear. He 
 had often ridden his father's gray mare over 
 hedge and ditch in the hunting season, keeping 
 well up with the hounds, so he was quite in his 
 element. Half Ouray was out, and the gamblers 
 deserted the faro tables to see the sport outdoors, 
 for everyone knew, and, what was better, es- 
 teemed Billy Maher, the man that never swore, 
 never drank to excess, never lost his temper and 
 had a good word for everyone. Billy, too, was 
 the right hand man of the priest and s.isters. 
 Many a time he led the sisters over the rugged 
 mountain passes, and from camp to camp, 
 gathered the dollars that helped to build the 
 hospitals of Durango and Ouray. But to return 
 to his encounter with the broncho. The animal 
 gradually stopped its wild plunging and dashed 
 madly up the street, everyone getting out of its 
 way for bare life. Here, for the moment, let me 
 digress to mention the characteristic feat of the 
 expert cowboy subduing the wild broncho. The 
 
 29 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 wild pony is led out into the street, the throngs 
 cheer, the horse, unused to man, becomes frantic 
 and strives to break away. When everything is 
 ready , the sprinter of the plains is turned loose and 
 stands for a moment perplexed, looks wildly 
 around and then rushes down the street with 
 lightning speed. With a whoop the cowboy is 
 after him, and when the wild horse has attained 
 his greatest speed, the cowboy rises gracefully in 
 his stirrups, measures the distance between him- 
 self and the fleeing pony with his eye, then his 
 arm shoots out, his hand poises in the air and a 
 coil of rope unrolls like a serpent, hastens on 
 its course with unerring accuracy, catches the 
 hind foot of the frightened horse and closes 
 around it. In an instant the trained horse of the 
 cowboy throws himself back on his haunches, 
 planting his fore feet firmly on the ground to 
 meet the resilient shock which comes, when his 
 foe is stretched upon the ground. An ordinary 
 rider would go far over the horse's head, but the 
 cowboy is prepared for the rebound and remains 
 firmly seated in his saddle. The lassoed horse is 
 laid low by a dextrous movement and in an in- 
 stant the cowboy is out of his saddle and has a 
 bridle on the animal. The other pony keeps the 
 rope taut and stands, viewing the ceremony with 
 great interest. It takes but a few moments to put a 
 saddle on the animal and then the fun really be- 
 gins. The handling of the bucking broncho is an 
 amusement which makes the most sedate laugh, 
 and success in the operation crowns the rider who 
 holds his seat ever after as a victor. The antics 
 of the horse are ludicrous, dangerous and even 
 foreign to that noblest of animals. In trying to 
 get rid of the rider, it will lie down and roll over 
 
FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 
 
 if possible. Rising on its hind feet, it often falls 
 backward and maims or kills the rider. Jumping 
 stiff-legged, crossing its feet, kicking, striking 
 with its fore feet or springing into the air and 
 coming down solidly on the ground, are feats 
 which delight the cowboy. Gradually its powers 
 of endurance are exhausted and the animal be- 
 coming docile, learns to love the cowboy. 
 
 We were oft at last and at a speed that would 
 have dazzled the eyes of the hero of Winchester. 
 The road for eight miles is narrow, with bare- 
 ly room for two teams in the widest place. You 
 can see the bed of the creek two thousand feet be- 
 low. By the time the most dangerous point was 
 reached, Billy's horse had cooled down and was 
 quiet and gentle. A grade of three thousand five 
 hundred feet in thirteen miles deserves men- 
 tion even in the Rockies, and when we arrived 
 at Red Mountain our horses were not in the best 
 shape. Billy brought the boys together, and I 
 arranged the temporary altar, beginning mass at 
 about 1 2 130 a. m. When breakfast was over I had 
 a pleasant chat with those patient delvers in the 
 bowels of the earth, and an introduction to the 
 newcomers in camp. Mutual good will exists 
 among the poor and honest sons of toil, and in 
 a marked degree this is true of the miner, who 
 always lives in danger of death in handling 
 dynamite. Moreover, he runs the frequent risk 
 of being maimed for life by premature explosions, 
 caving-in of mines and breaking of cables. 
 Whether this has anything to do with the 
 miner's frankness and good nature I know not; 
 but I have seen more genuine sorrow exhibited 
 over a miner, killed in an accident, than at the 
 pompous funeral of the elite. I have found a 
 
 31 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 warmth of feeling in the grasp of a finger-stalled 
 hand that I have never experienced in the kid- 
 gloved touch of the city cad. The miner's ways 
 are characterized by simplicity, bluntness and 
 honesty, and he possesses a rough, sound, practical 
 judgment. Even his pastimes evince a marked 
 degree of virility. Witness the drill contests. They 
 are the supreme final test of superiority among 
 the picked hammer strikers and drill turners, and 
 cause such excitement in a camp that thousands 
 of dollars change hands. Great muscular power 
 and endurance is something of which an}- one 
 may be proud. For months before the trial, two 
 or three hours are spent each week in periods of 
 fifteen minutes, and these giants of the drill stand 
 over the hardest block of granite that can be 
 found in the mountains. One of them strikes the 
 drill for three or five minutes and the other turns 
 it; a good turner, again, is an absolute condition 
 for success, for if the drill once becomes fast in the 
 rock, the contest is practically over. The drill 
 must have received the proper temper and the 
 blows must come with a force proportioned to the 
 strength of the drill. The blows fall like a trip 
 hammer and with a rapidity which the eye can 
 scarcely follow, and with each blow the drill 
 turns in the hand of the holder, ejecting the fine- 
 cut granite from the hole, and thus keeping it 
 open. At the end of a few minutes, the striker, 
 fatigued by his rapid movements, drops theheavy 
 hammer into the hands of his companion, seizes 
 the drill and the hole goes down into the hardest 
 of granite at the rate of an inch and a-half to the 
 minute. Twenty -five inches or more have been 
 drilled into the granite in a quarter of an hour, 
 something which our fathers thought, never could 
 
 32 
 
FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 
 
 be accomplished by the hand of man. While he 
 makes little display of piety, he is firm in the 
 faith and ready to do what is fair. He will 
 not fight without a good cause, and he does not 
 need much of the diplomatist's art to decide when 
 he is in the right. As a rule, he minds his own 
 affairs, and except when he indulges over much 
 in the cup that inebriates, keeps out of strife 
 and cares, and, therefore, is entitled to wear a 
 medal on his breast. 
 
 Billy having answered many questions about 
 the boys on the stormy mountains, we tightened 
 our saddle girths, mounted our bronchos and 
 rode leisurely down through the tall pines to the 
 dilapidated town of Chattanooga. It had been 
 dismantled by a snowslide which a few years be- 
 fore swept away a part of the town, and its 
 condition at our visit was not inviting from any 
 point of view. The ruins, consisting of the roofs 
 and sides of houses, were strewn for half a mile 
 over the valley, and the population of a once 
 flourishing hamlet had dwindled down to the 
 small number of two. One of these kept a saloon , 
 which was a sort of half-way house between Red 
 Mountain and Silverton. The other, who was a 
 widow with many children, appeared to be in 
 the laundry business, for the clothes lines were 
 always full; but where she got her customers the 
 future historian of Chattanooga must discover. 
 The afternoon was beautiful. The sun sent his 
 slanting rays down the Ophir Range, diffusing 
 them in quivering banners of light, until they 
 reached the valley below, where they were lost 
 in a maze of shadows. The aspen far up the 
 rugged heights, ' 'confessing the gentlest breeze, ' ' 
 was just changing into the sere and yellow leaf 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 of the dying year. The sides of the mountain, 
 clothed in the purple hues of scrubby oak leaf 
 and flora, indigenous to the state of Colorado, 
 and adorned with a bouquet here and there of 
 pine or spruce, offered a delightful picture to the 
 lover of the wild and romantic in nature. As 
 noble a stream as ever burst from Colorado's 
 mountains rushes on forever to the smiling val- 
 ley; rocks like cathedral spires, towering sky 
 high, pierced the azure dome of heaven, and one 
 peak soaring far above the others seems to stand 
 like a sentry over the glorious creation. The 
 blue canopy rests like a curtain on the valley, 
 while the deep hush of the autumn afternoon 
 invited the mind to reflections upon the Al- 
 mighty Artist, who reveals Himself in such an 
 awe-inspiring manner. 
 
 Here we had to ford the stream at the old 
 crossing. We drew up our jaded horses to let 
 them drink of the cool water. To the right, 
 upon a little knoll, lay the whitened bones of a 
 horse, stripped clean by coyotes, mountain lions 
 and years of bleaching in a rarefied atmosphere. 
 Billy said musingly: "Father Gibbons, that horse 
 has a history. If those bones could speak, they 
 might tell of a tragedy which happened at this 
 crossing and in this stream. When the rich 
 strikes around Silverton were made, people 
 rushed from all quarters to the new El Dorado, 
 some to work, others to gamble and many 
 to see the wild West; but all to make a 
 fortune at once. Among them was a youth of 
 refined education and manners. I have forgot- 
 ten his name, but for convenience sake, I shall 
 call him Tom. Tom came to the camp to get 
 rich, but, like many others, he found out that 
 
 34 
 
FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 
 
 gold does not grow on the trees. The long win- 
 ter in Silverton kept him from prospecting in the 
 mountains, and, like many of his young acquaint- 
 ances, he spent no small part of his days and 
 nights in dissipation. By degrees he became as 
 depraved as any of the vicious classes of the 
 frontier. He was an expert gambler and drank 
 deep of the draught that kills. The dance hall 
 and the wine room made him a physical and 
 moral wreck. He cast aside the wholesome re- 
 straints of religion, and the influences of early 
 training lost all their force for him. One night 
 he played for high stakes with a man of few 
 words and a cool head, one who kept an eye on 
 his opponent as well as the cards. Of course the 
 trusty forty-five lay beside the heap of gold, 
 that shone in the lamplight of the dingy gam- 
 bling house. It is said that Tom cheated, and 
 was called down; there was a fight and the 
 trouble was patched up by the onlookers and 
 the parties themselves. After this the game 
 dragged along in silence, but a silence that was 
 so intense and significant as to suggest an under- 
 current of unpleasant feeling, notably in the 
 taciturn stranger. When daylight came they 
 were about even in the game, and the man of 
 reserved manners, walking up to the bar, invited 
 all the company to have a drink. Then turning 
 to Tom, he said: 'Let us go over to Red Moun- 
 tain to-morrow. I am tired of this place.' 'All 
 right,' said Tom, 'after dinner, we shall go.' So 
 after dinner next day they left Silverton for Red 
 Mountain, and here at the crossing they gave 
 their horses a drink, just as we have done. Poor 
 Tom was a little in advance of the stranger, who, 
 while the horses were drinking, coolly drew his 
 
 35 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 revolver and deliberately shot his companion 
 dead. With a groan Tom dropped from the 
 saddle into the icy water, and his horse rushed 
 through the stream to the opposite side. An- 
 other well-directed shot from the murderer's pis- 
 tol laid the horse low upon that little knoll, and 
 his bones have remained there all these years." 
 Billy and I spurred on our horses and were soon 
 in front of the neat little white church, which 
 stood like an angel at the foot of the mountain. 
 The funeral to which I had been summoned 
 was already at the church, which was tastefully 
 draped by the good ladies of Silverton. The 
 
 deceased Mrs. was a lady of good birth, a 
 
 woman who, an American would say, had a great 
 deal of push and energy. She had come to this 
 country young, but with a mind well stored with 
 Catholic doctrine. She had acquired the rudi- 
 ments of her education in the national schools of 
 Ireland, which afford the young an excellent 
 training, and received the finishing touches of a 
 liberal education in a convent school. In a 
 moment of folly she contracted an alliance with 
 one who, in station and culture, was her in- 
 ferior, and reaped the fruits of her imprudence 
 in an unhappy married life. With true Christian 
 patience she accepted the cross, nursed her grief 
 in secret, and with her vision purified by suffer- 
 ing, learned to accept her lot and acknowledge 
 that it was just. Thus her domestic trials were 
 for her the discipline of perfection, and being a 
 faithful child of the church, "she learned obe- 
 dience by the things she suffered." In a letter 
 which I received after her death, she left the 
 story of her sorrows in an impassioned narrative 
 that would draw tears from the most hardened. She 
 
 36 
 
FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 
 
 revealed the skeleton that was hid in the closet, 
 and as I reflected upon her death, which, humanly 
 speaking, was untimely, the thought came to me 
 that it might have been better for the poor 
 creature if she had spent her life in her mother's 
 modest cottage than as the wife of a domestic 
 tyrant, who hated the Catholic Church and com- 
 pelled his devoted wife secretly to steal into the 
 house of God to worship Him after the fashion of 
 her ancestors. But she married a stranger to the 
 household of faith. She did not live in vain, 
 how T ever, if her example serves as a warning to 
 others. The last prayers having been said, the 
 funeral cortege moved through the little tow r n to 
 the cemetery, where the final benediction was 
 given. As the mountain breezes softly fanned 
 the newly made grave, and bore away the echoes 
 of the murmuring requiescant in pace, we turned 
 from the sad scene with sobering thoughts upon 
 the vanity of earthly things. 
 
 The sun was just below the mountains and we 
 had an opportunity of enjoying one of the splen- 
 did sunsets for which Colorado is famous. No 
 poet's pen or artist's pencil could give the faint- 
 est idea of that sea of golden light in which the 
 monarch of day sank to his rest, bequeathing the 
 glowing radiance of his departure to the mighty 
 ranges. With one of the sudden changes which 
 are familiar in these regions, the blaze of glory 
 had scarcely faded when ominous clouds began 
 to steal over the lately sun-tipped heights an'd 
 the lazy rumblings of distant thunder warned us 
 of the coming storm. Billy must report for work 
 in the Virginius mine the next morning, and 
 twenty-seven miles in the saddle surely give a 
 man an appetite. So having fed the horses and 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 taken a pretty substantial supper, we started 
 homeward in good form. Passing out of the 
 valley we began to climb the rugged ascent to 
 Red Mountain and had not proceeded far when 
 the rain came down in torrents. The water be- 
 gan to flood the trail, which we found ourselves 
 obliged to leave and seek the shelter of a cabin, 
 that nestled among the trees. In moving down 
 the slippery passage, my horse fell; luckily I 
 was not in the saddle, having dismounted before 
 we began to climb the hill. The horse rolled 
 down until he came in contact with a pine, 
 around which his feet slid, leaving him in a most 
 embarrassing position — perfectly helpless. He 
 could not get up, he could not get down; mean- 
 while the rain came fast and furious. The light- 
 ning played around our heads and heaven's artil- 
 lery awoke the echoes with responsive detona- 
 tions, which produced a grand but terrific music. 
 There the horse lay unable to extricate himself, 
 while Billy and myself tugged and pulled and tried 
 to lift, but could not move him. At last we took 
 the halters, tied them around the prostrate 
 animal and then to the saddlehorn of Billy's roan 
 and detached the horse from the tree without 
 further trouble. The storm had passed and the 
 moon, stealing out from behind the clouds, lighted 
 our way through the dark pines. Leading our 
 fagged horses, we trudged over the slippery road 
 until we arrived at Red Mountain, where we took 
 a light lunch. After a short rest we rode down 
 the mountain to Ouray, which we reached shortly 
 before midnight. 
 
THIRD SKETCH 
 
 THE winter of 1888 in the San Juan was 
 pleasant. There had been a thaw in Jan- 
 uary, but Washington's birthday found the 
 snow hard and compact, and the weather was 
 fine to the end of February. Some days were so 
 warm that the snow melted a little, even on the 
 tops of the mountains, but froze again; thus the 
 fear of snowslides was removed. 
 
 The miners, on horseback or afoot, had crossed 
 and recrossed the Sneffles range on their way to 
 the city of Telluride. They esteemed such meth- 
 ods of travel cheaper than to pay seven dollars 
 to ride in the cold on one of Wood's large stages, 
 and listen to the monotonous bu-u-u-ing of a 
 stage driver, who had plied his whip for forty 
 years over western hills and plains. Wrapped 
 in blankets, and seated generally alone on a high 
 seat, on a cold day, anyone might well fall into 
 the habit of bu-u-u-ing. The old gentleman 
 may have thought his soft humming helped the 
 horses; but it became so much a matter of course 
 with him, that the moment the wheels began to 
 revolve, the tiresome refrain was struck up and 
 held with a dreary iteration from station to sta- 
 tion. 
 
 From Dallas to Telluride, a distance of some 
 fifty miles, three stations provided the necessary 
 relays. These stages were among the best 
 equipped in the West. The horses were in good 
 condition, well fed and well groomed, and being 
 strong animals, whirled the stage over the road 
 at a rattling gait. At one of the stations was an 
 old hostler, always clean and neat, who stood 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 six feet in his stockings, was as straight as an 
 arrow and had a military bearing. His name 
 was O'Connell; but it did not need the name to 
 tell his nationality. With the approach of the 
 stage, he had fresh horses promptly at hand and 
 ready to put into the traces. Seldom over three 
 minutes were occupied in the change. Every- 
 thing around the lonely stable on the mountain 
 road was as bright as a pin, and I concluded that 
 Mr. O'Connell must have belonged at one time 
 to Systematic Uncle Sam's cavalry. Upon hear- 
 ing his name called I sidled up to him, and 
 opened my great coat that he might see my collar 
 and learn that I too was enrolled in a great serv- 
 ice. I remarked in a bantering way: "That 
 name of yours proclaims you a German, does it 
 not ?" "Oh no, Father, I was born in Ireland." 
 "You are a Catholic then," I said. "Well, } T es, 
 Father, I am a Catholic, but it is quite a little 
 bit since I was in a church." "When were you 
 at your duty last, ' ' I inquired. "A long time ago 
 indeed," he replied. "When I 'listed, and went 
 to the Crimean War, I bethink myself. I went to 
 my duty. Then when the war was over I came 
 to the States, and here I 'listed in the regulars, 
 and when the Civil war broke out I 'listed once 
 more and went to the front. I served all through 
 the war, and got kind of careless, but I promise 
 you I'll go to my duty pretty soon, for I'm get- 
 ting to be a pretty old man now. ' ' His words 
 were prophetic; for a few months after, he got 
 the pneumonia. At the time of his illness, 
 chancing to be on the stage, I visited him, and 
 administered to him the last sacraments. Not 
 long after he died. 
 
 On the 21st of February I received from Tel- 
 
 40 
 
FROM DAIXAS TO TKIXURIDE 
 
 luride a summons to come across the range early 
 the next morning, to attend a funeral of a miner 
 named Flannigan, who had been killed at the 
 Sheridan mine. The telegram stated that two 
 horses would meet me at the Sheridan, which is in 
 Marshall Basin. I mention this circumstance by- 
 way of explanation, as we could ride our horses 
 only to the Virginius mine, then go afoot to the top 
 of the range, and down two or three miles to the 
 Sheridan. I feared the trip, but there was no 
 alternative. I had to cross the range as the 
 stage had departed, and it was over fifty miles 
 around the Snefnes range to Telluride. Fred 
 Thornton was then at the hospital, fully re- 
 covered from a fit of sickness, and he offered to 
 accompany me on the journey. I resolved to 
 take my vestments, that I might be enabled to 
 say mass. We ordered two horses for three in 
 the morning, which was an early hour for a trip 
 in midwinter. We packed the vestments and 
 set the alarm clock for three; but being at that 
 time troubled with insomnia, I slept little. At 
 two o'clock we arose, and Fred took a light 
 breakfast. We were soon on our way to Mount 
 Snefnes. The morning was clear, and the mer- 
 cury recorded twenty below zero. The road to 
 the Virginius mine was in tolerably good con- 
 dition. Far up the canon, however, it was some- 
 what dangerous on account of its closeness to the 
 precipice, a false step, and horse and rider w 7 ould 
 be hurled two thousand feet below. Almost on 
 the apex of the range, in the SnefHes District, the 
 Humbolt mine is situated. The mountains 
 stretch away from it toward the south in the 
 form of a vast amphitheatre until they reach 
 Red Mountain, where they turn to the north, 
 
 41 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 seeming to terminate in those giant peaks, that 
 rise up to the east of Ouray. The eye may easily 
 outline this sublime scene from Sneffles' highest 
 point, trace the black curling smoke as it ascends 
 from the smoke stacks at the Yankee Girl mine, 
 and take in, at a glance, the whole country for 
 miles around. Old Mount Abram, gray and dull 
 colored from the heat and storms of thousands 
 of years, towers above all his fellows, and appears 
 but a rifle shot down to the Ouray toll road; yet 
 it is many miles distant. 
 
 The Humbolt is exposed to all the rigors of 
 the winter storms on those lofty mountains. No 
 trees or sheltering gulches break the force of the 
 awful blizzards which sweep along those naked 
 heights. To witness a snowslide within a short 
 distance of the miners' bunkhouse is no rare oc- 
 currence. Mr. M was the foreman of this 
 
 mine, and prided himself on being nearer the 
 spirit land than most men, the Humbolt being 
 at an elevation of about 13,000 feet. He was 
 a miner of long experience; and, under his di- 
 rection, the mine rapidly developed into one of 
 the largest producers of that district. Before the 
 fall in the price of silver, this mine gave employ- 
 ment to 180 men. A well-beaten trail connected 
 the mine with Porter's. Even'' day long trains 
 of burros might be seen moving up and down 
 the trail, the former bringing in supplies and the 
 latter carrying down the argentiferous treasures 
 to Ouray. The storms were at times so severe 
 that even the most hard}' miner dared not at- 
 tempt a trip to town. On one side the route for 
 a greater part of the way led along the edge of 
 an embankment, while on the other, high cliffs 
 extended to the summit of the range. During a 
 
 42 
 
FROM DALLAS TO TELLURIDE 
 
 severe storm the incautious traveler is apt to lose 
 the trail; and, wandering over the cliffs, runs the 
 risk of being hurled to destruction. One day a 
 Swede set out over this trail in a blinding snow 
 storm. Losing his way, he wandered for some 
 time among the cliffs, vainly endeavoring to find 
 the trail. So filled was the air with thickly fall- 
 ing snow that it became impossible for him to 
 know the direction in which he was going. He 
 walked off into the abyss, and fell down the 
 jagged rocks for a distance of about five hundred 
 feet. The rocks, being covered with frozen 
 snow, afforded him no opportunity of clinging to 
 the jutting crags; so that, when once in motion, 
 he shot down with almost meteoric speed. He 
 lay there for many hours suffering excruciating 
 torments, and would have frozen to death had 
 not some miners, who chanced to be passing by, 
 beheld, far down in the gulch, in the white snow, 
 a dark object which they made out to be a man. 
 By using the greatest caution, and after much 
 difficulty, they reached him. He was in a state 
 of unconsciousness, his skull being fractured, 
 and his body a bruised and bleeding mass. Call- 
 ing to their aid some more help, the unfortunate 
 man was taken to the sisters' hospital, where he 
 died 'in a few days. 
 
 The canon in the Sneffies' district is perhaps 
 one of the grandest and most picturesque sights 
 in Colorado. A few hundred yards from the en- 
 trance is Ouray. Here also the canon to Red 
 Mountain opens, cutting a mighty seam through 
 the granite formation. Far down in those unex- 
 plored depths, two noble streams dash along and 
 commingle their waters in the suburbs of the city. 
 This stream is called the Uncompaghre. As you 
 
 43 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 swing around the turn on the way to Mount 
 Sneffles, you behold to the right the bubbling 
 stream rise from the rocks. Springs of hot water 
 gush forth not two hundred yards from the swift 
 current, the icy touch of which chills the marrow 
 of one's bones. To the left, and far away up the 
 heights, tall rocks, like the minarets of a Moslem 
 temple, stand out in relief to the rough, serrated 
 points and wooded plateaus that were strewn 
 around when the earth was in course of eruption. 
 Often on a summer's afternoon have I taken my 
 glasses and watched the leader of a band of Rocky 
 Mountain sheep, as he stood upon one of 
 those high points keeping guard, while the others 
 took their meal. It was the shepherd watching 
 his flock, and there for hours he stood immovable, 
 with his eye on the road below and the city of 
 Ouray. These animals live near timber line, 
 like the chamois of Switzerland, far from the 
 haunts of man, and eat the small bunches of 
 grass that shoot from the crevices of the rocks. 
 They are very timid, and only an expert can come 
 within rifle range of them. When closely pur- 
 sued they will not hesitate a moment to jump 
 from twenty-five to thirty feet down on the solid 
 rock. Coyotes, wolves and eagles, as well as the 
 banned sportsman, so prey upon them, that few 
 bunches of them now remain. 
 
 The canon is bold, grand and rugged from the 
 beginning. At the opening are a few garden 
 patches, on which, even at so great an altitude, a 
 variety of vegetables may be raised. In summer 
 the hillsides are banked with mountain flowers, 
 not known by the inhabitants of the valley. The 
 pine, spruce and poplar provide a cool shade in 
 the summer heats. On either side of the stream 
 u 
 
FROM DALLAS TO TELLURIDE 
 
 narrow gulches pierce this deep defile, from 
 which issue crystal streams of cold water. The 
 scene is impressive and the sound of the rushing 
 waters, blended with the song of the wild bird, 
 produces a melody which soothes and delights. 
 The farther you move up the canon, the wilder 
 and more sublime the scene becomes. Gradually 
 the pine and the spruce disappear and you stand 
 upon a desert of rock with here and there a lit- 
 tle patch of grass kept alive in the scanty soil, 
 washed in by the rain. At Porter's, there is a 
 valley of a few acres surrounded by pines. Por- 
 ter's was then and is yet, I believe, the terminus 
 of the wagon road. Here is the celebrated 
 Revenue Tunnel cut into the mountain, which 
 rises to a height of over 12,500 feet. At this 
 elevation is the Virginius mine, one of the rich- 
 est silver properties in the world. The shaft was 
 down about 1,100 feet, with tunnels in every 
 hundred feet. The vein is a true fissure and it 
 was presumed that it went down indefinitely. 
 This tunnel was designed to cut the shaft of 
 the Virginius at 2,000 feet or more and all the 
 veins that lay in the course. Much expense was 
 saved in this way, and ore was shipped with 
 less inconvenience. It was the design of the 
 owners, by moving down the boarding houses, 
 and placing them on a level with Porter's, to 
 diminish the dangers of snowslides. The whole' 
 plant was to be worked by electricity, which was 
 beginning to be used in mines as a matter of 
 economy. I understand the tunnel has been 
 completed to the satisfaction of the company, 
 which will ship silver by the ton when the free 
 coinage of the white metal becomes an accom- 
 plished fact. While few accidents attended the 
 45 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 construction of the tunnel, there was one in 
 which I played a rather conspicuous part and at 
 the early hour of two, one winter's morning. A 
 telephone message reached me, announcing that 
 three men had been seriously injured in a mining 
 disaster, and were calling for the priest and the 
 doctor. Doctor Rowan and myself, together with 
 the undertaker and several packhorses, started 
 for the scene of the accident. The road was in 
 very bad shape, having been blocked for some 
 time. By using great care we got through in the 
 dark without injury, and found two men killed 
 and one badly wounded. It appeared that three 
 men, Robinson, Maloney and Big Paddy Burns 
 were loading holes, before retiring from their 
 shift, when an explosion occnrred. The two 
 former were over the holes and Paddy had just 
 put down a box of dynamite at the breast of the 
 tunnel, when, without a moment's warning, the 
 dynamite went off, decapitating Robinson and 
 exposing his lungs to view. Maloney was struck 
 over the eye by a piece of rock, which was forced 
 through the skull, and his brains were oozing 
 out. Big Paddy Burns, who was standing at 
 Maloney 's side, was knocked down, receiving a 
 shower of rock canister in the side of the head. 
 He thought he was killed, and bellowed lustily 
 for the priest. The men who were around gave 
 him a stimulant to keep him alive, until the 
 priest arrived. Paddj r , however, bewailed his 
 sad fate, keeping up the monotonous cn r : "I'm 
 dead, I'm dead. Why did I not die at home with 
 my father ?" This cry reached my ears when I 
 hurried in to see Paddy. I said, ' 'There is nothing 
 the matter with you; come, no more of this." 
 The poor fellow was seriously hurt, but the 
 
 46 
 
FROM DAIXAS TO TELLURIDE 
 
 strength of his voice showed that he was far from 
 being dead. That night we removed him to the 
 hospital, where he remained six months, during 
 which time a splinter now and then worked its 
 way out of the skull to the great amusement of 
 the boys and the dismay of Paddy. Finally, he 
 left the hospital and the mountains, too, and went 
 back to the north of Ireland, where I trust the 
 faith he kept so well in this country will grow 
 with the years to come. 
 
 Fred and myself arrived at Porter's safe and 
 sound. Day was just breaking and a keen wind 
 was sweeping down from the heights. From 
 Porter's to the Virginius there is a burro trail, 
 which is not wide enough for a horse, especially 
 when going up a mountain, heavily loaded. 
 Swaying from side to side and stumbling now and 
 again, the animal must rest every few yards 
 for the rarity of the atmosphere and the abrupt- 
 ness of the ascent. This zigzag manner of moving 
 makes the distance to the summit three times 
 that of the airline. The snow was very deep. If 
 the horse stepped off the well-beaten burro tracks 
 he was sure to go down, carrying the rider with 
 him, and once on the roll, it was hard to tell 
 where he would stop. 
 
 We got along fairly well, until we came within 
 a mile of the Virginius. The higher we rose, the 
 colder it grew, and a chilling blast came over 
 the bare heights, filling the path with a fine 
 searching snow. Fred was in the lead and 
 carried the vestments. I had the chalice and other 
 necessaries stowed away behind me on my saddle 
 in a small hand grip. Fred came to a place 
 which was full of drifted snow. Alighting, he 
 tramped out a path for the horse as nearly as 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 possible in the old trail, and began to lead the 
 animal over it. When nearly over the bad place, 
 the horse stepped off the trail, went down to his 
 neck, floundered a little, and lay there. We 
 tried to make him rise, but he would not budge. 
 At last we put a rope around his neck, which I 
 pulled, Fred taking him by the tail, and we slid 
 him over the danger spot and got him to his feet. 
 Meanwhile my horse was eying the operation, 
 as he stood quiet on the trail. Just as I ap- 
 proached him, about to take the reins and lead 
 him over, one of his fore feet slipped from the 
 path on the up-hill side. I pulled him back, 
 but as I pulled too hard he missed the trail and 
 lopped over on the other side. He made a 
 tremendous effort to regain his feet, threw his 
 head high and fell backwards down the moun- 
 tain. I let the reins go and he shot down over 
 and over, breaking through the frozen snow and 
 missing a large stump by about a foot. Down 
 the mountain side he sped, crossing the trail 
 two hundred yards from where I was and re- 
 crossing it a hundred yards further down; he 
 stopped about twenty feet from the trail, up to his 
 neck in snow. He turned around and tried to 
 come back to the trail, but after a few fruitless 
 efforts to release himself lay down. Fred said to 
 me, ' 'You might as well shoot him, you cannot 
 get him back on the trail again, besides I think 
 he is badly hurt." But I did not believe it and 
 so we went down the mountain. The horse was 
 uninjured, and neighed at our approach. We 
 tramped the snow and moved him a short dis- 
 tance; then putting a rope around his neck I got 
 behind a tree and pulled, while Fred pushed, and 
 by this means we brought the animal close to the 
 
 48 
 
FROM DALLAS TO TKLLURIDE 
 
 trail. Then, unsaddling him, we put the saddle 
 blanket under his feet and finally hauled him on 
 to the trail. There we tied him to a tree, and 
 upon examining the grip found the chalice bent 
 but not broken; whereupon, letting the horse 
 loose, we turned him back to Porter's and we on 
 foot went up to the Virginius. The other horse we 
 drove before us with the vestments and our over- 
 coats tied upon the saddle. We were glad to 
 reach solid ground by eight o'clock that morning. 
 We turned the horse over to the care of the 
 packers, instructing them to take him back to 
 Porter's, where they were to feed both horses un- 
 til the next day, when we expected to return from 
 Telluride. 
 
 After a brief rest, we resumed our journey. 
 Back of the Virginius the mountain rises at an 
 angle of over forty-five degrees. Up, then, this 
 almost inaccessible height, which at that season 
 of the year was very slippery, were two heavy 
 men climbing, heavily burdened and puffing like 
 whales. We held on for dear life at every step 
 on the glary mountain side. During the January 
 thaw several men had come over the range, and, 
 sinking in the snow, left great holes, which proved 
 to be of much service to us, for by taking hold of 
 the edges and putting our feet in the old tracks 
 we were enabled to scramble along with some 
 sense of security. From time to time we rested 
 for a moment and calculated the distance we had 
 to make. After much backing and filling, we 
 arrived at the top, coming out on a desert of 
 broken rocks where the antediluvian Titans 
 played baseball with mighty boulders and, may- 
 hap, employed the chain gang of the day in 
 working out their fines. After another pause of 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 short duration for rest and inspection of our sur- 
 roundings, we sat on the snow and looked down 
 on the Sheridan mine, which seemed to be within 
 a stone's throw; but the distance down that hill- 
 side in the light atmosphere was deceiving. 
 The story is told of a newcomer who fancied he 
 ran the risk of drowning when he attempted to 
 cross a little thread of water that lay in his path 
 on the plains of Colorado. However that may 
 be, the mine seemed to be much nearer to us 
 than it really was. Here Fred began to groan 
 and said he had cramps. He threw himself at 
 full length on the snow and fairly screamed with 
 pain. I rubbed him and gave him some relief. 
 He was so exhausted that on the way down the 
 mountain I had to shoulder the load and keep far 
 ahead of him. Fasting as I was, how I longed 
 to break off a piece of the frozen snow and cool 
 my burning tongue and parched lips! The crust 
 on the snow was not hard enough to hold me up, 
 so again I picked my way in the old tracks, 
 which the miners had made coming up the moun- 
 tain; but they were too short on the down trip 
 and particularly distressing for one who was 
 much fatigued . We stopped at intervals to breathe 
 and I coaxed and encouraged Fred to hold out, 
 the Sheridan being near at hand. Thus step by 
 step we plodded along until at last, ready to drop 
 from fatigue, we arrived at the mine. 
 
 We telephoned to Telluride that we would be 
 on time for the funeral. Fred took some hot 
 coffee, and we directed our course to Telluride. 
 The horses were good and had sharp shoes, so 
 there was little danger of slipping. I took the 
 lead and did not spare the whip. Along the 
 wall of the mountain, near the Sheridan mill, 
 
 50 
 
FROM DALLAS TO TEIXURIDE 
 
 the trail is very narrow and skirted by a prec- 
 ipice. Unfortunately a burro train was coming 
 up right at this spot. There must have been 
 more than one hundred burros in the path- 
 way. The driver was cursing and swearing, and 
 a Scotch collie kept nipping the heels of the don- 
 keys. How we were to pass, that was the problem. 
 Burros will not leave the road when carrying a 
 load and they move so mechanically and, it may 
 be added, stupidly, that they crowd one into the 
 ditch. Fred cautioned me and he kept on the 
 inside. I did my best to follow him, but the 
 burros pushed my horse over to the edge, and 
 had I not sprung from the saddle, quickly backecl 
 the animal to the edge and kept his fore feet well 
 on the road, I should have been the principal, 
 and not the witness, of a funeral. We escaped 
 serious accident in the sequel, and came to the 
 little valley in which is situated the city of Tel- 
 luride. 
 
 Again Fred was seized with the cramps. I was 
 obliged to help him out of the saddle and lay him 
 on the roadside. After hard rubbing I enabled 
 him to rise and take to the saddle. At that time 
 there was no church, Catholic or non- Catholic, 
 there; the courthouse, which was a respectable 
 building, was used for all kinds of meetings, and 
 by everyone. Shows, lectures, dances, revival 
 meetings, church fairs were all held in the temple 
 of justice. I usually said mass at Mrs. Margow- 
 ski's, but on state occasions I went to the court- 
 house, and on this occasion the funeral services 
 were performed there, the majority of those pres- 
 ent being Cornish men. At that time few Amer- 
 icans could get work in the Sheridan mine, which 
 employed some three hundred men. The Cor- 
 
 51 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 nish are fine looking fellows, with broad shoul- 
 ders, of a stocky build and swaggering carriage. 
 They had the reputation of being first-class 
 miners, it may have been because in their native 
 country they had so much experience in this line 
 of occupation. There were hundreds of them in 
 Telluride, where they practically ran the town. 
 Lovers of good cheer, they spent their money 
 freely, and fairly made the town howl during 
 their all-night carousals. They turned out bj^ 
 the hundred for the funeral and the little court- 
 house was packed. I said mass and preached an 
 appropriate discourse. After mass I took break- 
 fast and by the time the friends of the deceased 
 had taken a last look at the corpse I was ready 
 to repair to the Lone Tree Cemetery, where we 
 left all that was mortal of poor Flannigan. 
 
 Returning, I said my office, and after dinner 
 made some parochial visits to the few Catholics 
 in Telluride and informed them that I should say 
 mass next morning at Mrs. Margowski's. Toward 
 evening I paid a visit to Mr. Ferdinand Kramer, 
 a gentleman who is known to the world of 
 literature under the nom de plume of "Credo." 
 It is an appropriate designation for an uncom- 
 promising Catholic, who is a ripe scholar, hard 
 student and polished writer. The bent of his 
 mind is philosophical, but no subject concerning 
 man and his best interests is strange to Credo. 
 His style of composition is clear, terse and ele- 
 gant. Besides devoting himself to literary work, 
 he has skilfully edited a weekly newspaper in the 
 south-western country. The Colorado Catholic 
 contains regular contributions from the facile pen 
 of Mr. Kramer. A graduate of Cornell Uni- 
 versity, and by profession a civil engineer, he has 
 
FROM DALLAS TO TELLURIDE 
 
 surveyed much of the San Juan country, and pos- 
 sessing large interests in one of the great enter- 
 prises of San Miguel County, he bids fair to be- 
 come one of the wealthiest and most useful men 
 in that section. Often before the morning star 
 veiled its face in the light of the sun have I said 
 mass in this gentleman's cabin at San Miguel, 
 and just as often has he approached the sacred 
 table to refresh himself with the bread of angels. 
 Breakfast over, we sat together talking on liter- 
 ary or religious subjects, while awaiting the 
 sound of the Dallas-bound stage. 
 
 Next morning the few Catholics of the town 
 were promptly at hand and many of them received 
 the blessed sacrament of the Eucharist. About 
 nine Fred Thornton, who had slept most of the 
 time since his arrival at Telluride, was up and 
 ready for the home trip. We took our mounts 
 and started for the Sheridan mine, upon reaching 
 which our programme was to turn our horses 
 back, walk up to the top of the range and then 
 down to Porter's, where the other horses had 
 been left the previous day. We arrived at the 
 top of the range by one o'clock and ate the sand- 
 wiches which the thoughtful Mrs. Margowski 
 had put into our grip to help us on the way. 
 We came to Porter's in good time and, mounting 
 our horses, rode down the mountain to Ouray, 
 which we reached early in the evening. 
 
 As the reader may like to know something 
 more of the companion of my trip, I shall add a 
 few words about him. The following spring he 
 went with his partner to work on some claims 
 which they j ointly owned . It was about midsum- 
 mer, and I happened to be at Silverton, having 
 gone thither the previous Saturday for the Sun- 
 
 53 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 day service. In the afternoon of that day I re- 
 ceived word by telephone that Fred Thornton 
 was dying of heart disease, and that I must make 
 all haste to Ouray. I had just then one of the 
 best bronchos in that country. The horse was 
 Jack McMahon's and as I was thinking of buying 
 him, the owner let me have him on trial. But he 
 had a chronic saddle-sore on his back, which 
 broke out from time to time, thus rendering him 
 of little value to one who was in the saddle three 
 days of the week. For all that Bill was a first- 
 class stepper; he could trot, pace or run. I rode 
 the animal from Rico in eight hours, stopping an 
 hour at Ophir, and crossing two ranges of moun- 
 tains. I had a heavy saddle, my vestments and 
 overcoat. It was equal to a seventy-five mile 
 ride on the level road. I let the horse go slowly 
 for a time, until he got warmed up, then I gave t 
 him a free rein, and he made Red Mountain in 
 fifty minutes and Ouray in forty-five more. 
 Warm and tired, the animal was full of go still, 
 and I was forced to pull hard on the reins from 
 Red Mountain to Ouray. My arms were tired 
 and the horse's mouth was bleeding from his con- 
 stant champing on the bit. 
 
 I found Fred sitting up in the chair, but after 
 a glance at him saw he was going rapidly. The 
 blood in his face was congested, his lips were 
 growing purple, and he began to exhibit signs of 
 drowsiness. He raised his eyes, put out his cold 
 hand and grasped mine, saying: "Father, you 
 came in a hurry." I said, "Yes, Fred, I was 
 bound to be here in time, if I had to come on the 
 saddle without a horse." Fred smiled and said, 
 "I am not long for this world, I believe I shall 
 never see another sunrise." I could offer no 
 
 54 
 
FROM DALLAS TO TELLURIDE 
 
 word of encouragement to the dying man, so I 
 told him to prepare for death and I administered 
 to him the last rites of the church. The sisters 
 repeated the prayers for the dying and in the 
 hush of the midnight, his soul winged its flight 
 to the better land. His body, with that of many 
 others, lies mouldering in Ouray's cemetery, 
 awaiting the final resurrection, when there will be 
 no more break-neck rides or death-dealing snow- 
 slides. 
 
 5b 
 
FOURTH SKETCH 
 
 FROM time to time I went into the mountains 
 and held religious services at some cabin 
 which was a centre of resort for the neighbor- 
 hood. Here, on the long winter evenings, as well 
 as Sundays, the people gathered, — the young to 
 become acquainted with one another, and the old 
 to exercise their ingenuity in arranging matches 
 for their children and friends. The sagacious 
 dame kept a watchful eye for the young man of 
 steady habits, who chanced to possess the fee of a 
 large, well-stocked ranch. Such an eligible catch 
 won favor with the eager matron whose subtle 
 strokes of diplomacy began with the regulation 
 courtesy, the softest chair in the room and a 
 pressing invitation to tea. It put one in mind of 
 the old-fashioned quilting or corn-husking bee 
 of half a century ago, to observe the ladj^'s 
 strategy, and it would take such keen students of 
 manners and customs as were the writers of the 
 Spectato?' fitly to describe the delicate manoeuvres 
 of the wary mother. 
 
 In my parish, there were several of those 
 centres where I used to say mass, teach the 
 children Christian doctrine and, upon occasion, 
 administer the sacraments, and not one of them 
 was more attractive than that of Sim Noel, whose 
 name tells his French descent. He lived on the 
 top of the Divide between Dallas and Placerville, 
 where, at an elevation of about 10,000 feet, 
 he owned a ranch of five or six hundred acres. 
 His log cabin stood close to the stage road, in 
 the shelter of a little hill, and a stream of spring 
 water softly murmured at the door-step, inviting 
 
 56 
 
A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 
 
 the passing cavalier to stop and let his broncho 
 drink from the overflowing trough that was con- 
 siderately set there. If he was given to soci- 
 ability he spent a few moments in small talk 
 with such members of the family as were en- 
 gaged in out-door occupations. Sim kept what 
 might be called a road-house and the ladies were 
 skilled in preparing a good meal for the way- 
 farer, — fresh milk, fresh eggs and fresh veal with 
 rare vegetables from the root house, fresh at 
 any season of the year — making the wayside inn a 
 delectable place of refreshment for the most ex- 
 acting traveler. In the summer the trout forced 
 their way up the stream to the very door, and 
 when crisped on the pan, constituted a palatable 
 tidbit for the epicure. That Sim had cosmo- 
 politan tendencies may be inferred from the cir- 
 cumstance that one of his sons-in-law was an 
 Irishman, another a Frenchman and a third an 
 American; and that his ways were progressive, 
 appeared from the fact that some of the girls of 
 his family were expert rifle shots, standing in the 
 front rank of the Ouray Rifle Club. 
 
 A few miles from this place, and to the south- 
 east, old Sneffles, with his flossy locks of purest 
 white, stood grand, placid and serene as the 
 summer sea in the sunlight. To the south, thous- 
 ands of acres of fertile land stretched away, 
 with pines of ample girth so distributed as to 
 offer pleasing retreats for camping out. At this 
 altitude it is unnecessary to irrigate the soil, the 
 rainfall in the spring and the summer being co- 
 pious, and wheat, oats, potatoes, timothy, with a 
 variety of vegetables, are produced in great 
 abundance. This favored region is a paradise 
 for stock in summer and autumn. Through the 
 
 57 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 openings of pine and spruce on the plateau, the 
 grass in some places grows two feet high. The 
 luxuriant vegetation, the different kinds of 
 grasses, the flowers, the climbing vines, the rich 
 soil, remind one of the tropics, but, the period of 
 growth being very short, cereals, vegetables and 
 fruits indigenous to the altitude, mature quickly. 
 A warm night is as strange as snow in the Sa- 
 hara desert, so you may rest comfortable un- 
 der a pair of blankets the hottest night. To the 
 east, this lofty tableland falls in undulating slopes 
 to the valley of the Dallas. A stream of the 
 same name, rising in the dense timber at the foot 
 of Mount Sneffles on the north, drains the low- 
 lands, forms a junction with the Uncompaghre 
 and flowing on to Montrose, swells the volume of 
 the river Grand. To the west, the land declines 
 gently to the canon of the San Miguel, where, 
 far below, the river San Miguel, with musical 
 cadence, rushes on to join the waters that flow 
 into the Pacific. To the south, at a distance of 
 nine or ten miles Tellurideward, the country is 
 rough, hilly, and not well adapted for cultivation, 
 but there are many well-tilled valleys, and the 
 adjoining hills provide a rich supply of fuel and 
 grass. It was in this charming vicinity that now 
 and then I pitched my tent, attended to the spir- 
 itual wants of the scattered flock, and enjoyed 
 Sim Noel's hospitality. It was in summer an 
 agreeable place to spend a few days, but the cold 
 in winter is so severe as to leave aching memories 
 of the season. 
 
 One summer Father S — k, of Chicago, came 
 to Ouray. He was in search of mineral speci- 
 mens, flowers, bugs, or any natural curiosities 
 that might promote the study of science. Al- 
 
 5S 
 
A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 
 
 though a man of sixty-eight years, he braved 
 the great altitudes and dense woods of south- 
 western Colorado with all the alacrity of a young 
 man, and he lost no opportunity of ministering 
 to the religious needs of the Slavs and Scandina- 
 vians in the mountains. Distinguished as a 
 professor, scientist and polyglot, he was a zealous 
 missionary, worthy of the days of the apostles. 
 Chicago, notably St. Ignatius' College in that 
 city owes no small debt of gratitude to the reverend 
 scientist for the magnificent collection of miner- 
 als, flora and insects which he made on his 
 mountain trips. Upon mentioning the purpose 
 of his visit I suggested an outing in the region 
 I have tried to describe. Father S — k was 
 pleased and grateful for the offer. I furnished 
 the tent and horses, and we took with us rations 
 for three days. I had a big black horse which 
 had the habit of balking. He was also some- 
 what foundered, and shied from time to time on 
 mountain roads. Once I had a rather droll mis- 
 adventure, while riding this animal under some 
 trees. All of a sudden he sprang aside and left 
 me, like Absalom, hanging to a branch, not by 
 the hair, but by the hands. For the capricious 
 animal I paid the snug sum of eighty dollars, 
 and, upon the recommendation of a Christian 
 gentleman. I pause a moment to remark, 
 * 'What fools we mortals be!" So, one glorious 
 morning, about the first of September, Father 
 S — k, Father L — n, — a friend of no mean avoir- 
 dupois, who was staying with me, — Bobby 
 Burns, the cook, and myself set out on our expe- 
 dition in the interests of religion and science. We 
 thought at first that Sim Noel's place would be 
 a convenient headquarters for our campaign, 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 but on reconsidering the matter, unanimously 
 agreed that the proper thing was to camp out. We 
 had our coats, blankets and guns, — in a word, a 
 commissariat, fit for a descent on Cuba. The first 
 fifteen miles of the journey we covered without 
 an accident and arrived at the little town of 
 Ridgeway, which lies at the junction of the Rio 
 Grande Southern and the Ouray branch from 
 Montrose. The town enjoyed stirring times 
 while the railroad was in process of construction 
 to Telluride, but when the latter was completed, 
 the depreciation in the value of silver made 
 money scarce and Ridgeway dull. There were 
 few Catholics in the place, but for all that we 
 erected a neat little church. I may say here 
 that I put in some days of as hard work on that 
 little edifice, as well as on one at the neighboring 
 town of Ironton, as I ever did on Iowa's broad 
 prairies, standing before the canvas of a Marsh 
 harvester or beating out the share of a breaking- 
 plow. 
 
 As you skirt the foot hills a mile out from 
 Ridgeway, the road takes a sharp turn into the 
 mountains and the ascent is quite precipitous. I 
 had a pretty good load on the express wagon, the 
 horse hitched up with the black was light but 
 gritty, and I took a run at the hill. Just as I got 
 within a few feet of the top the black horse took 
 it into his head to balk, stopped and began to 
 back down. I whipped, the horse kicked and 
 the reverend Fathers shouted and besought me to 
 let them out; but I would not accede to their 
 wishes and they were afraid to jump, as one was 
 old and the other a heavy-weight. The horse 
 kept letting the wagon down, and I had great 
 trouble to keep the road without tipping over. 
 
A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 
 
 At last I allowed my companions to alight, and 
 procuring a stout stick, made the refractory 
 black go up the hill on the jump. It was two in 
 the afternoon when we chose a camping ground, 
 expecting to move on later in the day. Having 
 fed the horses and taken our lunch, with rifle in 
 hand I strolled forth in search of a deer, while 
 Father I, — n took a shotgun and Sam, the Irish 
 setter, and went gunning for grouse. Father 
 S — k was turning over logs, looking for bugs, 
 and Bobby Burns was making preparations to 
 dine the clergy in the evening. Plunging into 
 the dense growth of pines I advanced far down 
 the slope for an hour or more, until the sun 
 warned me that it was time to retrace my steps; 
 so I swung around in a half circle, expecting to 
 make camp before dark. Suddenly I heard two 
 or three deer rushing through the woods at a 
 high rate of speed, but I could see none. I 
 thought of the bears which were quite numerous 
 in the dark glens and thick underbrush, but I 
 must confess I had no desire to meet them just 
 then. 
 
 Bears are still numerous in some parts of Colo- 
 rado and a person has a feeling of loneliness, if not 
 dread, when in the thick timber, deep canons, or 
 on the lonely trails most likely to be frequented by 
 those savage animals. Several years ago a miner 
 going over the trail between Rico and Durango 
 had an encounter with a bear, which deserves 
 mention in these sketches. The miner was un- 
 armed and pursuing his way over the short cuts 
 and trails which lead hither and thither from the 
 main road. He had not even so much as a jack- 
 knife or a good stick with which he might defend 
 himself. Leaving the main road to shorten his 
 
 61 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 way, he plunged down the gulches over the wooded 
 hills and through the dense copse of underbrush, 
 following a cattle path or deer trail. Coming to 
 one of those scrub-oak hills he found himself in 
 a small park in the midst of the thicket. What 
 was his horror on looking around, when he be- 
 held a large cinnamon bear! There she stood 
 with her two cubs. For a moment the man was 
 seized with fright and before he could realize his 
 situation, she turned and, rising on her hind feet, 
 came toward him with open jaws and outstretched 
 paws. There was no opportunity to run, for 
 she began the fight at once. He was a power- 
 fully built man but had only muscle and a thinly 
 clad body to oppose claws four or five inches 
 long and teeth which could easily crush the arm 
 of a giant. For a few moments the miner par- 
 ried the blows as best he could, but always with 
 the loss of a part of his clothing, which was torn 
 away by the long claws of the bear. Finally, 
 having lacerated his arms and breast, with one 
 fell stroke she opened his scalp to the back of his 
 neck, knocking him down and placing her huge 
 paws on his breast ready to devour him. In- 
 stinctively she turned to look for her cubs and as 
 they were not in sight, left her bleeding victim 
 and hastened in the direction they had taken. 
 The miner fainted. How long he la} 7 there he 
 knew not. At last he came to, and to his horror 
 heard the bear crushing through the brush at no 
 great distance. Gathering his remaining 
 strength and staggering from his great loss of 
 blood, he dragged himself to his feet and fled 
 along the trail with all the haste he could make. 
 He at length reached a farm house and was taken 
 at once to Durango, where the ph}~sician sewed 
 
 62 
 
A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 
 
 up his torn scalp and body. After many months 
 he got well and still lives. 
 
 The next morning four stalwart hunters left 
 Durango to visit Mrs. Bruin. They had scarcely 
 entered her dominions when they espied her on 
 a little hillside; she, too, was on the alert and saw 
 them. Without a moment's hesitation she came 
 down to meet them. The cubs followed her, but, 
 mother-like, she turned round and pushed them 
 back with her nose. One of the cubs still perse- 
 vered in coming, and going back she struck him 
 on the head with her open paw and sent him 
 back up the hill howling. The hunters waited 
 until she got within fifty yards and then poured 
 into her big body a deadly volley which laid her 
 low. The cubs were treated in the same manner 
 as their mother and the boys returned to town 
 proud of their trophies. 
 
 Meanwhile the darkness was closing around 
 me, and I found I was lost. Deer trails and 
 cattle trails crossed and recrossed one another, 
 so that I could not take my bearings. After 
 groping to and fro in a place that, to my disturbed 
 fancy, seemed not unlike the fathomless abyss of 
 Schiller's Diver, I was delighted when I came to 
 a little opening, and, standing upon a high rock, 
 fired off my rifle three times at intervals of about 
 three minutes and waited for an answer. After 
 the third report I caught to the left, and in the 
 opposite direction from which I had been mov- 
 ing, the dull sound of a shotgun; and in a few 
 minutes was in camp. Bobby was not there and 
 my two clerical friends had retired for the night, 
 each having chosen a pine tree as a back stop. 
 This novel kind of couch they adopted as no 
 tent had been put up. The fire was burning low 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 and I replenished it so that I might have some 
 warm supper. Having refreshed the inner man I 
 turned in, or rather out, and wrapped in my ulster 
 and blanket, supported my back against a tree. 
 I tried to sleep, but sleep under such circumstances 
 was not easy. The night turned bitterly cold and 
 every little while I arose, dragged a few logs to 
 the fire, and cheered up my companions with the 
 blaze, which, owing to their remote position un- 
 der the trees, imparted to them more light than 
 warmth. Father S — k complained of having 
 chills, and Father L, — n could stand the cold no 
 longer, so I got up once more and found every- 
 thing covered with a thick hoar frost. Upon in- 
 specting the contents of the wagon I discovered 
 some more clothes, which I distributed among my 
 companions and piled more wood on the fire. I 
 decanted into a little pail some wine which we 
 had taken for an emergency and placed the pail 
 on the fire. It did not take long to boil, and 
 pouring out a liberal dose of the medicine into a 
 tin cup, I approached Father S — k, who was in 
 a shivering condition, and at the point of a gun 
 commanded him to drink it down. Father L — n 
 was obliged to submit to the same imperious 
 treatment, and then the medicineman bethought 
 himself that he, too, was on the point of a chill. 
 It is needless to say that we all felt better for the 
 seasonable decoction; but sleep for the night had 
 fled from our eyes, and we sat around the fire, 
 while Father S — k indulged in long and divert- 
 ing accounts of his scientific explorations. 
 
 With the dawn Bobby appeared on the scene 
 and proceeded to get breakfast. He explained 
 his absence by saying that he had gone to a 
 logging camp a mile away, and finding good quar- 
 
A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 
 
 ters there, remained over night. After breakfast 
 we resolved to decamp. We could not find 
 Father L, — n's Sunday coat, a fine broadcloth, 
 and looked everything over and over, but to 
 no purpose. We concluded that it had been lost 
 the previous day; so, jumping on one of the horses, 
 I rode back a distance of three miles to the main 
 road, but found no coat. The Fathers had in the 
 meantime searched the camp again and again, and 
 when they beheld me on my return empty handed, 
 they seemed to be quite disappointed. I drew in 
 my horse, and facing them cried out, ' 'No coat' ' ; 
 just then I noticed that Father S — k looked quite 
 bulky and I inquired, "Father, how many coats 
 have you on?' ' "Of course only my own," he re- 
 plied. I sprang from the horse and going up to 
 him discovered to my surprise that he was wear- 
 ing three coats, one of which, upon examination, 
 proved to be the Sunday broadcloth. We were 
 all well pleased and had a good laugh at Father 
 S — k. Having cleared up the camp, we departed 
 on the journey home and reached Ouray that 
 evening, deerless, grouseless, but not bugless, 
 for Father S — k carried back with him a fair sup- 
 ply of beetles and also some mineral specimens. 
 
 A few weeks after our excursion I received a 
 sick call to the head of Turkey Creek, which is 
 all of fifty-five miles from Ouray. The message 
 came in the early evening, and I set out on horse- 
 back with the messenger. L,ong before we 
 reached the summit of the divide, darkness had 
 set in, and as we approached Sim Noel's a north 
 wind, accompanied by a drenching rain, swept 
 over the treeless hills that embrace the creek. 
 The lightning played on the hills and sent 
 through the low drifting clouds intermittent 
 
 65 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 flashes of brightness which illumined the inky- 
 darkness of our way. From Noel's to Placer- 
 ville the road is down hill for fourteen miles. 
 The rain came down with full force, and in some 
 places the horses could scarcely keep their feet. 
 Our progress therefore was slow, and it must have 
 been after eleven o'clock when we reached Placer- 
 ville. We remained at the hotel for an hour, fed 
 our horses and then resumed our journey up the 
 Miguel to the mouth of Turkey Creek. The 
 rain was still falling, but not so heavily as 
 to make it uncomfortable in the saddle. The 
 clouds were breaking and drifting in leaden 
 banks, and now and then showers beat into our 
 faces. The wagon road up the creek is a miser- 
 able affair, and at that time it was washed out and 
 cut up by the rain of the past month. Our 
 jaded beasts were permitted to have their own 
 way, so for fully eight miles we advanced very 
 slowly. Time and again the horses, unable to 
 proceed, stood and panted. About two in the 
 morning the rain began to come down again in 
 torrents. Fortunately being near an old mining 
 camp at the head of the creek, where there was 
 a village of empty houses, we dismounted and 
 led our horses into one of the vacant dwellings. 
 Our mackintoshes had kept us dry and excepting 
 our knees, we were in fairly good trim. Lying 
 down in a corner of the cabin we went to sleep, 
 exhausted from our long ride, and when we woke 
 it was broad daylight. We led out our horses 
 and let them eat of the long grass which grew 
 there, and then mounting, we hastened to the sick 
 man. The head of Turkey Creek meant, I ascer- 
 tained, a vast area of country, for it was noon 
 when we drew up at a cabin not far from the 
 
 66 
 
A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 
 
 TJnaweep. The country which we had traversed 
 was new to me and my wonder was excited at 
 the rich soil, heavy grasses and bountiful supply 
 of streams and timber which characterized it. 
 Deer were very plentiful and many coveys of 
 grouse were visible on the trail. 
 
 We found the sick man in an advanced stage 
 of consumption and after a series of fresh hem- 
 orrhages; but although in his last moments, he 
 was cheerful and happy. He had come from 
 New York to the west; and to regain his health, 
 plunged into the very depths of the pine forest, 
 the odorous balsam of which is beneficial to those 
 who have weak lungs. But he came too late, as 
 was evident from his emaciated condition, and he 
 had but a short time on earth. His ardent 
 desire was to live long enough to return east and 
 see his mother. He spoke of death and the here- 
 after with a loftier cheerfulness and calmness 
 than Plato's master, and while lamenting the 
 separation from his mother, which he knew was 
 near at hand, he prayed earnestly that his 
 Heavenly Father would grant him the happiness 
 of seeing her once more. After my arrival he 
 grew rapidly better and became even more ani- 
 mated, which was no doubt due to the grace of 
 the last sacraments of the church. The young 
 man had every comfort which money could pro- 
 cure, — a servant to wait on him, a choice assort- 
 ment of books, musical instruments and even a 
 kodak. The servant man was a queer customer. 
 His master called him "Shinny," and the nick- 
 name may have found some authority for 
 its use in the singular character of the man; but 
 he was faithful and thoughtful for the invalid, 
 for whom he considered nothing too good. From 
 
 67 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 the brook, which was close by the cabin, he caught 
 the trout which he cooked with good taste; he 
 scoured the woods for young grouse and sought 
 far and wide everything that was likely to give 
 an appetite to the sick man. In his search for 
 game his daily companion was a hairless Mexican 
 dog , whose bare state caused the burros to lift up 
 their philosophical winkers in admiration. On one 
 occasion Shinny tracked a deer and followed him 
 over a ridge through the thick oak brush, but of 
 course the fleet animal got away from the unso- 
 phisticated hunter, and the sportsman returned 
 home, disgusted. But he acquired some experi- 
 ence, for that night he tossed and scratched con- 
 tinually. In the morning he found himself cov- 
 ered with wood- ticks; it was a case where the 
 biter gets bitten, and indeed it is no easy task to 
 get rid of those little insects that burrow deep 
 into the flesh. Shinny's speech had the cockney 
 peculiarity, as he never sounded, not the h, but 
 the r, in his words when it was proper to do so, 
 as he himself said he was a gentleman from 
 Boston, and presumably, therefore, a person of 
 culture. He also possessed the not uncommon 
 ability of talking on a subject of which he knew T 
 little if anything, and his bump of curiosity was 
 so well developed that it did not take him long to 
 learn something of the history of everyone he 
 met. In the pursuit of knowledge, however, 
 like persons of his prying quality, he sometimes 
 encountered laughable rebuffs. His master told 
 me that a stranger who rode on the train between 
 Kansas City and Durango, with Shinny and him- 
 self, got even with the former, who had his eyes 
 and ears open all along the route and was swal- 
 lowing in everything he heard and saw. Having 
 
 
A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 
 
 been bred in a great city, his ideas of the country 
 and agricultural arts were like Horace Greeley's 
 knowledge of farming. While passing through 
 the prairies he saw many stacks of wheat, of 
 which he knew nothing, so he applied for infor- 
 mation to the stranger. He was to the soil born 
 and dilating on the subject of wheat raising, ex- 
 plained minutely everything connected with it, 
 from the time the seed went into the ground 
 until the consumer bought the loaf of bread. 
 The gentleman also descanted upon oats, barley, 
 potatoes, in fact everything that grew, to the 
 child-like delight of Shinny, who, when the train 
 reached Durango, saw a big Navajo Indian 
 standing on the platform. This was a reve- 
 lation to him. The strange being was arrayed 
 in a calico dress of many colors, his shirt waist 
 was trimmed in beads and shells, his hair in a 
 knot of braid fell over his shoulders, and his 
 trousers had various stripes, while on his head 
 rested a large Mexican hat with a leather strap 
 for a band, and flung in a careless manner over 
 his left shoulder was a beautiful blanket. He 
 was talking to a white man and was greatly 
 worked up over something. Shinny was all on 
 fire to know who he was, so although his oblig- 
 ing companion was helping the sick man with his 
 baggage, the man from Boston could not restrain 
 his curiosity, but running up cried out, ' 'Tell me, 
 sir, who is that? What countryman is he? 
 Where does he come from?" The stockman 
 turned quickly around and replied: "I should 
 judge from his general get up and all he has to 
 say, that he is a gentleman from Boston." The 
 crest-fallen Shinny had no more to say that day. 
 I remained with the sick man until ten o'clock 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 the next day and then went by West Dolores 
 to Rico, where I said mass the following Sunday. 
 I organized a committee of Catholics and took 
 suitable steps for the construction of a church, 
 which materialized under the supervision of my 
 successors. 
 
 Next day I started from Rico to Ouray by way 
 of Trout L,ake, w r hich is a romantic sheet of 
 water. Nestled in the bosom of mountains of 
 solid rock, it teems with mountain trout, and is an 
 ideal spot for the fisherman who has not the pa- 
 tience to sit on a log for hours and w r ait for a 
 bite. It is also the source of the power used in 
 some of the adjacent mines. Not many miles to 
 the west is the famous Mount Wilson, the shin- 
 ing guide to many a lone traveler on the moun- 
 tain trail. 
 
 Following the old trail, which worms its way 
 from Trout I,ake to Ophir, I came out in a little 
 canon, at the head of which is Ophir camp. A 
 stream of clear water, wmich forms a junction 
 with the San Miguel a short distance below, 
 rushes along at a rapid rate. At this point the 
 spectator beholds one of the grandest feats of en- 
 gineering in the state on the Rio Grande South- 
 ern. To the ordinary layman, the impossible 
 would confronthimin the construction of this aerial 
 line of travel. Like a serpent, wriggling along 
 these mighty walls of granite, or stealing cautious- 
 ly over a trestle work far above the ground, the 
 iron horse may be seen day after day making its 
 way to Ridgeway to deliver mineral and passen- 
 gers on the way to Denver and the east. A short 
 distance higher up the town of Ophir is situated, 
 rich in auriferous ores, and containing some of 
 the most valuable mines in the whole country. 
 
 70 
 
A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 
 
 Time and money will make this forgotten camp 
 one of the best in the southwest. A hotel and 
 livery stable, with a few neat cottages dotting the 
 hillsides around, constitute the town. Here I 
 took dinner, rested my broncho for an hour, and 
 speeding homeward, jumped from the saddle in 
 Ouray that evening, after a journey of over fifty 
 miles. 
 
 The following November I received from the 
 mother of the young man of whom I have 
 spoken a letter thanking me, at the request of 
 her son, for the little acts of kindness I had 
 shown him, and informing me that two weeks 
 before he had passed to the great beyond. Per- 
 haps she retained in her service the faithful 
 Shinny to lighten the burden it pleased God to 
 put upon her, and that he recounts to her in his 
 own chatty way the many strange things which 
 he saw and heard in the land of mountains and 
 plains, 
 
 71 
 
FIFTH SKETCH 
 
 WE had a literary society during the winter 
 months in Ouray. The society was small; 
 so much the better, perhaps, for individ- 
 uality of character is often lost in big societies, 
 but the few members who were seriously given 
 to self-improvement have attained distinction. 
 The aim of the association was practical, and 
 questions — moral, social and economical — occa- 
 sioned lively debate. While the speculative was 
 not ignored, the main purpose was to teach 
 how to do the right thing at the right time, and 
 educate the members to be useful. The pro- 
 ceedings of the meetings, which were held once 
 a week, were orderly, and little time was spent 
 on the minutes of the previous meetings or per- 
 sonal explanations, or wasted in mere rhetorical 
 display. It was in a word a school of sense, not 
 of show. 
 
 At that time the Irish Land League under the 
 eminent but ill-starred Parnell engaged the at- 
 tention of Europe and America. I had been 
 more or less identified with the Irish cause from 
 a boy, and was deeply interested in the plans 
 that were devised by intelligent and patriotic 
 sons of Ireland to procure home rule, national 
 independence and, consequently, prosperity for the 
 land of my ancestors. To prove my sympatlry 
 with the aspirations of the home-rulers, I occa- 
 sionally delivered a lecture relating to that sub- 
 ject; sometimes I spoke on other topics which 
 pleased iny fancy, while promoting the well-be- 
 ing of our association. 
 
 The members of the society prepared for a 
 grand celebration of Patrick's Day, and one of 
 
CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 
 
 the features of the commemoration was a lecture 
 which I was to give on the land question in Ire- 
 land. There was to be a play, too, and many 
 beautiful recitations, ranging from Shamus 
 O'Brien to Erin's Flag, were designed to add 
 variety and enthusiasm to the entertainment. 
 In March the snow is abundant in the San Juan, 
 and during this special month of Boreas some of 
 the fiercest storms and most destructive snow- 
 slides visit this region. For Ireland's national 
 feast great preparations were under way, and the 
 expectation was that the festivities would attract 
 large numbers. The evening of the sixteenth 
 the sun went down behind hoary Sneffles in dark, 
 heavy clouds, which boded no good for Patrick's 
 Day in the morning. By midnight the snow was 
 falling gently and the weather indications were 
 that a great storm was impending. About 2:30 
 in the morning the door-bell rang violently, and 
 going to the door I learned that there was an 
 urgent sick call for me from Silverton. The 
 messenger had left Silverton the previous night 
 at ten o'clock and driven a team hitched to a 
 sleigh over the range. There was very little 
 danger then,' but with this new storm fast ap- 
 proaching, the fresh snow would slide over the 
 hard surface of the old and bear destruc- 
 tion in its path. I enquired who was sick, 
 and when the reply came I knew that the 
 doom of the sick man was sealed, for he 
 had been a hard and constant drinker, and now 
 pneumonia had a firm hold of him. It was the 
 opinion of his friends that he was dying, and he 
 called for the priest, desiring to receive the last 
 sacraments of the church. 
 
 The sick man was young, bright, clever, a 
 73 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 hustler and money-maker. When I became ac- 
 quainted with him he was recovering from one 
 of those periodical sprees which blast life and 
 bring so many to an early grave. He was mar- 
 ried, and his wife was a convert to Catholicity. 
 She was one of those confiding creatures, whose 
 heart and soul find in holy church and her con- 
 soling doctrines the peace which the world can- 
 not give. But he was of the class, unhappily 
 too large, who, fascinated by the fashion of the 
 world, cast to the winds the practices of religion 
 and outrun the most abandoned in the race of 
 sensuality. Strong drink, evil companions, mem- 
 bership in societies condemned by the church, 
 neglect of the duties which make the true man, 
 wrought his ruin. After a vain effort to reform 
 her dissipated husband, extending over a period 
 of three years, his patient wife was obliged to 
 leave him and seek safety with her parents. I 
 will not dwell upon the harrowing story of a 
 broken heart, but leave to the judgment record 
 of the last day the revelation which I refrain 
 from making 
 
 The messenger told me that, as his horses were 
 tired, he must let them rest until six o'clock, 
 when we should set out for Silverton. I slept no 
 more that night, and I was satisfied that I could 
 not deliver my promised lecture that evening. I 
 got up at five, said mass, and requested a brother 
 priest who was my visitor, to excuse me to 
 the audience in the evening and make a short 
 address for me. At six o'clock sharp, we were 
 in readiness to start for Silverton, a terrific drive 
 for one team with a heavy sleigh and a badly 
 drifted road. At Bear Creek Falls, the toll 
 gatherer, who had been there for years, came 
 
 74 
 
CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 
 
 out to take our tickets, and warned us that we 
 ran the risk of being lost in a slide or in the 
 blinding storm which was advancing apace. At 
 any moment we might plunge over a precipice on 
 the narrow mountain pass. My companion 
 would not turn back, as living in Ouray and 
 boarding a team were expensive, so, despite the 
 difficulties of the situation, he preferred to make 
 Silverton. I was just as anxious to attend the 
 poor fellow who awaited my coming. Accord- 
 ingly, we continued on our way. Bear Creek 
 Falls was fringed from top to bottom with a deli- 
 cate embroidery of snow which clung to bridge 
 and rock and shrub, mantling the mountain 
 sides for hundreds of feet down. It is one of the 
 most beautiful water-falls in Colorado. We has- 
 tened on our journey without getting out of the 
 sleigh, until we came within half a mile of the 
 second bridge, where we were compelled to 
 alight and shovel snow. The spot is one of 
 tragic memories. The preceding fall Ashenfelter 
 lost a team, wagon and a load of merchandise 
 at this place. Coming up a little rise in the road 
 the collar choked one of his horses, which fell, 
 dragging the other horse toward and over the 
 precipice. The driver saved himself in the nick 
 of time by jumping from the wagon in the di- 
 rection of the wall; but the outfit went down 
 2,000 feet. A few hundred yards further on, 
 in the bottom of the creek, lay two dead horses, 
 their necks broken in the mad plunge. There 
 were some other dangerous places in the road, 
 where we might be caught in slides. Coming to 
 the first of these spots, we were pleased to find 
 that the snow had not come down, and that it 
 was not very deep on the incline. About a year 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 before I had been nearly caught right here; 
 moreover, large chunks were breaking loose 
 above and gathering in volume as they rolled 
 down, so I became rather nervous. As I sat in 
 the saddle viewing these suspicious advance 
 guards, a great mass became detached above, and 
 like a flash carried everything before it. It was 
 a close call. When we came to Mother Cline — 
 strange name indeed for a snowslide — we found 
 the passage safe. I thought for a moment of 
 Mother Cary's chickens as applied by sailors to 
 the sea birds, which come on board ships and are 
 the sure harbingers of a storm; but I hoped that 
 the association of ideas, connected with the name 
 Mother Cline, would have no significance for us. 
 This famous snowslide had come down some 
 time before and bore everything away in its track, 
 recoiling from the bottom of the gulch and break- 
 ing off the trees on the mountain side for 200 
 feet. The snow was from sixty to seventy 
 feet deep on the road-bed and in the gulch, 
 and the mass of wrecked matter was a conglom- 
 eration of broken trees and huge boulders, some 
 of which weighed from two to three tons. As 
 long as the weather was cold a team could readily 
 cross on the top of the slide, but when the 
 snow melted the county was obliged to cut a 
 tunnel, which was one of the wonders of the 
 Ouray toll road that summer. It was 580 
 feet long, and high enough for the Concord 
 stage with its six horses to pass through. By 
 late fall the roof was thawed out, but some of 
 the walls remained standing for two years. On 
 our arrival at Ironton we permitted the horses to 
 take a short rest, and meanwhile called on Paddy 
 Commins to ascertain the state of the flock, after 
 
 76 
 
The Snow Tunned on Ouray Road 
 
CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 
 
 which we proceeded to Red Mountain. As we 
 approached the greater altitude the storm almost 
 blinded us, and it was difficult to keep the road. 
 Above the Yankee Girl mine we met a sleigh 
 coming from Silverton, and the men who were 
 in it informed us that the sick man was dead. I 
 at once changed sleighs and started back for 
 Ouray. We stopped at Ironton for dinner at 
 Paddy Commins.' Paddy was a character in his 
 way, and a zealous coadjutor of mine in my mis- 
 sionary labors. He was a grown man at that 
 period, which constitutes an epoch in Irish his- 
 tory, viz. : the night of the Big Wind, and passed 
 through the famine barely with his life. Many 
 a time he spoke of the distress and hardship of 
 those trying days, when men ate grass on the 
 roadside and gaunt starvation stalked through 
 the land. Tired of working at starvation wages 
 on the public works that had been started by an 
 alien government for the relief of the starving 
 Irish, Paddy crossed the British Channel, and for 
 forty years in England carried the hod. On the 
 death of his wife he came to this country, and at 
 the age of eighty, when I got acquainted with 
 him, he was able to do a better day's work than 
 many young men in the full flush of health. He 
 took pride in telling the boys that when he came 
 to Ironton the only apparel he had in the world 
 was a suit of soldier's clothes. He was a strict 
 temperance man, and would not allow a drop of 
 liquor to be brought into his cabin. In the 
 course of his travels he had acquired the knowl- 
 edge of the cobbler's art, and could repair the 
 men's boots and shoes to the queen's taste. He 
 owned two handsome little houses, which he 
 rented at a good figure, and I have no doubt he 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 had more than one double eagle stored away in 
 the traditional stocking. When the boys chaffed 
 or worsted him in argument he would close the 
 debate by saying: "Give me no more of your 
 after clap." Paddy was deeply attached to his 
 church, which he had grace enough to love more 
 than anything earthly, and he had far more of 
 the ecclesiastical spirit than many great scholars. 
 He took a lively concern in every project that 
 looked to the spread of religion, and gave a help- 
 ing hand to every good work. Many a hungry 
 man found a substantial meal in the patriarch's 
 cabin. He was sexton and general utility man 
 in the little parish at Ironton, where, in my ab- 
 sence, he watched over the flock and kept a rec- 
 ord of whatever it was useful for me to know. 
 He still lives, a fine specimen of an honest old 
 man. 
 
 After dining at Paddy's, and wishing him 
 many happy years and many returns of Patrick's 
 Day in the morning, the day he was born in the 
 land beyond the sea, I set out for Ouray in one 
 of the most desperate storms of snow and wind I 
 ever faced. I have been caught in a blizzard in 
 all its prairie tantrums and stood it for ten hours 
 at a time, when the cold was so bitter as almost 
 to freeze a man to death, but I never experienced 
 a storm which for severity and fierceness equaled 
 that mountain maelstrom of the canon. There 
 was not a sense that did not have its appropriate 
 scourge in that furious cyclone or whirlwind; and 
 so thick and dense was the snow that it was im- 
 possible at times for the horses to move. We 
 got out of the sleighs, waded hip deep through 
 the soft snow and felt for the road in broad day- 
 light, creeping along the wall to be certain that 
 
 78 
 
CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 
 
 we were not rushing headlong into the precipice. 
 After four hours of stumbling, falling in the snow 
 and digging a way for the horses, and when we 
 had almost given up the hope of ever coming out 
 alive, we appeared in Ouray at five in the 
 evening and celebrated Patrick's Day, or rather 
 night, as it had never before been celebrated. 
 There was a large audience awaiting the big pro- 
 gramme, and the skillful performance of the play, 
 which represented Ouray's best histrionic and 
 musical talent, compensated for any shortcomings 
 in the lecture of the wornout traveler. The play 
 was Sheridan's masterpiece, "The School for 
 Scandal," and relieved the tragic character of 
 the lecture by its light, comic vein. It was strange 
 to see such a play, and one with such a name, 
 rendered far up in nature's mountain theatre. It 
 is sufficient to say that the whole entertainment 
 was received with enthusiastic favor, and that it 
 was a genuine Patrick's Day celebration. Let 
 the Irishman be ever so far away, when Patrick's 
 Day arrives, his heart, untrammeled, returns to the 
 home of the venerable Granuaile and the mem- 
 ories associated with Ireland's patron saint, con- 
 cerning whose work the following quaint ballad 
 was composed, perhaps, by one of the ancient 
 bards, and translated by some Irish scholar: 
 
 Ye offspring of Seth of the ancient belief, 
 Old Granu's true sons by adoption, 
 These lines most sincere I commit to your care 
 For perusal and also instruction, 
 Concerning that great and apostolic man, 
 The glorious St. Patrick, you shall understand, 
 Who banished idolatry out of our land, 
 Made Erin to blaze with true zeal and devotion, 
 He left us the happiest isle in the ocean, 
 And Patrick's Day in the morning. 
 
 79 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 When he came to our shore 
 
 Our land was spread o'er 
 
 With witchcraft and dark necromancy ; 
 
 Deluged, the scribe says, 
 
 By such gross, evil ways, 
 
 As was pleasing to Beelzebub's fancy. 
 
 This champion of Christ did all magic expel, 
 
 Those imps of perdition he did them repel, 
 
 Their worship he stopped and their idols, they fell. 
 
 Our Savior's bless'd name was praised through" the nation, 
 
 The cross, it was held in profound veneration, 
 
 And Erin complied with the sign of salvation, 
 
 And Patrick's Day in the' morning. 
 
 The peer and the peasant, the prince, I declare, 
 
 To the font of baptism, they all did repair; 
 
 St. Patrick, he freed them from satan's great snare, 
 
 He showed them the path that led to Mount Sion, 
 
 The manner to live and the way for to die in, 
 
 And none would be lost who were patronized by him, 
 
 And Patrick's Day in the morning. 
 
 Fatigued by great labors and hardships, 'tis true, 
 And aged one hundred, likewise twenty-two, 
 On the seventeenth of March he bid them adieu; 
 His soul took its flight to the mansions of glory, 
 Where fame still records it in sacred history, 
 For divesting our island of serpent and Tory. 
 He left us the happiest spot in the ocean, 
 And Patrick's Day in the morning. 
 
 And, now for to end those few lines I have penned, 
 
 Oh! Blessed St. Patrick, remember 
 
 How thy people did stand 
 
 For thy faith in this land, 
 
 Tho' distressed, like the birds in December. 
 
 It is now on the verge of the eight hundredth year, 
 
 We've supported thy land through troubles and fear, 
 
 And stood by the doctrine you planted so dear, 
 
 In spite of seduction, oppression or killing, 
 
 To this present day we still have five million, 
 
 Who are always both active and ready and willing 
 
 To aid your just cause in the morning. 
 
 While the versification of this ballad may vio- 
 late the rules of poetical composition, the senti- 
 
CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 
 
 ment is so good that it has been thought not 
 amiss to embalm it in a sketch of a Patrick's Day 
 celebration. It is not unlikely that it is one of 
 the ballads which were more common in Ireland 
 fifty years ago than to-day. It possesses a de- 
 licious combination of piety and humor. 
 
 That spring, pneumonia was prevalent in the 
 San Juan, and many of the boys crossed the 
 range for the last time. Deaths and funerals 
 became so common that I was brought into fre- 
 quent communication at the church services with 
 non- Catholics, with the result that some of those 
 who afterwards came to the hospital ill were 
 converted through the kindly admonitions of the 
 never-tiring sisters. Indefatigable workers and 
 wholly devoted to their vocation of sacrifice, they 
 were constantly in the service of their patients, 
 for the spiritual and physical welfare of whom 
 they considered no fatigue great, no vigil long. 
 True sisters of charity, they won the love of all. 
 Many a hardened sinner who might have scorned 
 the advice of even dear friends, hearkened to the 
 counsel of the sisters and at the eleventh hour 
 were reconciled to God; there were not a few 
 who rose reformed from a sick pallet, and to this 
 day thank their gentle nurses for the spiritual and 
 corporal works of mercy which were performed 
 in their behalf. Of this class were two brothers 
 from Missouri, who had been working at the 
 mines. One of them was taken ill and for four 
 or five days struggled between life and death. 
 The sister who was in attendance at his sick bed, 
 seeing that the end was near, spoke to him of 
 the necessity of preparing for the life to come. 
 She told him that he must be baptized if he 
 wished to enter the kingdom of heaven and be 
 
 81 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 instructed in the principal mysteries of religion. 
 The good words of the teacher did not fall on 
 incredulous ears; the young man heard the voice 
 of the spirit and did not harden his heart. The 
 priest came to him and he received the sacra- 
 ments with edifying dispositions and died a 
 saintly death. His remains were followed to the 
 cemetery by a large number of miners, and his 
 broken-hearted brother, as he stood bareheaded 
 at the foot of the grave, was seized by a congest- 
 ive chill, which rendered his immediate removal 
 to the hospital imperative. The doctor was sum- 
 moned at once and pronounced the case pneu- 
 monia. The usual remedies were applied, and 
 the sisters did everything in their power to save 
 his life. The first night of his illness, he became 
 delirious and his constant cry was: "I want to 
 become a Christian; baptize me, fori am dying;" 
 and when he came to himself the next morning, 
 he continued to express the same desire. I was 
 sent for, and informed him that he must wait un- 
 til he was instructed, and that as soon as he got 
 well I would give him the requisite instruction; 
 but that if he were in serious danger of death I 
 would baptize him at any time. This satisfied 
 him, and during the day he showed signs of im- 
 provement, but as evening came he began to sink 
 so rapidly that I baptized him and prepared him 
 for death. As the morning drew near, with the 
 sisters kneeling at his bedside and praying for 
 him, he breathed forth his regenerated soul to 
 his Maker. That morning, while the body of 
 the dead man awaited the arrival of his friends, 
 I went to Grand Junction to assist a neighboring 
 priest. I have often been struck by the wonder- 
 ful conversions that occur at our hospitals. Men 
 
 62 
 
CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 
 
 who spend long lives of utter spiritual abandon- 
 ment are suddenly touched by the merciful hand 
 of God, and the Divine visitation, which they re- 
 gard as a curse, becomes the greatest blessing. 
 Brought to themselves during the tedious hours 
 of illness, they begin to see the folly of their past 
 life and in the face of suffering, the vision of truth 
 comes to them. They repent and become good 
 Christians, or die well. 
 
SIXTH SKETCH 
 
 DURING my last two years at Ouray, and 
 after Silverton and Rico had each a pastor, 
 I now and then took a holiday trip into 
 the mountains. On such occasions, I trailed a. 
 deer, gave a wide berth to a bear, or killed grouse, 
 which were fairly plentiful on Cow Creek. The 
 mountain trout, too, were a tempting morsel to 
 the patient disciple of Izaak Walton. The 
 fisherman can always catch enough to eat, and 
 the trout, fried in bacon, make a savory dish. 
 Then the air is so bracing that you have the 
 best of seasoning in a vigorous appetite. These 
 short excursions, though physically exhausting 
 and tiresome in a mountainous country, are an 
 excellent antidote for mental overwork and the 
 parish worries that come, when a church is in 
 debt. Building churches, collecting money and 
 paying debts soon wear a man out. 
 
 I had two missions besides Ouray, viz. : Ironton 
 and Ridgeway. Through the active efforts of 
 the generous Catholics of these stations, a neat 
 little church was erected at each town. I always 
 said mass, and had an evening service on Sunda> r 
 in Ouray, and I alternated the second Sunday 
 mass at Ironton or Ridgeway. For the purpose 
 of attending these missions, I kept a pair of 
 bronchos, roan in color, weighing, perhaps, 
 800 pounds each, and fast steppers. Leaving 
 Ouray on Sunday morning at about six 
 o'clock, I drove up to Ironton, a distance of 
 nine miles. I let the ponies go at an easy 
 gait, as there was a distance of 2,000 feet to be 
 overcome in the ascent; but, on my return to 
 
 S4 
 
THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 
 
 Ouray for the 10:30 o'clock mass, I did not let the 
 grass grow under the little fellows' feet. Many 
 a time have I descended the stony road along a 
 mighty wall of granite, with the wheels of the 
 buggy within twenty inches of a precipice, 
 2, 000 feet deep. The journey I could make 
 in the brief space of forty minutes. Now and 
 then some visitor to Ouray would desire to come 
 with me and view the magnificent scenery; but 
 after one experience the curiosity of such a one 
 would be more than gratified. The pace was too 
 rapid, and the situation too thrilling for the 
 greatest sensation lover. I once took a young 
 man to Ironton on Sunday morning, and having 
 been delayed beyond the usual time after mass I 
 let the ponies fairly fly over the road on my way 
 back. My companion clutched the seat of the 
 buckboard and held on with all his might. He 
 screamed and said: " Father, I must have heard 
 something crack. ' ' I inquired if the wheels were 
 on and he said yes. "Well, then," said I, 
 "there is no danger," and I cracked the whip 
 again. The little ponies, being light and willing, 
 moved down the mountain at a tearing pace 
 without injury to themselves or passengers. 
 
 The broncho is by far the best and fastest saddle 
 horse in the mountains. Not too heavy to climb 
 the highest places, it is light enough to move 
 down the steep incline with ease and security. 
 Nearly as sure-footed as the mule, without its 
 slow gait, the broncho will pick its way with 
 skill over a narrow, stony path on a mountain 
 ridge which is scarcely a foot wide and where the 
 broad-footed horse would destroy himself and 
 rider. The broncho may fall without injury to 
 himself or rider, and once down, the latter is able 
 
 85 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 to bring him to his feet again, turn him around 
 in the trail or dig him out of the snow, some- 
 thing he could not do with a heavy horse. The 
 staying powers of the broncho are of the first 
 quality and no large horse can stand fatigue, 
 hunger, hardship and abuse so well as the de- 
 spised broncho, which, during the past years, has 
 been sold in the west as low as two dollars and 
 a-half. 
 
 It has been said, time and again, that a man 
 on foot can outrun a horse carrying a rider down a 
 steep mountain. This claim was put to test some 
 years ago on that steep and narrow trail which 
 lies between Marshall Basin and Telluride. The 
 endurance, speed and certainty of this animal in 
 keeping his feet, where it was impossible for a 
 man to go down the almost perpendicular cutoffs, 
 while bearing a rider, proved to the satisfaction 
 of all that the broncho was capable of accom- 
 plishing leaps down precipices and over craggy 
 points, which even the Rocky Mountain sheep 
 would not dare attempt. Thousands of dollars 
 changed hands on the event to which I allude, 
 as many people came to see this novel contest 
 of four miles down the mountain between horse 
 and man. 
 
 The trip to Ridgeway was over twelve miles. 
 After saying mass there on Sunday morning at 
 nine o'clock, and giving a short instruction to 
 the people, I had little time to reach Ouray for 
 the second mass; the ponies, however, stood it 
 well and passed everything on the road. But 
 Sunday was their hardest day, as it was mine. 
 
 In the early September of 1890 I planned a 
 hunt to Cow Creek, and took with me a young 
 friend who was not distinguished for his marks- 
 
THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 
 
 manship, his opportunities of using a gun having 
 been few and far between. His name was 
 Dennis, but not the Dennis who is made fun of at 
 the political convention. I also took a young 
 man who was born within the sound of the flow- 
 ing Rhine, three horses, rifles, shot-guns, and 
 rations for forty-eight hours. We brought our 
 overcoats and a blanket each for a night on the 
 mountain. Dennis, and Van, which was the 
 name of the other member of the party, and a 
 crack shot, intended to kill deer, and myself and 
 my dog Prince were in quest of grouse. 
 
 Everyone that has been in Ouray knows where 
 the Horse Shoe is — east of the city. It is a vast 
 amphitheatre, the wall of which rises several 
 thousand feet above the city, indeed, so high that 
 nothing but the bare rocks appear against the 
 eastern sky. When the sun rises over these 
 lead-colored peaks and the rays of his golden 
 light quiver upon nature's towers, the scene is 
 grand and impressive. In winter the hand of the 
 clock points to ten when the sun shows his face, 
 and in the west old Snefnes hides the last ray of 
 the departing monarch by four in the evening. 
 So, the days are short in Ouray's winter. The 
 range on the northeast gradually sinks for twelve 
 miles to the northwest into stunted foot hills, 
 which fade out of sight in the verdant valley of 
 the Dallas. To the northeast of a city, which is 
 thought by many to be the most picturesque in 
 the world, the resident of Ouray may, as he sits 
 in his doorway, easily trace the different periods 
 of geological formation in the red granite walls 
 which, rising thousands of feet, form one of the 
 most beautiful features of a mountain picture in 
 the San Juan. In the summer, when the snow 
 
 87 
 
IN THK SAN JUAN 
 
 is melting, a stream of limpid water rushes from 
 the far-away peaks through a small ravine in the 
 mountains above. The ravine is studded with 
 scrubby pines, with here and there the golden 
 willow, the wild plum tree and the swaying 
 aspen, which is at home on the lofty heights. As 
 the rivulet rushes over the cliffs, it falls several 
 hundred feet and tones whatever of the stern may 
 be in the scene. 
 
 THE CASCADE OF OURAY. 
 
 What murmur breaks the stillness, 
 Stealing down from yon high walls; 
 Coming forth from rock and crevice, 
 Whisp'ring music, as it falls ? 
 
 'Tis the cascade from the mountains, 
 Rushing down the craggy way; 
 Dashing o'er the time-worn boulders 
 To the valley of Ouray. 
 
 Now it sounds far up the mountains, 
 In a voice that seems to say: 
 "I am coming forth to gladden 
 The beauty of Ouray. ' ' 
 
 Nearer, louder, sounds its music, 
 As it marches on the way, 
 Gath'ring up the spring and streamlet, 
 Leaping down upon Ouray. 
 
 High above the city's grandeur, 
 How its seething volumes play, 
 Clad in gold and silver sunshine, 
 Rushing down upon Ouray. 
 
 It was our intention to climb this mountain. 
 To do this we had to go down the road from 
 Ouray for about two miles, then turn to the right, 
 go up a gulch, creep along a trail that had special 
 dangers for horses, and come out on Horse Thief 
 
THRIVING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 
 
 trail. We were ready to start at four in the 
 morning. Prince was delighted, jumping gayly 
 about and wagging his tail. Our progress at 
 first was slow, Dennis taking the lead, with Van 
 second, and myself bringing up the rear. Climb- 
 ing a steep grade in the mountains is obviously a 
 hard task, every few yards one must rest, and to 
 urge a horse would be simply to kill him or force 
 him to lie down on the trail. The rider must 
 dismount and lead the horse. Dennis was a 
 miner, so was Van, and it was difficult for me, 
 who weighed 200 pounds, to keep up with 
 them. We crossed little streams and stretches 
 of valleys, well watered, well timbered, and car- 
 peted with the russet leaves of many an autumn 
 and the fossilized remains of deer and moun- 
 tain sheep. Here was a soil which for richness 
 can scarcely be equaled, and besides there was 
 enough of timber for all uses. It was, perhaps, 
 through such a paradise the Grecian leader passed 
 on the famous retreat of the Ten Thousand, and, 
 as I recall the memory of those pleasing valleys, 
 I regret that I cannot describe them with the pen 
 of the classical writer. While I plodded along, 
 gazing on the virgin forest and the fertile country 
 that would make happy homes for thousands, the 
 thought of the folly of mortals unnumbered who 
 quit the country for the city, came to my mind. 
 "We leave our sweet plains and farms for smoke 
 and noise. ' ' All over the world tens of thousands 
 are toiling in dingy shops for the merest pittance, 
 while in Colorado and the great west, acres, nay 
 regions, of arable land summon the industrious 
 to prosperity and happiness. It is true that you 
 cannot raise everything you may want on the 
 high tablelands, but it is just as true that a 
 
 89 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 man's wants are not his needs. All the neces- 
 saries of life may be produced — wheat, oats, barley, 
 rye, potatoes and vegetables of all kinds, and 
 wood and water are abundant. More timber has 
 been destroyed in Colorado by forest fires and 
 now lies rotting on the ground than could be put 
 to profit by the inhabitants of the state for a 
 century. 
 
 At sunrise we came out on the plateau, far 
 above the mountain, at whose base Ouray hides 
 from the winter's blast. The sun was just steal- 
 ing over the mountains on Cow Creek, and over 
 that long range far away on the Cimmaron, 
 whose jagged peaks are like a piece of embroidery 
 on the sky in the background. To the west, the 
 Blue Mountains of Utah lie like a coronet on the 
 horizon, for the mists which always seem to hang 
 over these mountains had been scattered by the 
 effulgence of the morning light. From our posi- 
 tion we could descry the very spot on which the 
 city of Grand Junction stands, although seventy 
 miles away, and the houses in Montrose could be 
 seen at a distance of thirty miles. The Un- 
 comphagre, a deep blue ribbon of water, winding 
 its way through the valley of the Dallas, imparted 
 to the prospect still more life and beauty. We 
 were almost ravished by the sight. Dennis had 
 no place in his mind for Killarney, her placid 
 lakes and softly sloping hills; Van thought no 
 more of the smoothly flowing waters of the blue 
 Rhine and I could hardly realize the tame and 
 even sweep of Iowa's fruitful farms, while the 
 vision of Colorado's mountain scenery held us 
 enthralled. The grass on the plateau was wet 
 with hoar frost, and here, while preparing our 
 guns, we let the horses eat. We followed Horse 
 
THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 
 
 Thief Trail for about two miles, when we came 
 to an opening, or rather a gap in the mountain, 
 peeped down the craggy defile, and to our de- 
 light we beheld several deer and a bunch of 
 Rocky Mountain sheep standing on a shelving 
 rock 1,000 yards below. We determined to 
 have some of the deer, for there was a law 
 against shooting sheep, but the game had scented 
 us and were moving down the gulch. We de- 
 cided to follow them, leading our horses down a 
 most dangerous slope into which £he water was 
 seeping out from the mountain. Presently we 
 were up to our knees in the splashing mud, and 
 the horses floundered up to their breasts. After 
 many severe efforts, we came out on a rocky 
 point, bedraggled with mud and with much of 
 the hunting spirit taken out of us; we looked 
 much more like Sherman's bummers than the 
 sportsmen you read of. After examining the 
 ground and perceiving that we could not get 
 down the mountain, our opinion was that it would 
 be no easy task to get back the way we came. 
 We were in a bad trap, and the game was gone. 
 In this awful dilemma we made up our minds 
 to face the difficulty of returning by the way 
 we came. It took two hours to advance 200 
 yards, and I believe Dennis would bear me 
 out in saying that it was a very perplexing situa- 
 tion. 
 
 Having gained the trail once more, we fol- 
 lowed it, and in passing through a piece of wood- 
 land, were surprised to hear the sharp crack of a 
 rifle at such an early hour, a quarter of a mile to 
 the right. In a few moments, crashing through 
 the brush several hundred yards away, came a 
 magnificent specimen of a buck, with antlers 
 91 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 thrown back. He was going, I thought, fifty or 
 sixty miles an hour, and in a twinkle was over 
 the hogback and out of sight. To follow him 
 was out of the question, and we moved on care- 
 fully, on the lookout for more deer. We had 
 gone but a short distance when we met a tall 
 country man — afterwards I learned he was a 
 Missourian — carrying a Springfield rifle that may 
 have done good service in the Civil war, as the 
 stock was notched and bruised. He was a typical 
 Yankee, with, long legs, a short back, and hav- 
 ing that easy shuffle which indicates long ac- 
 quaintance with frontier life. He wore a slouch 
 hat, and rolled a quid of navy in his jaw as if to 
 moisten his tongue, for he seemed to be warm 
 and perspired freely. ' 'Did you see a wounded 
 buck come up this way?" he broke in, without 
 any formal introduction. "He was on the run 
 down the mountain and I caught him on the 
 hind quarter. I'm certain," said the man, "as 
 he limped after the shot. ' ' I was about to say 
 that he was on the run yet, and that he did not 
 limp when he passed us, but we told him that we 
 saw the deer pass at a rapid gait, and that he 
 showed no signs of being disabled. From the 
 man's excitement it was evident that he had the 
 buck fever and had not seen the back sight on 
 his gun when he fired. We moved on over the 
 mountains, while our new acquaintance pursued 
 the trail of the deer, which he hoped would soon 
 lie down and die. 
 
 Having crossed a range of mountains, we came 
 to the headwaters of one of the many streams which 
 empty into Cow Creek. This was a lovely spot, 
 with some timber and a deserted cabin. It was 
 just the place to camp. The grazing was excel- 
 
THRIWJNG INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 
 
 lent, there was much grass and water, with an 
 abundance of dead wood to make fire and boil 
 our coffee. While selecting a spot and still in 
 our saddles, Van put his hand to his mouth and 
 said: "Hush! see the deer." We looked over 
 a hillock and about half a mile away, counted 
 fourteen deer in single file, standing on the trail 
 and looking directly at us. Apparently, not dis- 
 concerted by our appearance, they began to move 
 along slowly. Van took the rifle and rode down 
 a gulch which was near by, while Dennis went 
 around the mountain on the other side; thus, 
 some one would have a chance of a shot. I re- 
 mained in camp, and was cautioned not to shoot 
 for an hour and a-half. I dismounted and rested 
 in the shade of the tree, but Prince, with true 
 setter instinct, was nosing around and soon 
 raised a grouse, then another. I was tempted to 
 have a crack at the game, but I kept my promise. 
 I looked for the boys. They had passed out of 
 sight round the mountain; I waited and waited; 
 the sun became hotter, and I caught no ring of 
 the rifles yet. I was afraid to move, lest I should 
 disturb the grouse, and Prince was tied and 
 begging piteously to be freed. At length, mak- 
 ing up my mind to wait no longer, I turned the 
 dog loose and the gun , too. In a very short time 
 I had fifteen grouse, and was tired shooting, 
 when the boys, footsore, came into camp, without 
 a deer. We took lunch together and were 
 quietly resting in the shade when our tall Mis- 
 sourian came up with his burro, frying-pan and 
 camping outfit. We invited him to have some- 
 thing to eat, and discussed the probability of 
 getting some deer. He knew of a place, a good 
 place, too — it is a failing with every hunter to 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 know of a place, 01 course, a good place, but the 
 particular place of the Missourian was ten miles 
 from where we were sitting. He assured us, 
 however, that if we adopted his suggestions and 
 remained over night at his place, we certainly 
 should get a deer. This being the object of our 
 excursion we acquiesced. 
 
 In the middle of the afternoon we set out over 
 that barren region, reaching an elevation where 
 there was scarcely a vestige of vegetable life, and 
 keeping along the backbone of the mountain for 
 miles, saw only a few skulking coyotes and foxes/ 
 These we would not shoot, lest the nobler game 
 might be put to flight, but notwithstanding this 
 reserve, a deer did not appear the whole after- 
 noon. As the sun was setting, we descended the 
 mountain and found ourselves in a level plain 
 through which a sluggish stream was trying to 
 make its way. This stream we followed up for 
 two miles to its source. Our Missourian friend 
 proposed that we should camp here, as a half 
 mile farther on we should enter the coveted park, 
 in which we were to make our debut at the first 
 streak of dawn. I shall never forget that night. 
 Cold! the ice was nearly half an inch the next 
 morning on the little lake that lay near our 
 camp. On one of the adjacent cliffs we saw a 
 mountain lion, which was too far away for a shot. 
 We selected a spot for the night, picketed our 
 horses and were soon enjoying a hot cup of 
 coffee. We then spread our blankets on the 
 grass, put on our overcoats and turned in for the 
 night. I occupied the mid quarter of our resting- 
 place as far as there could be a middle, for it 
 was four in a bed. I must admit that I had the 
 warmest place, but that is not saying much, as it 
 
 S4 
 
THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 
 
 turned out to be extremely cold. All night the 
 mountain lions and coyotes kept up a mournful 
 howl, and what we supposed was a bear tore 
 through the underbrush. Even the ponies and 
 the burro joined in the dismal concert, which 
 contained so many discords that it was hard to 
 sleep. That we were disturbed by such weird 
 music, and in such desolate surroundings, need 
 not disturb the reader, for brown and cinnamon 
 bear were at one time very numerous in the San 
 Juan acid quite a few still remain, affording great 
 pleasure to the true sportsman and filling the 
 fellow who is always hunting bear with great 
 fear. Black bear, of which there are many of 
 the small variety, are not considered of much 
 value in the list of the hunter's scalps. Camping 
 out in the haunts of those animals is not so 
 dangerous as the average novel reader thinks. 
 The bear is a matter of fact animal and generally 
 minds his own business. It will never attack 
 man except when driven by hunger to desperate 
 straits, wounded, or in defense of its young. A very 
 comical story is related of three prospectors who 
 were encamped where there were many cinnamon 
 bears. At night the boys took great care to have 
 a large log on the fire to keep away those prowl- 
 ing monsters who, like all wild animals, fear fire. 
 The smell of bacon as well as the remains of deer 
 brought them very close to the tent at night, and 
 the smashing of twigs by these heavy-weights of 
 the forest kept the miners from sleeping, so that 
 at intervals the latter got up and shot off their 
 rifles, which had the effect of scaring them away. 
 Miners take turns in cooking on those prospect- 
 ing excursions and all become more or less per- 
 fect in the culinary art. One morning when two 
 
 95 
 
IN THE SAX JUAN 
 
 of them were in bed and the third had gone to 
 the creek for a bucket of water, a large cinnamon 
 bear made a call. The bacon was sizzling on the 
 fire and the coffee making its first effort to boil. 
 The bear stood up on its hind feet, grasped the 
 tent at the opening, pulled it aside and boldly 
 walked in, paused and surveyed the situation. 
 Tom and Bill were in bed — knives, pistols, re- 
 volvers and Winchesters were within easy reach. 
 The first sight of the bear put them into a state 
 of utter helplessness. Indeed, it is said that Bill 
 was so frightened that when the bear turned his 
 back for further investigation, he hid under his 
 companion. The bear at once began operations 
 by putting his paw into the frying-pan and seiz- 
 ing a large piece of bacon. But he certainly did 
 not calculate on the fire and dropped the tempt- 
 ing morsel; howling with pain, he danced around 
 the room for some time, during which the boys 
 in the bunk never moved. Seeing a sack of 
 flour on a box he grabbed it in his paws and 
 ripped the sack from one end to the other, scat- 
 tering the flour in every direction. Looking at 
 his white paws for a moment he thought the 
 color good and lay down and rolled over and 
 over, so that he rose up a polar bear, and scent- 
 ing the sugar close by in the larder, he pulled 
 out the sack and soon had devoured the greater 
 part of it. In the mean time the third man re- 
 turned from the creek, and catching a glimpse of 
 the bear climbed a tree and waited until the bear 
 departed, when he came down, and taking a Win- 
 chester, followed the trail. He did not have far 
 to go when he saw bruin sunning himself a short 
 distance away on a ledge of rock. A few well- 
 aimed shots did the rest, and the boys had bear 
 
 96 
 
THRIIXING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 
 
 meat for some time. Next to the bear, the 
 mountain lion is the largest, most powerful and 
 dangerous wild animal in the mountains. He 
 makes his home in the rugged cliffs, where he 
 finds caves running into the depths of the moun- 
 tains. From these dens, far away from the farm- 
 houses, he descends into the valleys at night and 
 pounces upon calves, sheep and sometimes full- 
 grown horses and cattle. It is said that lions are 
 natural cowards and never face man except when 
 cornered and forced to fight. The sound of a 
 human voice fills them with fright and they at 
 once flee. I have known the case of a woman 
 still living in the western part of the state who 
 had a thrilling experience with a mountain lion. 
 She went out into the field one day to dig pota- 
 toes and brought the baby with her, w T rapping it 
 up and leaving it in the wagon close to which 
 she was working. Looking up she was amazed 
 to see what she took for a large dog, jump nimbly 
 into the wagon. Grasping the hoe, she ran 
 toward the wagon, screaming at the top of her 
 voice. The lion went up toward the child, seized 
 it by the clothes and tried to carry it off; this it 
 could not easily do, as the child was heavy and 
 well wrapped in a blanket. As the woman ap- 
 proached the wagon and the dog came running 
 up, the lion fled without making an attempt to 
 fight. But lions are not always cowardly. 
 
 To take up, however, the thread of my sketch, 
 I must say that Dennis was his name for 
 that night anyhow, for he had to get up often 
 and keep the fire going. Just as day was 
 breaking, we sallied forth and skirted the 
 mountain side until we came to the edge of 
 the park. It consisted of about 200 acres and 
 97 
 
IN THK SAN JUAN 
 
 the Missourian had not exaggerated its charms. 
 Through it ran a murmuring stream, which 
 flowed far down into Cow Creek. Van went 
 along the mountain to the right, the Missourian 
 to the left, and, armed with a gun loaded with, 
 buckshot, I was to wait for the deer at the only 
 outlet we knew of. Dennis had to change the 
 pickets of the horses and then join the party. 
 I took my position behind a clump of thick wil- 
 lows until it was clear day, but no deer was in 
 sight. After a while I meandered down the 
 creek in the direction taken by my companions, 
 who as yet had not fired a shot. Presently they 
 returned and reported that there was not a fresh 
 track in the park and that there were no deer. 
 So we turned loose and soon the grouse were on 
 the move and rifle and shotgun spoke in loud 
 tones in the mountain stillness. By nine o'clock 
 we had bagged quite a number of grouse and all 
 assented to my proposal, that we should go down 
 the stream and through the canon to Cow Creek. 
 Dennis brought the horses, and for a mile or so, 
 we followed the bed of the stream. The water 
 was shallow and clear as crystal ; the mountain 
 trout could be seen breasting the stream in the 
 swirling rapids; and on either side the porphyry, 
 granite or quartz walls rose thousands of feet. 
 At length, we came to a cascade over which we 
 could not take the horses. We were compelled 
 to turn back. On the left was a small opening 
 in the wall, which had developed into a good 
 sized gulch, down which trickled a stream, the 
 bed of which was full of huge boulders and dead 
 trees. Up this gulch I headed my horse and 
 called the boys to follow me. The ascent was 
 tiresome, but at last we arrived at the top of a 
 
 9S 
 
THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 
 
 hogback — in the ocean's bed it would be called 
 a reef. It was very narrow, and we had to em- 
 ploy the utmost care to prevent our horses from 
 slipping off. On taking observations, and find- 
 ing that we were about six miles from where we 
 took lunch the day before at noon, we set out in 
 that direction. Coming down to the base of the 
 mountain, through one of the most perilous 
 passes, as it was the path of a yearly snow- 
 slide, landslide and rockslide, we encountered 
 the remains of a burro with the packsaddle still 
 thrown around the bones, drills, hammers, axes, 
 kettles and all the camp utensils necessary for 
 an outfit. A few boards scattered here and there, 
 indicated that a cabin had been swept away in a 
 snowslide. 
 
 THE SNOWSLIDE 
 
 With rumbling tones, the mountain woke, 
 Tossed like a giant, shuddered, spoke, 
 Like peals of thunder in storm's wake, 
 When leaden clouds the lightnings break. 
 The calm, placid snow untrodden lay, 
 Gath'ring in depth from day to day, 
 Till rock and tree and wooded shade, 
 Were covered close with frost inlaid, 
 Gulches are filled and dells unseen. 
 Lo ! nature in her winter scene, 
 That will remain, unchanged by sun, 
 Till springtime floods in torrents run, 
 Which off its side to valleys flow, 
 And make the peach and apple grow. 
 The farmer, glad with hopes of gain, 
 Prepares his crop for grateful rain, 
 Which, glist'ning bright in banks of snow, 
 In summer's heats begins to flow, 
 Waters the plains and arid farms, 
 And gives to earth her youthful charms. 
 But, hark, the power on Sneffles crest, 
 Hurls the huge mass from off its breast. 
 39 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 Wildly adown the slope it speeds, 
 The pines it snaps like hollow reeds; 
 Boulders and trees dashed out and in, 
 It sweeps along with deaf'ning din, 
 Catching them up, twisted and broke, 
 The relics of a single stroke. 
 Far, far below in mountains moat, 
 Crushed, buried in the abyssmal throat. 
 The fallen tree, the cabin bare, 
 Tell the bold miner to beware, 
 While seeking wealth on mountain side, 
 Death's embrace of the rueful slide. 
 
 We looked carefully about for the remains of 
 man, but found none. From the appearances 
 we concluded the accident had happened several 
 years before. At the base of this mountain, we 
 took our rations, which were down to bed rock, 
 and then pushed on over the mountain, coming 
 out at a point about two miles from where we 
 came up the preceding day. Van got his eye on 
 some fresh deer tracks; and, as it was then only 
 about two in the afternoon, we determined to 
 follow these tracks some distance. For about 
 three miles, the deer kept the top of the range, 
 swinging around to the Dallas. They then 
 turned down into the timber, and we all dismount- 
 ed, tied our horses, and made a bold dash for a 
 deer. While the boys kept in the trail, I went 
 around the side of the hill. In this manner the 
 whole gulch might be more easily covered. 
 Prince was with me, and hard to hold. All at 
 once, the loud report of a Winchester broke the 
 silence, and a moment later a deer rushed up the 
 gulch, tried to jump a high bank, missed it, and 
 fell back, turning completely over; plainly he 
 was a much-scared deer; but, retrieving himself 
 in an instant, he was up and gone. The boys 
 followed the trail down the gulch and were soon 
 100 
 
THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 
 
 lost to view. I hunted for some time, killing 
 half a dozen grouse, and waited patiently for 
 their return. At last I began to think that they 
 were lost. It was almost dark, the trail was 
 very dim, the autumn leaves were falling, and 
 the wind began to whirl them over the road. 
 After firing my gun several times, the boys came 
 back, empty-handed and disgusted with deer 
 hunting. 
 
 As night was fast approaching, we mounted 
 and rode away. We got along pretty fairly for 
 a short time, but, as we lost the trail, it was 
 fully a quarter of an hour before we found it, 
 and time was then valuable. We were at an 
 altitude of 1 1 ,000 feet with only a deer trail, which 
 ran around the backbone of the range to lead us 
 down, and as long as we kept it, we were safe. 
 But Dennis, as well as the Missourian, thought 
 we should go down one of the many gulches to 
 the left; in their opinion, any one of them would 
 bring us to the main road in the valley. I pro- 
 tested that we could not get through the fallen 
 timber, while, by keeping the ridge, we should 
 arrive sooner at our destination, although the 
 distance was twice as great. My protest was 
 vain, so we went down the gulch. It must 
 have been about six o'clock when we reached 
 this conclusion. As we descended, the timber 
 became thicker and the fallen trees lay in every 
 possible position, forming a network of inter- 
 laced pines, poplar and shrubbery. The situa- 
 tion was sufficiently exasperating, but we had to 
 trudge along, carrying our guns and leading 
 our horses. Becoming thirsty, we could find no 
 water, as the gulch was dry. My companions 
 wished to camp, but I was determined at all 
 101 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 hazards to reach Ouray that night. The gulch 
 finally narrowed down to a few feet in width, 
 and the bottom was filled with holes, washed out 
 by the summer's rains. Time and again, we 
 stumbled, and the horses stumbled with us; in 
 fact, it was a series of stumblings over fallen 
 timber, until we came to a great washout, which 
 checked our further progress. Here again the 
 boys said they wanted to camp, but I was 
 inexorable. Burning with thirst and sweating like 
 a harvest hand, I turned up the side of the moun- 
 tain, leading my horse over the rocks, jumping 
 from shelf to shelf, and feeling my way with my 
 gun where I could not see. Again, I sought 
 the bottom of the gulch, and reached a better 
 path. At last we struck another gulch, which 
 contained a welcome stream. Thankful for this 
 unexpected blessing, we knelt on the brink and 
 drank to our heart's content. After a few 
 moments' rest we resumed our journey and came 
 out on the road. We reached Ouray at three in 
 the morning, after a chapter of surprises and mis- 
 haps. Our hunting expedition had proved a 
 failure; and, with the exception of a few grouse, 
 we had nothing to show for two days' hard 
 work. However, we had a splendid outing, for, 
 besides the exciting incidents of the trip, we 
 were delighted with the magnificent scenery of 
 the mountains. While the sublime prevails, the 
 varied elements of the grand and romantic are 
 not wanting. No man can travel through the 
 mountains without a deepening impression of 
 the majesty of the Creator; no one can stand in 
 the presence of the snow-capped peaks, over 
 which sunshine and shadow pursue each other, 
 without feeling an impulse to elevate his soul to 
 102 
 
THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 
 
 God, the author and the finisher of the beautiful 
 and the sublime. A trip to the mountains con- 
 vinces the religious mind of the existence of 
 divine power, wisdom and goodness, and inspires 
 the man of good will with the resolution to seek 
 first the kingdom of God and His justice. Where 
 all is so divine, surely the spirit of man should 
 not be merely human. 
 
 103 
 
SEVENTH SKETCH 
 
 THE San Juan is inhabited by people of Euro- 
 pean extraction, as well as descendants of 
 the aborigines. The proud blood of the 
 Aztecs flows in the veins of the Mexican, who 
 urges over the mountains the pack train, loaded 
 down with everything from a quarter of beef to 
 the long slender bar of iron which is used for the 
 mine track. The wiry Scotchman, the robust Irish- 
 man work side by side with the stocky Italian and 
 the self-possessed American. Now and then the 
 thrifty Scandinavian finds his way to the camp 
 congress of the nations, and shows himself to be 
 a giant of the drill. The phlegmatic Austrian 
 stands side by side with the stanch son of Corn- 
 wall. Here is a variety of nationality and char- 
 acter which promises a wide field for the study of 
 human nature. The natural virtues shine in the 
 lives of these hard-working miners with a splen- 
 dor that finds its counterpart in some of Rome's 
 greatest men. When sickness, accident, or death 
 comes to the cabin, all thoughts of self are dis- 
 missed. But when snowslides come down the 
 mountain side, bearing many to death, when 
 pneumonia afflicts the young and strong, or the 
 premature blast opens the day of eternity to the 
 most careful and virtuous, these disciples of hu- 
 manitarianism are thrown into a panic. To the 
 religious mind the reflection then comes, that 
 while natural virtues are good enough for passing 
 ends, positive religion based on divine faith is 
 necessary to stem the tide of fear and despair that 
 floods a man's heart when death knocks at the 
 
 104 
 
A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 
 
 door. This truth vividly struck me when stand- 
 ing at one of those death-bed scenes at which the 
 clergyman is called to assist. 
 
 I once met an old man who exemplified many 
 of the qualities of natural, as distinguished from 
 revealed, religion. He was about sixty-five years 
 old when I made his acquaintance. Having 
 served in the Mexican war, and commanded one 
 of Joe Reynolds' steamboats upon the Missis- 
 sippi, he acquired the title of captain by courtesy. 
 Generous to a fault, and with a hand never 
 closed to the needy, the captain was honored and 
 respected by all who knew him. At sixty-five 
 he was hale and hearty, and as active as a man 
 of forty. The rich strikes attracted him to Colo- 
 rado, and through his influence, which proved to 
 have been unwisely exerted, many of his friends 
 lost their investments in barren prospects. As to 
 himself, he struggled some years, working the 
 mines alone, and striving to interest others in 
 what he believed would develop into paying 
 properties. He lost his money by degrees and 
 was compelled to lock the door on the tunnel, 
 abandon his little cabin on the hillside and seek 
 the mining camp, where he dragged out a poor 
 existence by keeping a lodging house. Meeting 
 the boys in the street, he would solicit them to 
 patronize his house so that he might make a few 
 dollars to help him along. When I visited the 
 camp I always occupied his neat little parlor. 
 We were great friends, and had many a pleasant 
 chat together. Sometimes the conversation would 
 turn upon religious subjects. His tenets were 
 those of the sceptic, and all his belief was 
 confined to the natural. Of the future his high- 
 est conception was that he would not have to 
 
 105 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 work mines, keep hotels or run a lodging house. 
 In this respect he did not differ from the Indian, 
 who looks upon hunting as the occupation of de- 
 parted souls. He entertained, in a word, rather 
 hazy views of the state of man after his death, 
 but declared that death was as a sleep, that it had 
 no terrors for him and that he would face it with- 
 out emotion. In the event, however, it was 
 pretty well shown that he feared the universal 
 messenger, and that although life had burned 
 down to the ashes, he hoped to live a little longer. 
 He was appalled by the thought of leaving the 
 world. I shall not forget the day I sat beside 
 his cot in the old lodging house, endeavoring to 
 inspire him with hope in the future. Despair 
 was written on every line in his face, and his wild 
 eye seemed to be searching for some ray of light. 
 But of hope there was none for him; and the old 
 man, worn out by a long illness, pleaded piteous- 
 ly for escape from the deathly reaper. There, 
 with eyes fast set, short, quick breathing, sharp 
 jerks of the limbs, he tossed upon his couch, 
 clutching the bedclothes and writhing in the last 
 agony. It was a fearful sight. It seemed like a 
 literal interpretation of the words of the apostle, 
 "It is a terrible thing to fall into the hands of 
 the living God." With his closely-drawn feat- 
 ures, and his glazed eye apparently fastened upon 
 me, I was deeply moved at a situation which 
 contained none of the consoling features of the 
 deathbed of the Christian. But, of course, there 
 is no limit to the uncovenanted mercies of God, 
 Who knows the clay of which His creatures are 
 made. Still I felt a certain sadness at the pain- 
 ful struggles of one who departed this life with- 
 out the supernatural habits. I do not mean to 
 
 106 
 
A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 
 
 say that the unbeliever and sceptic always die in 
 horror. Indeed, they sometimes pass away, as 
 they came into the world, without any sign of 
 consciousness, but the calmness and fortitude dis- 
 played by them are of a stoical cast, and devoid of 
 the true spirit of resignation which is expressed 
 by the disciple of a revealed religion. At the 
 moment of his departure from this life, the 
 luminous truth breaks upon the thoughtful man, 
 that there are two beings evident to him, God 
 and himself; and from the standpoint of a merely 
 natural religion, he must regard that God as a 
 judge, clothed with terrors. At such a time the 
 unbeliever feels "the soul-piercing reality of 
 Lucretius. ' ' speaking of religion and the threaten- 
 ing character it wears in the eyes of the infidel. 
 As the thirsty traveler welcomes the inviting 
 spring, so do I hail the transition of my theme 
 from the sombre side of life, fashioned after the 
 purely natural, to the sunny side of life patterned 
 upon the supernatural. In the second year of 
 my missionary labors in the southwest, a Mrs. 
 
 K came to the San Juan. She was a native 
 
 of Manchester, England, and the mother of five 
 children, left to her by a penniless husband, who, 
 at the early age of thirty, died of consumption. 
 For two years after his death she toiled hard at the 
 great manufacturing centre. During the day 
 she entrusted the little ones to the care of a feeble 
 old grandma, who tottered around on her crutch, 
 taking oatmeal and milk, with a little bread and 
 tea, three times a day, rather than apply for more 
 nutritious food at the workhouse. So, the little 
 pale-faced woman, day by day trudged to and 
 from the mill, making barely enough to save the 
 children from starvation during the week and 
 
 107 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 give them a decent dinner on Sunday. Retiring 
 late to bed and rising early, she snatched a few 
 minutes from the long hours of her daily task to 
 mend the thin garments of her fatherless children 
 and instil into their minds the principles of re- 
 ligion. As some satisfaction for her motherly at- 
 tention she beheld her children always neat and 
 clean, and far above the average children in those 
 poverty-stricken districts. Being a woman of 
 good conscience and some culture, she realized 
 her obligations to give her girls a practical train- 
 ing, suitable to equip them for the duties of life. 
 The eldest girl at the age of twelve began to 
 assist her mother in providing for the family. The 
 mother and daughter managed their domestic af- 
 fairs so well that they were enabled to put aside a 
 
 few dollars. A year later Mrs. K sent the two 
 
 eldest girls to night school, that they might acquire 
 a knowledge of the arts of housekeeping and fine 
 sewing. They made rapid progress, and at the 
 end of two years, the older one graduating with 
 distinction, was appointed assistant teacher at the 
 school. 
 
 Mrs. K had a brother in the San Juan who 
 
 was always writing to her of the grand oppor- 
 tunities of this country. His letters were replete 
 with the accounts of success and wealth in a land 
 where the poor became rich, the weak strong and 
 all sorts of diseases cured, 
 
 "Where a man is a man, if lie is willing to toil, 
 And the humblest may gather the fruits of the soil." 
 
 Mrs. K 's life was wearing out slowly but 
 
 surely in the close atmosphere of the mills. The 
 dread finger of consumption had begun to trace 
 its first lines in her wan face. Why should she 
 
 108 
 
A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 
 
 not go to America, where she would have at 
 least fresh air? Encouraged by the letters of 
 her brother, who sent her the requisite passage 
 money, she packed up her few belongings, and, 
 with her children, set out for the bright land of 
 the San Juan, which she reached in midwinter. 
 The entire mountain region lay under many feet 
 of snow, and for days and weeks the trains be- 
 tween Silverton and Durango were blocked. It 
 took a large body of men three weeks to clear 
 the track from the effects of a snowslide which 
 had come down into the Animas canon. What a 
 contrast to the mild winter of England ! After 
 
 many untoward events Mrs. K arrived at 
 
 Silverton, where she engaged a modest residence 
 for herself and her family. Beginnings are 
 described as small, and they were very small in 
 the case of an invalid who had very limited re- 
 sources. The weather was extremely cold, fuel 
 high, and provisions dear; so, the few dollars she 
 brought with her from England were soon spent. 
 Looking around for some aid in her distress, she 
 received a lesson which comes to most people 
 sooner than they expect, that friendship does not 
 
 wear best in adversity. Mrs. K , however, 
 
 had studied in a good school, and learned to bear 
 the trials of life with becoming composure. One 
 of the sources of her affliction was the want of 
 weekly mass and Sunday-school for her daugh- 
 ters. While she labored assiduously to supply 
 these deficiencies by teaching her children her- 
 self, her heart was ready to break at the thought 
 that she had left home and kind friends for a land of 
 strangers. No one can fail to observe that the 
 great masses of humanity are ever ready for 
 change, purely and simply, without regard to even 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 temporal gain. Men leave comfortable homes to 
 find the sources of the Nile, or track the alligator 
 in the swamps, for adventure. And it is a wise 
 dispensation of Providence, stagnation being the 
 death of progress. How often is utter indiffer- 
 ence to results, the practical answer to the 
 admonition of prudence, which embodies experi- 
 ence in the familiar saying: ' 'You may go farther, 
 and fare worse!" 
 
 The long dreary winter made way for the soft 
 warm sunshine of spring. But Mrs. K con- 
 tinued to sink. The hollow cough and the hectic 
 flush told of the ravages of the fatal disease, 
 and lead so many to the delusive belief that 
 death has not planted its standard on their perish- 
 ing system. Rallying slightly w 7 ith the change 
 of season, she resolved to go to Rico, at the time 
 a lively camp, where there was a pretty fair 
 prospect of earning a livelihood. Upon her ar- 
 rival at that town, she found that houses were at 
 a premium, so it was hard to secure a dwelling at 
 any price. After much hunting around, she 
 succeeded in renting a small cabin on the Dolores, 
 a few miles from Rico. Here she lived all sum- 
 mer. The girls, who were experts with the 
 needle, made heavy flannel shirts and socks, 
 which they readity sold to the miners. Thus 
 passed the summer, and with good management, 
 sufficient money was saved to tide the family 
 
 over the winter. Mrs. K was made happ3 T 
 
 by seeing in her children the fruits of her judici- 
 ous methods of education. Instead of foolishly 
 striving to load them down with frivolous ac- 
 complishments, of which they were never likely 
 to make profitable use, she trained their hands 
 and eyes to remunerative employment. She felt 
 no 
 
A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 
 
 bound in conscience to procure for them such a 
 training as would enable them to support them- 
 selves. Her knowledge of life taught her that 
 what business success demands is not the ability 
 to shine in declamation, play the pretty in the 
 parlor, or loll upon a divan, dreaming of the 
 fool's paradise, in which the chief diversion is 
 "sipping the wine of Ispahan;" but that manual 
 industrial schooling is what the majority of boys 
 and girls need to enjoy a fair measure of happi- 
 ness here and, it may be said, a better prospect 
 of happiness hereafter. There are, even in our 
 day of general advancement, some departures 
 from the true scheme of enlightenment. "By 
 its fruits ye shall know the tree, ' ' and it is not 
 wide of the mark to say, that the state would not 
 be so deeply infected with socialism and the other 
 prevailing isms, if the practical received a more 
 careful consideration in the plans of education. 
 Many young men, after spending long years por- 
 ing over books at academy or college, are disap- 
 pointed on the threshold of life, at not being ap- 
 preciated at college standards, and obliged to 
 seek positions, in competition with the less 
 favored crowd, who have little book learning, but 
 some common sense. A few years, however, 
 teach the distinguished graduate that while 
 poetry and eloquence adorn the high places, won 
 by persevering toil, employers generally seek not 
 brilliant scholars, but industrious, reliable work- 
 ers. The sooner our youth learn that they must 
 begin at the bottom of the ladder and under the 
 wholesome discipline of hard knocks work to 
 the top, the sooner they will fit themselves for 
 prosperous careers. Young women, too, learn 
 that "life is real, life is earnest," and wholly un- 
 111 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 like the beguiling descriptions of ' 'mansions in the 
 moon," which rill the pages of an ephemeral 
 literature. The last panic that befell this coun- 
 try revealed many of the hidden workings of a 
 false system of economics, and emphasizes the 
 fact that we are in a new era of development. 
 The people of the United States are ancestors 
 themselves, and in a constant state of evolution, 
 framing by successful experiment, a destiny, un- 
 thought of by past generations. We have broken 
 away from the cast-iron theories and straight 
 lines of our forefathers. This is an accomplished 
 fact, and our methods are different from those of 
 Burope. We begin where the people of Europe 
 have left off. We recognize woman as the equal 
 not the inferior of man, and many of the states 
 have removed the common law disabilities of the 
 woman. A wit has remarked that woman was 
 superior to man, now she is only his equal. 
 Without considering the merits of this change 
 from the traditions of the past, or pretending to 
 discuss the wisdom of this policy, it is sufficient 
 to say that in most of our cities, women are 
 found in offices and positions which, twenty 
 years ago, were filled by men only. As women 
 then have enlarged opportunities of usefulness, 
 they must equip themselves for their new duties. 
 But they must not forget that they are women, 
 as well as citizens, and that their first duty is to 
 preside over the home as its queen, not usurping, 
 but sharing the authority of the natural head of 
 the family. Besides the breadwinner there is a 
 breadmaker, besides the clothweaver there is a 
 clothpatcher, in short there must be a trained 
 housekeeper, who keeps the dyspepsia from her 
 husband and makes the most out of the least. In 
 112 
 
A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 
 
 the manual school, our girls should be taught to 
 make a good loaf of bread, sew neatly, keep a 
 house clean, help the young husband to establish 
 himself in business, and perhaps to appreciate the 
 wisdom of minding their own domestic affairs. 
 But, of course, manual training is not a panacea 
 for all the ills of life. The education of the hand 
 and the eye is not sufficient. The heart must be 
 educated, and education must be founded on 
 principles of morality and religion. Without 
 God there can be no commonwealth. Aristotle, 
 in considering the comparative merits of different 
 systems of government, maintains that without 
 intelligence and virtue a republic cannot endure. 
 I fully appreciate the prizes held out to those 
 who obtain eminence in the higher arts and 
 sciences, and that these prizes are worth striving 
 for. In fine, it is the duty of the educator to 
 impress upon the minds of the rising generation 
 that any calling in life, whether high or low, is 
 praiseworthy. 
 
 "Honor and shame from no condition rise. 
 Act well your part, there all the honor lies." 
 
 In the fall Mrs. K began to show symp- 
 toms of heart failure, and the physician ordered 
 her at once to a lower altitude. On my arrival 
 at Rico, her daughters informed me of her con- 
 dition and requested me to go down to the little 
 cabin, say mass, and prepare their dear mother 
 for her last journey. I found the patient woman, 
 frail and wasted, but calm and resigned. This 
 world had lost its charms for her, and the world 
 to come had no terrors for her. When she spoke 
 of leaving her children, she said: "Why should 
 I fret, since I receive all my afflictions from the 
 
 113 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 hand of God. He is my father and their father, 
 and in His care, my children are safe." The 
 little parlor was clean and neat, with home- 
 woven carpets upon the floor; and bunches of wild 
 flowers, gathered from the mountains by the 
 girls, gave the altar a bright appearance. Five 
 candles of virgin white, decorated with delicate 
 colors and encircled by crowns of artificial 
 flowers, had been placed upon the altar. I re- 
 marked that two candles were enough, and in- 
 quired why these wreaths of roses were placed 
 around the candles. ' 'Oh Father, ' ' said the girls, 
 "these are our first communion candles and 
 crowns. We are making a small offering to our 
 blessed Lord, just as we did at our first com- 
 munion in Manchester. It is all we have to give 
 Him. Mamma said we should make a complete 
 offering of all we had, and here are our candles 
 and flowers, and our better possessions, our souls 
 and bodies." 
 
 The next morning, I said mass at five o'clock, 
 and another candle and wreath were added to the 
 group of lights, as the youngest child was about 
 to receive her first holy communion. The story of 
 the mother of the Maccabees came to my mind, as 
 that Christian mother knelt with her children at 
 the altar. There they were, six devout mortals, 
 with tears streaming down their cheeks. I pro- 
 nounced the solemn words: "Behold the Lamb 
 of God, who takes away the sins of the world," 
 and the confession of faith and humility: "Lord, 
 I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under 
 my roof, say but the word and my soul shall be 
 healed," and gave them the Bread of Life. It 
 was a sublime spectacle, which it is the privilege 
 of the Christian religion alone to offer. I am frank 
 
 114 
 
A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 
 
 to confess that I was touched by the solemnity of 
 the scene, as the dawn with silent step stole down 
 from the gray peaks into the valley of the 
 Dolores. 
 
 After breakfast, a ranchman drove up to the 
 door of the cabin. We all assisted in packing 
 the few effects of the family into the wagon, and 
 in a short time, the little cabin on the Dolores 
 was tenantless. Mrs. K was made as comfort- 
 able as possible, and accompanied by her daugh- 
 ters, set out to Cortez, where, in the Monte- 
 zuma valley with its inferior altitude and milder 
 winter, she fancied she might grow strong. I 
 promised to visit her before the weather became 
 too cold, and confer upon her again the consola- 
 tions of our holy religion. "But man proposes 
 and God disposes. ' ' She went east, where she 
 died as became a woman who in affliction at- 
 tained sanctity. 
 
 Saddling old Bill, I was soon on my way up 
 the gulch, and winding along the narrow wagon 
 road, which makes its way serpent-like on the side 
 of the mountains to the Hermosa. The day was 
 beautiful. The sunlight in flitting shadows was 
 creeping higher and higher up the mountain. 
 About noon I reached the Hermosa, unsaddled 
 my horse aud picketed him in the long grass. 
 While I was reclining in the shade and eating 
 my lunch, a man came down the gulch riding a 
 roan pony and urging on four tired looking burros 
 laden with several sacks of ore, blankets, 
 shovels, pans, picks, drills and the sheet iron 
 stove which the miner always carries with him. 
 A short-tailed dog, limping on three legs, brought 
 lip the rear of the sorry-looking caravan. The 
 stranger halted at the stream, and dismounting, 
 
 115 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 permitted the pony to plunge in and drink of the 
 refreshing water. To meet a person in the wilds 
 is a great blessing, and I saluted the man by re- 
 marking: ' 'A pretty warm day." He recognized 
 my salute and said: "Yes, awful hot for this 
 time of' the year," and lying down on his face, 
 drank long and deep from the stream. Having 
 fastened his pony, he walked over to me, and 
 threw himself on the grass beside me. He was 
 fully six feet three, and very muscular. He had 
 long, red, unkempt hair and beard. With a 
 hearty good will, he accepted my invitation to 
 lunch. "You have been out prospecting" I said. 
 "Yes, eight weeks now," he remarked, "and I've 
 had a fearful time up there at the foot of those high 
 mountains. I found some very good signs at the 
 head of a little creek, and camped there. I 
 washed out quite a bit of gold too," and he drew 
 out of his pocket a large tobacco sack full of 
 black sand and gold specks. ' 'Yes, it was hard to 
 get. There was no water of any account, and 
 you cannot get the stuff without plenty of water. 
 But I tell you I had lots of water the night before 
 last; and but for the little mouse-colored burro 
 over there I might have been killed or drowned. 
 You see the gulch was very narrow, with steep 
 banks on either side. We had a cloudburst. 
 Such rain, great Caesar ! it came down in tor- 
 rents, it fairly spilled over; it was more like a 
 deluge than an ordinary rainstorm. I was curled 
 up in my tent with Jerry, my dog, and trying to 
 keep dry, when, all of a sudden, that old burro 
 ran up to the tent and began to bra} 7 . The bray- 
 ing of the donkey, the peals of thunder and the 
 barking of Jerry, made a terrible din. I got up 
 and peering out, saw by the lightning that the 
 
 116 
 
A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 
 
 creek was rapidly filling up. The water was 
 then close to the tent. I had no time to lose, so 
 I rose quickly, pulled the pickets of the burros 
 and barely got them to a place of safety when a 
 mass of logs upset the tent and broke poor Jerry's 
 leg. Yesterday I dug out my things and they 
 look pretty tough, but I tell you were it not for 
 that old burro I might have been a goner. ' ' I 
 should feel I was doing an injustice to one of the 
 inhabitants of the Rockies, were I to take only a 
 passing notice of that humble, domestic animal, 
 the burro, known in musical circles under the 
 facetious appellation of the Rocky Mountain 
 canary. I am free to state that I cannot give 
 unstinted praise to his assaults upon the higher 
 notes of the first tenor; for the quality of his 
 voice would not recommend him to the manager 
 of an operatic company, were he in quest of a 
 good chorus. However, as a slight recognition 
 of his valuable services to man in doubt and trial, 
 I offer the following tribute: 
 
 THE BURRO 
 
 When Adam named in days of old, 
 The bird and beast and every fold, 
 He gave to each its proper class, 
 And well denned the gentle ass, 
 His ears made long, inclined to flap, 
 Down his shoulders is nature's strap. 
 Thus marked, he went o'er the world wide, 
 To help us all by easy stride. 
 Docile, humble, of low degree, 
 Destined ever a slave to be, 
 He took his place when time began, 
 And since has been the friend of man. 
 From Eastern climes he made his way, 
 Where his'try marks his longest stay, 
 And to the West, o'er ocean's main, 
 With Adam's sons he swelled the train; 
 117 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 But man, like ever-shifting fame, 
 Resolved to change the donkey's name. 
 Away on mountain, far from throng, 
 The sound he made, man called a song. 
 So, moved by notes, most deem scary, 
 Some dub him now the new canary. 
 
 From early morn to close of day, 
 He sings his song the same old way. 
 His voice is harsh, a choking roar, 
 And fills the mind with thoughts of gore. 
 His notes, — one short, with two quite long, 
 Contain the burden of his song. 
 At midnight hour when nature rests, 
 His crooning bray breaks out the best, 
 And o'er the crags and passes bleak, 
 His voice resounds in dismal shriek, 
 And some will cry when they are airy, 
 That "He's a bird— a true canary .' * 
 The burro is his Spanish name, 
 And bearing it he rose to fame; 
 For up and down 'neath driver's wrath, 
 He climbs with load on narrow path, 
 Where slipp'ry trails and icy slate 
 Precipitate him to his fate. 
 Plodding along at break of day, 
 So, year by year he makes his way, 
 Loaded heavy in mountain dust, 
 In winter's snows, and clouds that burst. 
 Keeping his pace in sun and rain, 
 He creeps along, a mountain train. 
 In hunger, they say, oft he can, 
 When all is gone, consume a can. 
 Bridles, saddles and boxes too; 
 He'll also eat a soleless shoe. 
 Flour and coffee, bacon and ham, 
 He looks upon, as we do jam. 
 Butter and cheese left in the shade, 
 Will disappear on his parade. 
 Trousers and shirts, in time of need, 
 Make him a meal for sharpest greed. 
 But of the things beyond his skill 
 Are iron hammer, miner's drill. 
 Around the camp he always goes 
 Striking at dogs and kindred foes, 
 118 
 
A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSI TY 
 
 Braying aloud with great delight 
 When hay abounds and grain's in sight; 
 Sometimes limping from saddle sore 
 Dug in his back by sacks of ore. 
 Taking ills like a patient man, 
 He spends his time the best he can, 
 Careless of wounds and battered feet, 
 Stumbling along the stony street; 
 Or, standing meek, with load or pack, 
 Eats the hay from his partner's back. 
 
 When flowers bloom and days are fine, 
 
 The burro keeps in better line. 
 
 When roads are good, and grass is long, 
 
 With stomach full he pegs along; 
 
 And o'er the hills and craggy walls 
 
 He carries nymphs from Vassar's halls. 
 
 'Neath Harvard's sports, or men from Yale, 
 
 The same old wag is in his tail. 
 
 The schoolmarms, too, both young and old, 
 
 Ride him up through the mountains bold. 
 
 His faithfulness should prompt us so 
 
 To treat him well where e'er we go. 
 
 A friend to all on dreary pass, 
 
 Most useful is the modest ass. 
 
 H9 
 
EIGHTH SKETCH 
 
 SOME of San Juan's winters are very severe, 
 while others are comparatively mild, but on 
 account of the dryness of the atmosphere the 
 cold is not felt so much as it is on the plains. 
 Month after month, from late in the spring to the 
 latter part of August, the snow melts slowly and 
 the mountain torrents pour down the gulches and 
 over the plains, irrigating the farms and insuring 
 bountiful crops. Hence, the farmer watches the 
 winter's storm with joy, while the miner, fearing 
 the snowslide and the precipice, dreads its ap- 
 proach. The winter of 1890, setting in betimes, 
 was long and bitter. The rocks and mountain 
 sides were covered with deep snow, and the tall 
 pines, with their fleecy coat of white, looked 
 small. The roads were blocked and often almost 
 impassable. Moses Livermann, the director of 
 the Silverton Railroad, was pushed to the utmost 
 to keep the line open until Christmas. A large 
 number of men had been at work from October, 
 and a bank on either side of the road was so piled 
 up with snow that no more could be thrown over. 
 The Silverton Railroad, one of the highest in the 
 world, connects Ironton with Silverton. I went 
 over to Silverton from Ouray in October. It was, 
 I think, on the 3d, and I rode part of the way 
 to Ironton on a sleigh. I was not a party of one, 
 but one of a party of travelers, and it took us 
 from 10:30 a. m. to 6:30 p. m. to reach Red 
 Mountain, a distance of about four miles. We 
 had only two cars, one of which was derailed at 
 least six times that day. and all hands assisted in 
 removing the snow and in prying on the car. 
 120 
 
THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 
 
 When we were about ready to continue our jour- 
 ney to Silverton I was stopped by a telephone 
 message calling me back to Ouray, which mes- 
 sage stated that a man was dying at the hospital. 
 I was compelled to procure a horse at the livery 
 stable and return as fast as I could. It was a 
 trying task, but I arrived at Ouray without a 
 mishap. Some time after, upon trying to visit 
 Silverton under similar difficulties, I came near 
 losing my life. The Ouray toll road was banked 
 up with masses of snow. While passing over 
 one of the bad spots in the road the sleigh tipped 
 over, spilling out the passengers. I happened to 
 be on the precipice side, and was thrown down 
 the abrupt declivity some forty feet. Here the 
 snow proved a friend to me, for it saved me from 
 bruises, and perhaps death. My fellow-passen- 
 gers pulled me up with a long rope, and we kept 
 on our way just as if nothing unusual had taken 
 place. 
 
 Around Silverton, especially near Howards- 
 ville, snowslides often play havoc. In a wild 
 wreck of rocks, railroad ties, time-worn boul- 
 ders and broken trees, a slide, on one occasion, 
 nearly carried away the depot at Silverton. It 
 is, therefore, one of the first considerations of the 
 miner to mark well the lay of the mountains, be- 
 fore he builds his cabin. 
 
 In the summer of 1890 three young fellows 
 came from the east, staked a claim, and began 
 to run a tunnel into one of the mountains of this 
 locality. It was not long before they learned to 
 appreciate the perils of the snowslide. At least 
 one of the miners was a Catholic; but, as will be 
 seen, a reproach to his religion. He had been a 
 student in a college, had served on the altar, and 
 121 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 been tenderly bred by Christian parents; but, 
 setting small store by the advantages he possessed 
 at home, he went to the far-off land, where, re- 
 moved from wholesome restraint, he forsook the 
 observances of his religion. No words were 
 too obscene, no oath was too horrible, and no 
 blasphemy too indecent for a youth upon whose 
 early days the light of fair promise shone. It 
 was his greatest pleasure to take the Holy Name 
 in vain, and companions of his, who had no re- 
 ligious training, shuddered, when compelled to 
 listen to his foul language. It had been storm- 
 ing for several days, and many feet of snow 
 rested upon the mountain side. It needs but a 
 faint breeze then to send the whole mass down 
 the mountain, and woe betide whatever is in its 
 track. The three young men had been working 
 in the tunnel all day, and were about to re- 
 turn to their cabin, which was about 200 
 yards across a gulch. The freshly fallen snow 
 far up the mountain side was glistening in the 
 last rays of the winter's sun. All around was 
 pure and white, and not a sound broke the still- 
 ness, save the voices of the three young miners, 
 who, as they scanned the mountain and weighed 
 the chances of an avalanche, were discussing the 
 expediency of crossing the gulch. Our nominal 
 Catholic, having gazed on the scene for awhile, 
 decided to face the danger. His friends remon- 
 strated with him, but for their objections he had 
 only reproaches and curses, and calling them 
 cowards for their prudence, he swore that he 
 would cross that gulch in spite of Christ Himself. 
 So, leaving his companions still undecided in the 
 mouth of the tunnel, he set forth by himself. 
 He had passed about half way over when one of 
 
 122 
 

the; blasphemer's fate 
 
 his friends moved after him, the third one, how- 
 ever, standing in the tunnel and awaiting results. 
 Scarcely had the second member of the party ad- 
 vanced fifty yards, when the mighty mass broke 
 loose from the mountain with a thunderous roar 
 that would awaken the dead, and rolled down 
 and on like the churning waves of Lake Michi- 
 gan when swept by the fiercest storm. Despair 
 seized the young men; there was no hope for 
 them How in five feet of snow could they 
 flee from that avalanche, which grew in speed 
 and volume as it rushed down the mountain side? 
 In a trice it was upon them, and dashed over 
 their lifeless bodies in less time than it takes to 
 record their fate. It is said that a rock struck 
 the unhallowed blasphemer, and ground into 
 mince meat that tongue of his which had so often 
 defied the God who made him. It was an appro- 
 priate punishment, and a warning against sins of 
 the tongue. ' ' Blessed tongue that spoke the 
 praises of God," cried St. Bonaventure, as he 
 kissed that sacred relic of the good St. Anthony 
 of Padua, but accursed is the tongue that be- 
 comes the organ of blasphemy. This reminds 
 me of a similar incident in this same country. 
 Two miners were working in a tunnel, and hav- 
 ing drilled a hole, loaded it. From some cause 
 the fuse failed to ignite the cap and the shot did 
 not go off. One of the miners, a man of ungov- 
 ernable temper, vented his spleen on the broken 
 fuse in a torrent of oaths, and wound up his 
 abuse by cursing the Almighty. He grasped the 
 hammer and drill and began in a frantic manner 
 to unload the hole. His partner fled, lest the 
 charge might explode before he had time to get 
 away. It did explode and tore the mad miner to 
 
 123 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 pieces, eviscerating him and strewing his intes- 
 tines on the ground before his face. It was a 
 horrible sight. His partner tried to make the 
 dying miner as comfortable as possible. When 
 he came to his senses, which was not for some 
 time, the unfortunate man acknowledged his 
 guilt. His earnest petition was that God might 
 forgive him for this sin of blasphemy, which was 
 so speedily punished. Thus two blasphemers 
 died, like the thieves on the cross, one to all ap- 
 pearances repentant, the other, God knows how, 
 but "His words will be justified and His judg- 
 ments will prevail." 
 
 Ouray was dull that winter, for the boys seldom 
 descended the mountains. Sneffles was hidden 
 in storm-laden clouds, and the highest peak in 
 the district, on whose tapering heights snow is 
 seen the year round, looked flat and dumpish in 
 the heaps of snow that remained upon it. To 
 come down from the Virginius mine was to in- 
 vite great danger, and even at Christmas few 
 dared seek the season's festivities or the refresh- 
 ment of Mother Buchanan's bath house. Here 
 is a boiling spring, which is one of the sights of 
 the town, and many an afflicted miner has had 
 the rheumatism dislodged from his bones in the 
 big swimming pool of hot water which bubbles 
 fresh from the earth at Mother Buchanan's. The 
 water is hot enough to boil eggs, so it always 
 needs tempering with the cold water which is 
 provided in the bathing rooms. Every one calls 
 Mrs. Buchanan mother and Mr. Buchanan the 
 general, and a finer old couple do not live. 
 Mother came from sweet Donegal, and brought 
 w T ith her a heart brim full of sympathy and good 
 humor, and well she deserved her title of endear- 
 
 124 
 
THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 
 
 ment, for she was a mother to all, and few knew 7 
 her better than the writer. As for the general, 
 frank and openhearted that he was, there was 
 nothing in the house too good for his friends, 
 who were all who had the happiness of knowing 
 him. He was so civil and obliging that if he 
 had no spring water at hand — and he loved 
 spring water — he would take a bucket and make 
 a bee line for the adjoining hostlery of Pat Hess, 
 who had it on tap. So frequent were the gen- 
 eral's accommodating trips to his neighbors that 
 in the summer, when the boys in great force 
 invaded the bath house, fifty to sixty taking 
 baths on Saturday afternoons, a well-beaten path 
 led to the business place of Mr. Hess. This gen- 
 tleman was a German, but how he got the name 
 Pat, unless he was born in Ireland on his way 
 from Germany, I cannot say. The general was 
 one of the old timers in Ouray, having come to 
 the camp before there was a wagon road to the 
 town. Camp life was the general's delight. 
 With a good rifle, some flour, bacon, coffee and 
 sugar, frying pan and spring water he was mas- 
 ter of the situation. 
 
 That winter a mine contractor, who hauled 
 most of the ore from the Virginius and returned 
 with supplies, lost a great many mules. They 
 perished in the snowslides, or, tumbling over 
 the precipice, were killed. The Virginius, which 
 was at an elevation of about 13,000 feet 
 above sea level, was approached by a narrow, 
 difficult trail. My tried and true friend, Billy 
 Maher, had a mining property, yes I believe 
 half a dozen properties, near by, called for ever}-- 
 thing that was patriotic, from' 'The Wearing of the 
 Green" to* 'Brian Boru." Billy was a hustler. He 
 
 125 
 
IN THK SAN JUAN 
 
 had been in the mountains six or seven years be- 
 fore I met him and had prospected all over the 
 Sneffles district, where he staked his claims and 
 worked assessments for Uncle Sam. Close to the 
 apex of the Rockies he erected his cabin. There 
 were no trees or grass, as it was far above timber 
 line. It was a desolate place, rocks, rocks, rocks, 
 on all sides. The only signs of life were a pecu- 
 liar species of ground hog, that seemed to thrive 
 on fresh air and the shrill whistling, which might 
 be taken for a kind of don't-tread-on-the-tail-of- 
 my-coat bravado, and an interesting little 
 creature known to mountaineers under the name 
 of the stone marten, whose continuous barking 
 serves as a kind of second fiddle in concert. Of 
 a brown color, with a pug-shaped head, close-fit- 
 ting ears, and a pocket-gopher tail, this nerv- 
 ous little animal, which always gives warning of 
 its approach, flits with the agility of a chipmunk 
 from rock to rock in search of grass and roots. 
 The sportsman would deem it strange to find 
 wild duck on the tops of the Rocky Mountains. 
 Yet it is a fact that the hardy little teal dwells on the 
 lakes that nestle like jeweled caskets above tim- 
 ber line. Here they lay their eggs, hatch their 
 3 T oung, and feed on the countless fish which 
 swarm in those remote reservoirs. How the fish 
 ever go£ there, is one of the mysteries hidden from 
 the modern historian. However, it may be pre- 
 sumed that the aborigines made those lakes their 
 summer resorts and stocked them with fish from 
 the valley streams, or the mountain torrent, which 
 only the trout can ascend. Twenty } r ears ago, 
 in many of Colorado's streams, it was no sport to 
 fish and hunt. Shoals of the finny tribe moved 
 about in their native element, shutting out the 
 
 126 
 
THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 
 
 light from the transparent waters, and devouring 
 one another in pursuit of food. To catch three 
 and four at a time, was an ordinary thing. They 
 are not so numerous now, but good fishing may 
 still be had, and offers rare sport to a person who 
 loves to play and catch the gamiest of all fishes. 
 With the first approaches of spring, and after the 
 snow has melted slowly, the teal may be seen 
 making its way from the lower altitudes up the 
 stream. In the early summer it builds its nest 
 on the sedgy bank of some little lake and there 
 rears its young. Should these swift and experi- 
 enced explorers be mistaken in their prognosti- 
 cations of the weather and happen to be caught 
 in the blinding snow, they often lose their bear- 
 ings and fall ready victims to the inclemency of 
 the weather. Flying around in the thick snow 
 they alight in the pines or fall exhausted in the 
 drifts, where they are soon covered up, perish of 
 hunger or freeze to death. Farther down the 
 mountain, among the stunted red willows which 
 separate the naked rocks from the first signs of 
 vegetation, is the home of the ptarmigan, com- 
 monly known as the Rocky Mountain quail. It 
 is a beautiful bird, and twice the size of the much- 
 praised bob- white. In winter it becomes as white 
 as snow, and at times can scarcely be discerned 
 in the snow. In summer its color changes from 
 a white to a brown, streaks of white remaining 
 on the neck and wings. The feet are covered 
 down to the toes with a thick, heavy coat of 
 feathers, which afford ample protection from the 
 most severe weather. The ptarmigan, as it 
 moves only a short distance at a time, falls an 
 easy prey to the hunter. 
 
 In the same region dwells the mountain grouse, 
 
 127 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 which is somewhat larger than the prairie 
 chicken and not unlike it in appearance, having 
 a long tail and a rather dignified strut. When 
 disturbed, it will fly up into a tree and wait to be 
 shot. In avoiding the hunter it never manifests 
 the cunning of the prairie chicken. Whole coveys 
 of these birds have been shot in the trees, not a 
 single one seeking to make its escape. In the 
 winter it lives like the ptarmigan, on the buds of 
 the willows, or moves down into the valleys where 
 food is plentiful. In the same locality is found the 
 snow-shoe rabbit. This animal is about the size 
 of the ordinary jack rabbit, but of a more delicate 
 constitution. It dwells far up in the pines at the 
 edge of timber line. It is probable that it re- 
 ceived its name, snow shoe, from the webbed 
 formation of its feet. Its toes are very short and 
 the foot is broad and covered with long matted 
 hair, which, growing between the toes, gives the 
 feet a bulky form that enables this denizen of the 
 Rockies swiftly to run over the freshly fallen 
 snow without sinking. 
 
 Billy's cabin was about ten by fifteen feet, and 
 was constructed of native lumber. A small cel- 
 lar had been quarried out of the rock for potatoes 
 and other vegetables, but Billy generally brought 
 the potatoes to bed with him, otherwise they 
 might freeze in the cellar. For water he used 
 snow in the winter, and in summer, springs on 
 the mountain are almost as plentiful as wild 
 flowers. Every miner can make biscuits, flap- 
 jacks and a sort of white hoe cake. The miner 
 is a good liver; he buys a whole steer, or beef by 
 the quarter, hangs it up high, where, frozen solid, 
 it will remain safe and fresh for eight months of the 
 year. Besides, putrefaction at a great altitude is 
 
 12S 
 
THE BLASPHEMER S FATE 
 
 very slow, so there is no lack of fresh meat in the 
 miner's bill of fare, though bacon or ham is most 
 used, as it seasons a meal. Billy married a little 
 body from his native country and settled down 
 in life. Everyone wished him joy, and all Ouray 
 turned out to do honor to his wedding day. His 
 marriage did not impair, but rather increased his 
 activity in working his properties, and he expected 
 to strike it rich soon. Fall lengthened into the 
 harsh winter of which I have been writing, and 
 Billy was unable to come down as often as before 
 to Ouray. At Christmas, however, he risked the 
 dangers of the descent; surely it would not be like 
 Christmas without Billy and his honest greeting: 
 "How are you, anyhow?" About the middle of 
 February he paid the town his last visit and re- 
 marked that he had had an awful time getting 
 down from the Virginius mine. As usual, he 
 assisted at mass and received the Blessed Euchar- 
 ist with all the devotion of his pious soul. 
 
 Upon his return to the mine he took with 
 him a beautiful English pointer of mine called 
 Prince. He loved the dog and the dog loved 
 him. While Billy and his partner, who hailed 
 from sunny Italy, worked all day in the tunnel, 
 Prince guarded the cabin. Everything was mov- 
 ing smoothly with the partners, and the prospects 
 of a splendid strike were good, when a shocking 
 calamity befell Billy. 
 
 "Ne'er unmixed with grief has heaven 
 Its joys on mortals shed." 
 
 It is an unfortunate custom of miners to take 
 giant powder into their cabins, hold it by the 
 fire and thaw it out. When frozen it will not 
 explode, but when thawed it is one of the most 
 
 129 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 dangerous and powerful explosives. On the 25th 
 of February, Billy, before setting out for the 
 mine, was engaged thawing the powder, when all 
 of a sudden eight sticks of the powder went off. 
 The result was • appalling, the stove was blown 
 through the roof and the cabin was demolished, 
 but the partners, where were they? Billy was 
 horribly mangled, his right hand was torn out of 
 shape. It was in this hand he held a stick of 
 giant powder at the time of the accident, yet not 
 a bone was broken, but the fingers were laid 
 bare, the flesh having been blown off, and both 
 eyes were destroyed. His face appeared as if 
 painted with powder; all his clothing was torn 
 into shreds and the discharge hurled him under 
 the bunk. His partner, who was washing the 
 dishes at the time, was not much hurt, but he re- 
 ceived a painful shock and some slight injuries. 
 After a considerable time the Italian came to him- 
 self and shouted with all his strength for Billy. 
 There was no answer, and he thought his partner 
 must be dead. At last he lifted his eyelid with 
 his finger, thus keeping his eye open, and saw 
 Billy lying in a heap under the bunk. Slowly 
 rising he dragged himself over to where Billy la}', 
 and shaking the recumbent figure, roused his 
 wounded friend, who faintly whispered, "Wrap 
 me in a blanket and bring help." 
 
 It was only a mile to the Terrible mine, but 
 there were so many feet of snow on the ground 
 that it was impossible to accomplish the short 
 distance without snow shoes. The Italian knew 
 nothing about snow shoes, and, therefore, was 
 unable to use them on his feet. Picking them up 
 he put his hands into the straps designed for the 
 feet and set out to swim over the sea of snow, 
 
 130 
 
THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 
 
 which in swelling waves followed the rise and fall 
 of the land. The trail was down hill most of the 
 way, with here and there obstructions in the 
 shape of rocks smothered with snow. When he 
 encountered these he was compelled to swim 
 around them. Using the shoes to keep him 
 afloat, and his feet as propellers, he shortened the 
 distance to the Terrible. 
 
 Meanwhile Prince was alone with his master in 
 the cabin, of which only the floor and one end re- 
 mained. When the dog saw the Italian go away, 
 he returned to the wrecked cabin, moaned pite- 
 ously for some time, smelled of his blood-stained 
 friend, and then sent up a howl that was most pa- 
 thetic. He then climbed upon the side of the house 
 that lay far out on the snow drift, and directed 
 his gaze to the Humbolt mine. This mine was 
 not so far away as the Terrible, but was much 
 higher up, and that is why Billy's partner did 
 not try to reach it. Prince sniffed the air for a 
 moment, then gave a short bark and plunged into 
 the deep snow toward the Humbolt, between 
 which and the Terrible was a trail fairly well 
 opened by the packers and miners, going to and 
 returning from Ouray. A hill hid Billy's cabin 
 from this trail, so no one could learn of the disas- 
 ter, and the thunder sound of dynamite is so 
 common in the mountains that no special notice 
 would be taken of it. Prince pressed on through 
 the snow, resting now and then, and turning 
 back longing eyes to the wrecked abode of his 
 master. At last he came within sight of the trail. 
 A miner was making his way over the drifted 
 road when his attention was called to the barking 
 of the beautiful dog. Indeed, he was beautiful, 
 being of the regulation kind, black and white, 
 
 131 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 with long ears and large eyes which beamed with 
 intelligence. The moment a gun was taken down 
 he was at hand, licked the gun and fawned on 
 the sportsman for permission to go hunting, and 
 sometimes he would lie in wait for a hunting 
 party until he had a chance to join in the sport. 
 When he saw the man on the trail he set up a 
 cry of distress, and sitting in the snow, moaned, 
 then suddenly turned back a short distance. He 
 wanted to engage the miner's attention and kept 
 running up closer, continuing to bark, then re- 
 treated, but the miner did not understand his 
 strange movements and kept the uneven tenor of 
 his way. As a last resort, Prince came straight 
 in front of him, barking savagely and snarling in 
 his mad endeavor to turn the man to Billy's 
 cabin. The miner was somewhat afraid of what 
 he thought was a vicious dog, and made several 
 kicks at him. Finally Prince retreated, made 
 his way back to the cabin and lay crouching be- 
 side the couch of his master, who could not see 
 or hear him, the detonation of the powder 
 having deafened him; and both eyes were de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 The Italian, in the meantime, swam down 
 hill on the Norwegian shoes until he came to the 
 bottom of the gulch, when he had to climb up 
 the mountain several hundred yards. On his 
 way he could almost look into the boarding house 
 of the Terrible mine, but no one saw him. Half 
 the men were working, the other half sleeping, 
 and the cooks were busy preparing dinner. The 
 poor fellow, wet to the neck and ready to give up 
 from exhaustion, still plunged on, using the long 
 snow shoes as staves to drag his half paralyzed 
 body up the steep incline. It was three in the 
 
 132 
 
THE BLASPHEMER S FATE 
 
 afternoon when he arrived at the Terrible, hav- 
 ing started from the cabin at about 7:30. 
 
 When he informed the miners of the accident a 
 party of four was speedily organized to convey 
 the mangled miner to Ouray. The little band 
 proceeded at once to the Virginius, took the trail 
 which leads to the Humbolt, and then the route 
 Prince had taken. All had snow shoes and the 
 trip was made without serious trouble. Arrived 
 at the dismantled cabin, they found Billy and the 
 dog side by side in the splintered bunk. They 
 hastily constructed a hand sled, and strapping 
 Billy, Esquimau-like, on the sled, covered him 
 up. Two of the party took the lead and two more 
 kept behind, holding a rope fastened to the sled 
 to keep it from tipping over. In this manner 
 they started back to the Terrible. It was now 
 growing dark and the wind began to blow a gale. 
 Sometimes the location of the mine was lost, and 
 as the advancing darkness and the howling storm 
 gathered around them, they trembled with fear. 
 One of the men broke his snow shoe, another was 
 so worn out that he wished to be left behind until 
 help arrived, but the other two, inured to moun- 
 tain travel, forced their companions to go on. 
 Just before entering the gulch they heard the 
 crash of a snowslide away to the right. It can 
 easily be told from the explosion of dynamite, as 
 it comes with a dull, heavy thud, devoid of all 
 resonance. At last, ready to drop, they arrived 
 at the Terrible. Four men had been notified at 
 the Virginius to be at hand to relieve the first 
 squad of helpers and take Billy down to Porter's. 
 The Virginius was only a short distance from the 
 Terrible. Four volunteers cheerfully responded 
 to the call and prepared for the journey to 
 
 133 
 
IN THE SAX JUAN 
 
 Porter's, which was three miles down the moun- 
 tain. But they never reached the Terrible; they 
 were lost in a snowslide. As the four men failed 
 to reach the Terrible, the same miners, fatigued 
 though they were, resumed the task of bearing 
 Billy to the hospital at Ouray. It was quite a 
 heroic effort for the four men without relief to ac- 
 complish the whole journey from Billy's cabin to 
 Ouray. When they came back the next after- 
 noon they met one of the men from the Virginius 
 and reproached him for not having sent the 
 promised help, thus compelling them to carry the 
 wounded man the whole way. "We did send 
 four men," he said, "at dusk yesterday evening." 
 They all instinctively turned and looked down 
 the mountain side. There they beheld the track 
 of an awful snowslide and knew the fate of the 
 four miners. Looking closely they saw a hat on 
 the snow, and following the track of the slide 
 soon came to a hand, frozen stiff, protruding from 
 the snow. They digged around it carefully and 
 presently reached the head of a man. The man 
 was standing up as straight as an arrow with his 
 hands thrown out, as if to ward off a crushing 
 blow, or perhaps to keep them free from that 
 horrible snow packing which ensues, when the 
 crunching mass closes around an object. I re- 
 member the case of the victim of a snowslide 
 who had worked his way through the mass of 
 snow with his fingers, and when he issued from 
 the living tomb was fingerless, the fingers hav- 
 ing been worn out in the effort to free himself. 
 The first man who was uncovered was a Mr. 
 
 M , a powerful fellow. He may have lived 
 
 five or six hours standing up in his snow\ r tomb, 
 and no doubt shouting for help, for there was a 
 
 134 
 
THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 
 
 large cavity which had been thawed out by his 
 warm breath. By degrees he was frozen to death, 
 but the struggle for life must have been supreme. 
 Held as if by a vise, he must have fought a fierce 
 battle for life. The only hope for a person caught in 
 a snowslide is to remain on the top of the snow, 
 which advances like the waves of the ocean in its 
 ebb and flow. If you are thrown down at the 
 outset your chances of life are next to nothing. 
 
 Mr. M seems to have ridden the snow for some 
 
 time, but the grinding mass submerged him. The 
 next body found was that of a poor miner from 
 Delta, Colorado, who had gone to the big mine to 
 make a few dollars to buy seed for his ranch and 
 help support a wife and six children. His neck 
 was broken, so he scarcely knew what happened. 
 The other two members of the ill-fated party 
 must have been killed outright. 
 
 Poor Billy Maher was brought to the sisters' 
 hospital that night about eleven o'clock. The 
 physician . examined him and found that he was 
 blind and internally injured. The explosion al- 
 most destroyed his hearing, and to make myself 
 heard by him I had to speak at the top of my 
 voice. I could gather from his faint whispers that 
 he did not think he was very much injured, but 
 he said that if he was blind he would rather 
 die than live. We entertained hopes of his re- 
 covery for a day or two, but they were in vain. 
 Billy was slowly dying, so I gave him the last 
 sacraments of the church and prepared him for 
 death. He repeated some of the prayers and 
 continued to make ejaculations expressive of his 
 love of God, until he could do so no longer. 
 Gradually, he sank into a state of insensibility. 
 As the gray dawn of morning stole over the east- 
 
 135 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 ern mountains Billy's heart went silent to the touch 
 of death, the weary march of life was done, and on 
 the powder-begrimed face a deathly pallor set- 
 tled. Billy was no more, and the little cabin be- 
 yond the ocean in distant Tipperar}^ would never 
 again be visited by one, whose fondest hope w#s 
 that he might sit once more beneath the thatched 
 roof of his childhood's home. 
 
 At Billy's funeral nearly everyone in town 
 was present. My heart was too full for utter- 
 ance; I could make no formal address, and only 
 said that his life was more eloquent than any 
 sermon I could preach. It is the simple truth to 
 say that the dead man's part in life was well 
 played. "He had a tear for pity and a hand 
 open as day for works of mercy." He loved to 
 serve mass and to minister to the wants of the 
 priest, and in his goings in and goings out he 
 was so well approved that greater honor could 
 not be shown to a public official. His 
 best desire was satisfied when he died fortified 
 by the rights of the church, which he loved bet- 
 ter than his own life. The memory of this noble 
 soul deserves this tribute, and will long be cher- 
 ished by his friends. "Only the actions of the 
 just smell sweet and blossom in the dust," and 
 merit record to enlighten others. 
 
 A MINER'S DEATH 
 
 'Tis dreary to-night on the mountain, 
 
 The starlight is hid in the sky. 
 The thick snow is falling and drifting, 
 
 From each rugged peak's point on high. 
 
 Away on Mount Sneffles bare summits, 
 Where nature so awesome appears, 
 
 Where the gloom-shaded face of the morn 
 Distracts the beholder with fears, 
 136 
 
THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 
 
 A miner is dying and praying, 
 That God in his mercy may send 
 
 The Soggarth Aroon to his cabin, 
 A sinner in need to befriend. 
 
 Meanwhile in the black winter's storm, 
 His partner makes haste the long day, 
 
 To announce a miner is dying 
 
 On the mountain, from help far away. 
 
 No mother, no wife to watch o'er him, 
 And calm the worn spirit's unrest, 
 
 Or lift up the soul that's aweary, 
 By whisp'ring to him of the blest. 
 
 The unction has now touched the Christian, 
 His lips are still moist from the oil, 
 
 Scarce has absolution been giv'n, 
 When nature succumbs to the toil. 
 
 The crucifix clasped to his bosom, 
 
 A tear on his cheek lately shed, 
 A word for his mother and family, 
 
 The soul of the miner has fled. 
 
 Beside him we watched from the midnight, 
 Till heaven unlocked the new day, 
 
 We laid him to rest on the hillside, 
 From home and dear friends far away. 
 
 The long train of sleighs and carriages moved 
 slowly down the street and then wound through 
 the gulch to Portland until it came to the ceme- 
 tery, where, with the final prayers of the church, 
 we consigned the remains of Billy Maher to their 
 last resting place — 
 
 "The tender tear which Nature sheds 
 O'er those we love we drop into his grave." 
 
 137 
 
NINTH SKETCH 
 
 THE story of the prodigal son is repeated 
 every day, and will continue to be repeated, 
 until sin is no more. Every family has its 
 black sheep. No one knows this better than the 
 priest, w T hose ear is ever open to the story of 
 man's folly. In his missionary calls, which sum- 
 mon him day and night to perform the task of 
 reconciliation between God and man, the dying 
 prodigal, returning to his father's house with 
 tears in his eyes, is a familiar figure. The cloak 
 of charity is sometimes thrown over worthless 
 lives, so that friends may not be offended, or 
 pious ears scandalized. When a disedifying life 
 escapes due criticism, religion is mocked at, and 
 becomes a by-word of reproach. Charity to the 
 dead may be injustice to the living, and the 
 young are likely to be deceived by the glamor of 
 the public funeral. The pagan crystallized a 
 gracious sentiment, when he observed, that noth- 
 ing but what is good should be spoken of the 
 dead; but the true principle is found in the wise 
 injunction: "Let justice be done, though the 
 heavens should fall." If men practised justice 
 more generally in their dealings w T ith their fellow- 
 men, it would not be necessary to bolster up 
 character by the display of a charity, which, un- 
 enlivened by supernatural motives, degenerates 
 into sensuality. 
 
 While I was on the missions of the San Juan, 
 I met mam r w T ho belonged to the category of 
 prodigals, who are usually spendthrifts, but some- 
 times misers, "in whom there is nothing heaven- 
 ly." I wish to mention one or two instances of the 
 
 138 
 
BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 
 
 spendthrift class. John W had fought from 
 
 Bull Run to Antietam, and was wounded three 
 times; but the final stroke was reserved for him 
 at Ouray, when encamped on the field with the 
 enemy that gives no quarter. He owned by gift 
 or sale some mining property in the Ouray Gold 
 Belt, and had come west to see it. He had a 
 considerable sum of money, as he drew a pretty 
 liberal pension from the inexhaustible coffers of 
 generous Uncle Sam. He bore on his body as 
 mementoes of the war and a consideration for his 
 pension, three bullet wounds, one of which was 
 very painful, breaking out with assured regular- 
 ity. This wound he received on the gory field 
 of Antietam, where, for two days, he lay with 
 his head on the breast of a dead comrade. He 
 came to Ouray at a moment when there was 
 much excitement over the American-Nettie dis- 
 covery. It was a time when every day saw new- 
 comers, by tens and twenties, drop into town to 
 locate and buy claims. So eager in the pursuit 
 of new finds were these mine seekers, that not a 
 few of them lay at night in the snow to secure 
 first choice in the diggings. The people of Ouray 
 congratulated themselves upon the fact that their 
 city was not subject to booms, but kept a steady, 
 healthy growth. 
 
 More or less gold had been discovered in the 
 mountains adjacent to the city, and a little even 
 in the streets of the town. When the boys came 
 down from the mines for rest and recuperation, 
 they often took hammers and drills, and strolled 
 up into the Blow Out or Gold Belt. They lo- 
 cated some very good prospects, which showed a 
 fair quantity of the yellow metal. It remained, 
 however, for a couple of good-natured fellows to 
 
 139 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 make one of the best strikes in the Blow Out. 
 When money was plentiful they spent it freely, 
 and, when short of funds, borrowed from their 
 friends. They referred with pride to their future 
 prospects, especially in the Gold Belt, which they 
 claimed, would some day create a great sensa- 
 tion. So they pounded away at the tunnel in 
 the Blow Out, avoiding the dangers of the higher 
 altitudes and enjoying the privilege of being 
 their own masters. 
 
 One day they came down to Ouray with a sack 
 of the volcanic stuff, which fairly set the town 
 wild. It assayed far up into the thousands, and 
 everyone in town rushed up to the Belt to stake a 
 claim. The news spread to the east, and min- 
 ing experts poured into the town to examine the 
 new find. Large sums were offered for a loca- 
 tion, and soon the eastern side of the canon was 
 dotted with tents. Our lucky young . men sold 
 out for over $40,000 in cash, and were looked 
 upon as the heroes of the hour. One of them 
 having some strange ideas of his own, the first 
 resolution he took was to go down into New 
 Mexico and undertake to break all the faro 
 banks. Full of this strange resolution he set out 
 and remained away three months, returning with 
 the loss of several thousand dollars. Not learn- 
 ing anything from his failure in New Mexico, 
 he continued in his stubborn resolve to "wind up, ' ' 
 as he said, the £aro banks of Ouray, but lost all 
 his mone3 T . This made a man of him. With 
 the loss of the money, his senses returned, and 
 he now does his day's work as of old, with a 
 cheerful and contented mind. 
 
 I knew another young man, who was a hard 
 drinker, but otherwise a good sort of a fellow. 
 
 140 
 
BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 
 
 He came from Pennsylvania at the time of the 
 excitement to which I have referred, spent all his 
 money, and then came to me and took the pledge 
 for a year. ''Well, Father," said he, "if I ever 
 make a strike, I'll settle down." He staked a 
 claim, worked hard for three months, got the 
 prospect in good shape, and sold out for $4,000, 
 before the boom died out. On the 3d of July he 
 came down to town, and fell into the claws of the 
 tiger, losing his fortune. I have remarked that 
 the spendthrift is generally the type of the 
 prodigal, but, using the term prodigal in a 
 higher, though rarely accepted, sense of the 
 word, I would apply it, on the doctrine that ex- 
 tremes touch, to that class of men who prefer 
 money to God Almighty. Among the miners 
 this sort of a being is rare, and obtains access to 
 their company by effrontery alone. He is held in 
 contempt by them, for he would rob Lazarus of 
 the few crumbs that fall to his hard lot. His 
 love of the mammon of iniquity shuts the door of 
 his heart to all the sunshine of this life. With 
 enough money, he is always poor. Adoring his 
 sordid god, he holds in disgust and abhorrence all 
 the works of mercy. Hugging his plethoric 
 pocketbook, he ignores all appeals of charity, 
 which is a strange, empty term in his ear. Such 
 a creature I once met in the San Juan. A strong, 
 healthy fellow, and of a parsimonious habit, he 
 seldom came down from the mines, but remained 
 there year after year, until he had eight or ten 
 thousand dollars to his credit in one of the banks. 
 And when he did come to town he showed no 
 signs of sociability. So completely was he 
 wrapped up in himself, that he shunned his fel- 
 low-miners. When he had deposited his money, 
 
 141 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 he returned without delay to the mountains, 
 walking the whole distance, while others hired 
 horses to make the difficult journey. To urgent 
 requests from his old parents for help, he lent a 
 deaf ear. Letters came to me, containing in- 
 quiries about his health and circumstances, and 
 when I spoke to him of the duty he owed the 
 authors of his being, it was like pulling a tooth out 
 of his head to extract a dollar from him. For 
 awhile, he grudgingly sent them a paltry sum, 
 and at length abandoned his indigent relatives to 
 the cold charity of a British workhouse. But 
 the wrath of the Almighty overtook him sud- 
 denly; for one day he was killed in an accident 
 without warning, and forced to leave the dollars 
 which he had so faithfully hoarded. They fell to 
 the lot of a near relative, who, consecrating them 
 to gross vice, never stopped until he had squan- 
 dered the last cent of the miser's treasure. Such 
 was the fate of one who may have thought to 
 himself that he had a balance at the banker's 
 enough to insure him against Providence itself. 
 1 'Accursed hunger for gold! to what dost thou not 
 force poor mortals!" 
 
 The saloons did a rushing business and the 
 faro-dealers worked two shifts of eight hours 
 a day. John, like all the old soldiers* had 
 a knack of making friends and acquaintances 
 and was not behind the others in spending 
 his money. He made his debut in town by 
 actually taking the large roll of bills, which 
 he carried with him , and passing it over to the 
 proprietor of the saloon. He then waded into 
 the sea of dissipation, careless of the depths be- 
 fore him. The free lunch, of course, was in the 
 bill of attractions, and kept him from sensible 
 
 142 
 
BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 
 
 employment. Going at a killing pace in vanity 
 fair, he let but little time pass without its peculiar 
 variety of distraction, and was busily engaged in 
 the downward road to ruin, whenever he was 
 capable of standing up at the bar, and shaking 
 the dice. It was only when, stupefied by the 
 draughts of poison he fell on the sawdust floor, 
 that he paused in his mad career. So dead to 
 shame was the poor fellow that he often lay in a 
 heap on the ground. 
 
 At the further end of the saloon was a vacant 
 room, in which odds and ends were jumbled to- 
 gether. To this retiring-room the degraded 
 creatures, who had a dollar in their pockets, or 
 were otherwise good for a drink, were removed 
 for future investments. Here stood in the cen- 
 tre of the room, a ragged billiard table, upon 
 which John was tossed to sleep off his drunken- 
 ness. During a spree, which might last ten 
 days, the poor fellow kept moving from the bil- 
 liard table to the bar, constantly under the in- 
 fluence of the deadly drug. 
 
 One morning he failed to put in an appearance. 
 Late in the day the owner of the saloon went into 
 the room and found the unfortunate man in a 
 semi-conscious state, breathing stertorously and 
 apparently dying. A physician was summoned. 
 Upon seeing the man, the doctor ordered him to 
 the hospital, where, after some restoratives and 
 much hard work, he was brought to his senses. 
 When he realized his sad condition, his money 
 lost, and his constitution wrecked, the coming 
 prey of death, his soul was so overwhelmed with 
 terror and despair that pen can hardly depict his 
 agony. He drew from his bosom the pictures of 
 his little grandchildren, and kissing the faces of 
 
 143 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 the absent ones, wept as if his heart would break. 
 It was all he had left, and the bitterness of that 
 hour seemed to be intensified rather than as- 
 suaged, by the sight of the sweet, innocent faces. 
 The physician said he could not live; his system 
 was poisoned, and his flesh discolored. He had 
 a gigantic frame and must have been a man of 
 prodigious strength. It was not easy to convince 
 him that he was about to die; but when he 
 realized the truth, and with the deepest contrition 
 had received the last sacraments, he became re- 
 signed and faced death as in many a hard-fought 
 battle he had faced it in the sixties. The saloon 
 keeper was kind enough to bear all expenses. 
 A similar deplorable case which came under 
 my notice illustrates the ruin which the habit of 
 drink produces in men of the best natural parts. 
 The man of whom I speak was past middle life, 
 but still strong and healthy. He was born in 
 Ireland, of wealthy parents, who gave him a 
 first-class education. A trained scholar, he could 
 dash off a Fourth of July oration with as many 
 dazzling tropes and figures as a master of rhetoric. 
 Extensive book knowledge was ripened by long 
 intercourse with the world of business. A 
 brother of his adopted for a career the legal 
 profession, and is now a prominent lawyer in his 
 own state. The subject of my remarks literally 
 drank the share of the inheritance that came to 
 him. When all was gone, and with his loss 
 came the remorse which outlives the worst form 
 of dissipation, he moved west and after some 
 3^ears found himself in the great carbonate camp 
 of L,eadville. He was not long there, until he 
 formed a syndicate for the purpose of working a 
 mining property, and upon the sale of the mine, 
 
 1U 
 
BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 
 
 his share netted him $12,000. He resolved to go 
 back to Ireland and lead a reputable life among 
 his friends, but while preparing to put his resolu- 
 tion into practice, his passion for drink got the 
 better of him, and he never got farther than 
 Salida, Colorado, where, for nine months, he 
 drank steadily, and when he sobered up, his 
 money was gone. Disgusted with himself, he 
 fled from the town, went over into Gunni- 
 son County and tried to begin life anew. He lo- 
 cated some claims, and with a companion, com- 
 menced sinking a shaft. For six months they 
 worked hard and during this time, true to his 
 spirit of enterprise, tried to organize another 
 company. He was on the point of accomplish- 
 ing this purpose, when one day an unexpected 
 explosion occurred in the shaft; his legs were 
 both broken, one eye was blown out, and the other 
 was left with little sight. His face was horribly 
 disfigured and filled with burned powder. With 
 a broken nose added to other disfigurements, he 
 was one of the homeliest looking men at the 
 mines. He was obliged to spend nine months in 
 the hospital under the care of the sisters. During 
 this involuntary retirement he assumed the show 
 of the human form ; as a result of much medita- 
 tion on the four last things, some pious reading 
 and the enforced avoidance of the proximate oc- 
 casion of his besetting sin, he determined to shun 
 drink. 
 
 Leaving the hospital, he repaired to Pueblo, 
 where he secured a position as foreman on a Rio 
 Grande construction train. For a year and a- 
 half, he did not touch intoxicating liquors. One 
 day he had some words with the superintendent, 
 quit work and began to drink once more. Before 
 
 145 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 he ended this spree in the gutter, the savings of 
 a year and a-half were squandered, and the weak 
 creature fleeing from his friends, was forced to 
 beat his way to the San Juan country. Broken 
 in spirit and body, he came to me and begged 
 something to eat. I gradually drew him out and 
 learned his history. I procured him some light 
 work in Ouray and when he regained his strength 
 sufficiently, a position in a mine, where, for 
 nine months, without losing a day, he worked 
 faithfully. But, as the absence of the vice does 
 not prove the presence of the virtue, he was not 
 reformed, the demon of drink held him in his 
 strong, fast hold, and the first day he came down 
 from the mine he inaugurated" a new spree, 
 which closed with the delirium tremens. He 
 was, indeed, a sad and pitiable sight. We all 
 encouraged him to cheer up and try again. He 
 did so, and worked about four months, when, on 
 the 17th of March, he came to town and this 
 time fell lower than ever. I was not aware that 
 he was in Ouray, for when drinking he never 
 came near me. About the middle of May I went 
 to Denver on business. During my absence, the 
 ambulance one morning drove up to the sisters' 
 hospital, a man was carried in on a stretcher, and 
 the sister in charge recognized a former patient. 
 He had been on a prolonged debauch and finally 
 lay down by the river to die alone, not wishing 
 after his scandalous behavior to approach priest 
 or sisters. He was tenderly placed on a bed, 
 which was a rare delicacy for him. The heavy 
 breathing and flushed countenance told the ex- 
 perienced sister that he was about to die, so she 
 informed him that he must have a priest at once. 
 The nearest priest was at Montrose and, accord- 
 
 146 
 
BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 
 
 ingly, he was wired to come up on the evening 
 train. The poor man prayed all day for forgive- 
 ness of his sins, deplored sincerely his unhappy 
 life and strove to make amends for the past in 
 the few hours still left him. As the shades of 
 evening and death drew on, he sank rapidly. He 
 called for the priest again and again. His gentle 
 nurse soothed him and calmed his fears, telling 
 him that the train would soon arrive with the 
 priest. At last, the long, loud whistle of the 
 locomotive, steaming into the depot, reached his 
 ear, and raising his faint voice, he cried out, 
 "Thank God, thank God the priest has now 
 come, ' ' and with a cry for mercy on his lips he 
 died, manifesting every sign of true repentance. 
 Next day I came home and we buried the victim 
 of the accursed drink habit at the foot of those 
 rock-ribbed mountains, from whose side trickles 
 down the undiluted waters, which are the bev- 
 erage of the wise. What a mockery of the end 
 of the drunkard is the musical chant of the 
 gurgling stream as it keeps its way from the 
 mountain passes to the ocean, and what a com- 
 mentary upon the evils of intemperance is such a 
 wasted career ! Man was created with noble 
 faculties, an intellect to pursue truth and a will 
 to love good. But what does the intemperate 
 man care for truth ? See him, leaning against a 
 lamp post, swaying to and fro or wallowing in the 
 mire ! Ask him what he is doing, or who he is. 
 The answer is a stammering demand for a drink. 
 If he meets a refusal, he does his best to mumble 
 a curse or an oath. Loving his shameful ap- 
 petites, the time he spares from the bottle he 
 devotes to the neglect of the duties of his state of 
 life. Instead of providing a home for his family, 
 
 147 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 he gives his earnings to the grog shop, and 
 suffers his children to run wild. Disorder pre- 
 vails at his pretense of a home, where squabbles 
 and blows sometimes end in murder. How does 
 the intemperate man fulfil his obligations to so- 
 ciety ? He owes the grocer, butcher, milkman, 
 in a word every one he deals with, and when he 
 dies, he leaves the state an impoverished, vicious 
 offspring. The children of the drunkard's home 
 swell the ranks of vice, crowd the reformatories 
 and fill the lunatic asylums. Ah, "what a piece 
 of work a man is ! How noble in reason, how 
 infinite in faculty, in form and moving, how 
 express and admirable; in apprehension how like 
 a god, the beauty of the world, the paragon of 
 animals ! ' ' This is the temperate man who, with 
 his intelligence developing in the right line, 
 marches swiftly to his end and glorifies his 
 Maker. Alas, what a contrast is the intemperate 
 man, who staggers through life to an inglorious 
 end. Possessed by the demon of drink, "he will 
 not serve;" he scorns advice and resents well- 
 meant friendship; he ridicules the simple lives of 
 his fathers, who in simplicity, became saints. 
 How to satisfy his animal nature, is the absorb- 
 ing aim of his besotted existence. If only the 
 world were an open bottle, his happiness would 
 be complete. It is by faith, hope and charity 
 that we apprehend God, as it is by the senses we 
 are put into relations with the material world. 
 But the intemperate man believes in whiskey, 
 puts his trust in whiskey, loves whiskey and 
 everything that ministers to a sensual life. The 
 cardinal virtues are the hinges upon which life 
 revolves. Suppose the life of the drunkard is 
 tested by this standard, the conclusion must be 
 
 148 
 
BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 
 
 that it were better for him never to have been 
 born. He goes to destruction with his eyes open, 
 his motto is: "Let the last man pay the last 
 man." For the virtues, which should adorn 
 man, he possesses all the vices enumerated by 
 the apostle as the works of the flesh; he is proud, 
 and has nothing but his shame of which to be 
 proud; thirsting for the most brutalizing pleas- 
 ures, he envies his fallen brother, with whom he 
 regrets he cannot change places. The drunkard 
 is outside the pale of redemption, "Drunkards 
 shall not inherit the kingdom of God. ' ' Statistics 
 throw a lurid light upon the appalling evils of 
 intemperance. An analysis of the causes that led 
 in 1890, to the arrest of 7,386 persons, discloses 
 the fact that in 5,096 cases, or three-fourths of 
 the whole number, drink was the responsible 
 cause. The total output of 44,031 breweries in 
 1894 was 5,475,000 gallons, a number which 
 imagination cannot realize. In that year the 
 consumption of liquor in the United States alone 
 was 1,150,000 gallons. Truly it is a dismal 
 picture, and the reader may ask if there is any 
 hope for the drunkard. I answer yes, but the way 
 to temperance for the habitual drunkard is steep 
 and rocky. Thank God there is a sufficient number 
 of recoveries from the serfdom of drink to prove 
 that a good will with the proper physical and 
 moral remedies will effect a permanent cure. I 
 am not an advocate of total abstinence, and I 
 believe that there are cases in which it may not 
 be necessary to recommend this practice; but 
 some persons are in conscience bound neither to 
 take, touch, or taste the forbidden cup. 
 
 I met on my missions another man who had 
 been a heavy and constant drinker for thirty 
 
 149 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 years. He was an old soldier and possessed a 
 fair degree of intelligence. From a large ex- 
 perience, acquired in a military career of five 
 years, he understood men and things pretty well. 
 Before enlisting, he married, like many who are 
 now going to fight the Spaniards. While await- 
 ing the summons to active service, he fell into 
 the habit of drinking to the point of intoxication. 
 When discharged from the service, instead of 
 forsaking his evil way, he went from bad to 
 worse. Of course, when a man drinks to excess, 
 he neglects his business, and as he does not mind 
 his shop, his shop does not mind him. When 
 poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at 
 the window. So this 3-oung man, spurned by his 
 relations, and threatened by his wife, left the 
 latter and two children, and fled to the west. 
 His intentions were good, he meant to reform, 
 and then send for them. Perhaps he thought 
 it was a change of climate and not a change of 
 mind he needed. "But a man's mind to him a 
 kingdom is," and no man is at home unless he 
 is at home with himself. His resolutions were 
 weak, and in a strange country he sank lower 
 and lower. After a night's debauch, he swore 
 that that was his last, but before night he would 
 find himself again in the mire. Thirty years of 
 such an existence, away from home and children, 
 is an awful account in the history of a husband 
 and father. This was the man, gray from age 
 and dissipation, that I encountered. It was my 
 special blessing to have been the means under 
 heaven of reforming him and restoring him to 
 his family, to a struggling wife and children, and 
 even grandchildren, who had learned to lisp the 
 name of the unfortunate grandpa, who was going 
 
 150 
 
BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 
 
 to ruin in the west. It was on one of my sick 
 calls that I found him like a maniac laid on a bed, 
 strong straps binding his wrists and his ankles 
 pinioned to the posts. He was foaming at the 
 mouth like a vicious dog. One moment horrid 
 despair sat upon him, the next, his eyes set in 
 his head from hideous fright, he filled the watch- 
 ers with dread. Often calling up all his remain- 
 ing strength, he vainly endeavored to break the 
 cords which bound him and destroy his enemies. 
 The furies blocked his vision and he shivered 
 with delirious terrors. Cold sweat flowed down 
 his pallid temple, and he caught his breath, as if 
 a mountain's weight lay upon him. The flesh 
 on his face became livid, changing from purple 
 to black, and his cries, moans and howls were 
 unearthly. It was a dreadful presence to witness 
 and the doctor said that there was no hope for 
 him, for he was rapidly passing into a stage of 
 alcoholism out of which few ever come alive. We 
 all prayed that he might reach a lucid interval 
 during which he would be capable of receiving 
 the sacraments. He was a man, however, of great 
 strength and in the mortal combat, the alcoholic 
 poison slowly wore out, and reason once more ap- 
 peared in a being, who we all believed, was be- 
 yond the pale of human or divine salvation. He 
 received the sacraments after due preparation 
 with devout dispositions, and promised God 
 never again to touch liquor. We made up 
 some money for him and sent him to Denver. 
 I am satisfied that his repentance was sincere, 
 and I believe that from that day to this, a period 
 of eight years, he has not tasted a drop of 
 intoxicating liquor. Wonderful action of the 
 Holy Spirit! 
 
 151 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 When once Thou visitest the soul, 
 Truth begins to shine, 
 Then earthly vanities depart, 
 Then kindles love divine. 
 
 About three years after that awful sick-bed scene, 
 the old man came to me and said: "Father, I 
 want to go home. Will you write to my wife 
 and try to reconcile her to me ? Tell her that I 
 am reformed and that I have made a considerable 
 sum of money which will keep us the rest of our 
 lives." In accordance with his request, I wrote 
 in substance: "Dear madam: — You will no doubt 
 be surprised to learn that your husband is still 
 alive. For three years he has led the life of a 
 good Christian. He has a competence sufficient 
 to keep you both in your old age. He impresses 
 me favorably, and is a bright, intelligent man, 
 having none of the hardness or cynicism, which 
 dissipation usually produces. I hope you will 
 forgive and forget the past, and only remember 
 the young loving couple, whose hands and hearts 
 w T ere united at the altar in 1861, when he was 
 about to go to the front with the boys in blue. 
 Drink was the cause of all his trouble, but his 
 affection for you is undiminished. Think of the 
 pledges that you mutually made on your happy 
 wedding day, and receive him with open arms. 
 You will be all the happier if you must do a little 
 violence to yourself to fulfil what I believe is un- 
 der the circumstance a duty. ' ' I am happy to 
 to say that the old lady, who hesitated a little 
 through fear of a relapse on the part of her hus- 
 band, finally achieved a victory over her natural 
 distrust and by the grace of God welcomed to her 
 home the wanderer. I am also pleased to have 
 the assurance that the old man, home again with 
 
BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 
 
 wife, children and grandchildren, has kept his 
 solemn pledge and leads a useful life, witnessing 
 to the patience of God with sinners. May this 
 example of a remarkable conversion help every 
 unfortunate victim of drink to seek peace where 
 only peace can be found, in a life of temperance. 
 
TENTH SKETCH 
 
 IN the winter of 1890 the whole mountain region 
 lay under a blanket of snow, and the narrow 
 
 trails beaten out by the patient burro, were the 
 only highways a great part of the season. Mother 
 Cline, a celebrated snowslide on the Ouray road, 
 had come down and filled the canon to a depth 
 of fifty or sixty feet with great pines and enor- 
 mous boulders. Travel was dangerous from 
 Ouray to Red Mountain, and for fourteen miles 
 on the opposite side of the range to Silverton. 
 In the spring, which at this altitude begins about 
 the 1st of May, only the mail carrier will ride a 
 horse over the trails. Snowslides creep silently 
 at first down the mighty slopes and suddenly, 
 with an awful roar, overwhelm the unsuspecting 
 victim. When the snow begins to thaw, the 
 crust becomes rotten, and horses and burros 
 break through it. 
 
 On the 27th of April I received a summons to 
 a sick bed from Rico, a mining camp far out in 
 the Dolores country, and over 100 miles from 
 Ouray. The man who bore the despatch had 
 ridden forty-five miles across two ranges of moun- 
 tains, and over roads where five to six feet of snow, 
 ice, slush and high drifts obstructed his passage. 
 The wires were down and the message did not 
 reach me until Tuesday evening at five o'clock. 
 I lost no time in setting out for Dallas, which is 
 fourteen miles north of Ouray, believing that I 
 might proceed by stage from Dallas to Telluride, 
 and by Trout Lake to Rico. What was my sur- 
 prise when I found that no stage ran from Tellu- 
 ride to Rico. I returned from Dallas to Ouray, 
 arriving at eleven p. m. and perplexed as to the 
 
TEN DAYS ON A SICK CALL. 
 
 course to pursue. Saturday, Sunday, Monday 
 and Tuesday — the man must be dead; he was 
 dangerously sick of pneumonia — I could not be 
 home by Sunday. Could I get to Rico at all? 
 These were the thoughts that occupied my mind, 
 as midnight approached. Duty, I exclaimed, 
 and hurrying to the livery I ordered my horse 
 and saddle for half past five in the morning. The 
 Sisters of Mercy packed my vestments for holy 
 mass on the coming Sunday. The holy oils, the 
 chalice, the wine and bread were put away in my 
 grip, and all the necessary preparations were 
 made for the journey. At five o'clock I said 
 mass in the little stone chapel, and a quarter to 
 six found me seated on a good snow horse, w T hich 
 means one that will take it easy when he sticks in 
 the snow and wait patiently until you dig him out. 
 Old Gray, who had lost one ear in a snowslide, 
 and always played lame when tired, humped 
 his back as he began to climb the mountain, the 
 crest of which marked thirteen miles from home. 
 Here, where the little city of Red Mountain nes- 
 tles among the pines, I was to turn my faithful 
 friend loose and head him for Ouray, which he 
 rarely failed to find. We got along very well 
 until we came to the little park near Iron ton. It 
 was still quite dark, and the morning was crisp 
 and cold. The snow was hard and the only 
 danger was in the deep holes in the road. Old 
 Gray managed to escape for a long time, but at 
 last, despite his cautious movements, slipped and 
 fell into a hole, out of which he could not rise, 
 and as he lay on my leg I could not dismount 
 and help him. He made two or three gentle ef- 
 forts to get up, and as a trained horse will do, 
 not succeeding, . remained quiet. My position 
 
 155 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 was embarrassing and painful; much of the 
 horse's weight was on my leg, grinding me into 
 the frozen ice and snow. I believe it was my long 
 ulster alone that saved the bone from breaking. I 
 kept tugging and twisting the old horse's nose and 
 ear, but he lay stiff as a log in the snow. What 
 was I to do? I was growing faint from pain, and 
 running my hand into my overcoat pocket I dis- 
 covered my hunting knife, which I had recently 
 cleaned. I cut the crust around my hip, and 
 after nearly an hour's scraping and punching, I 
 was enabled to get from under old Gray, who, 
 during all my labors, never stirred. Once free 
 myself, I soon had him up. By this time it was 
 daylight, and I was on the alert for the rest of 
 the journey. 
 
 On my arrival at Red Mountain I sent my 
 gray friend home, and strapping my pack on my 
 shoulders, set out for Silverton, thirteen miles 
 down grade. The sun was hot and reflected its 
 burning rays from the seething masses of snow 
 on the mountain sides. When I reached the 
 depot the bell was ringing for the outgoing train 
 to Durango. Boarding the train I rode to Rock- 
 wood, which is forty-five miles from Rico. The 
 stage left there every morning at nine, and when 
 the roads were good, generally made connections 
 with the train going to Durango. Fancy my 
 chagrin when I learned that it took the stage two 
 days to reach Rico! At that season of the year, 
 the roads being bad, sometimes you traveled in a 
 wagon, at other times in a sleigh, and sometimes 
 you were forced to walk. You had to push the 
 wagon or the sleigh to help the fagged horses up the 
 slippery hills, and by way of change }-ou spent 
 hours digging the almost smothered horses out of 
 
 156 
 
TKN DAYS ON A SICK CALL 
 
 the soft snow or mending broken harness with 
 rope, twine, or wire. It was the last straw on the 
 camel's back to have to pay seven dollars for the 
 privilege of riding on the stage. With two days 
 more on the road I began to think that the sick 
 man was not only dead, but buried. To render 
 the situation more exasperating I had to remain 
 over night in Rockwood in a hotel made of slabs 
 and logs through which the bitter cold winds 
 came at will. The only attraction of the chamber 
 in which I slept in my leggings, overshoes and 
 great coat, was a square of gaudy carpet on the 
 floor, which seemed to mock rather than give 
 any comfort. In the morning about eight I met 
 the manager of the stage line and begged for a 
 horse. He had no horse to spare, but he had a 
 good strong mule; on its right knee, however, 
 there was a bunch about as large as a man's head, 
 and if I had no objections, I might have the mule 
 to ride to Rico. The price would be the same as 
 on the stage, and he would wager ten dollars that 
 the mule would carry me surely, if slowly, to my 
 journey's end before nine that night. And he 
 did carry me slowly, and as will be seen, very 
 slowly. 
 
 I took the obliging manager at his word and 
 was soon seated in my McClellan saddle with 
 my vestments strapped on in regular marching 
 order. The day was beautiful. The sun was 
 already warm and little streams trickled down 
 the cliffs and hills. I knew the road and the 
 short cuts so well that I thought I could not 
 make a mistake, but experience taught me that 
 pride goes before a fall. I saw a short cut which 
 I believed led to the main road a mile from Rock- 
 wood. Why not take it? I was in a hurry; time 
 
 157 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 was precious. Upon taking this road I found 
 instead of turning to the left, as I had supposed 
 it would, it veered to the right more and more, 
 and presently I discovered that I was going back 
 to Silverton. Coming to what is called in the 
 west a hogback, I had a view of the surrounding 
 country, and saw the road a mile off. I would 
 not turn back and go over the same road again, 
 but cross the country through the soft snow and 
 fallen timber. I followed the hogback for half a 
 mile, and the traveling was fair, but at the bot- 
 tom of a little valley into which I descended, I 
 found the snow deep and much water. With a 
 determination born of courage and a strong mule, 
 I pushed ahead, when all of a sudden one of my 
 sources of security failed and the mule disap- 
 peared, leaving visible only his head, shoulders 
 and embossed knee. I had broken through the 
 ice; I was in a lagoon. In a moment I was out 
 of my saddle and standing up to my hips in water 
 and mud. The mule, with all his shortcomings, 
 was a good one, and with a powerful lunge came 
 forth from his watery grave. I was in a predica- 
 ment and rather excited, and the mule was trem- 
 bling. I looked around for some way out. I 
 saw a house in the distance and a man gesticulat- 
 ing. I waved my hand to him and he ap- 
 proached. He proved to be a Mr. Nary, who as- 
 sisted me in getting out of the swamp and 
 brought me to his house. To say that the priest 
 and mule were well attended would be putting it 
 mildly. Hay and oats were given to the mule, 
 and of course the priest received a royal welcome. 
 My clothes dried, and a good dinner enjoyed, I 
 was in the saddle again at one in the afternoon 
 with three or four miles to my credit, but still 
 
 158 
 
TEN DAYS ON A SICK CAU, 
 
 forty miles from my destination. The afternoon 
 was uneventful, the mule putting in some solid 
 work on the bad roads. At dusk I was within 
 fifteen miles of Rico and forging my way along 
 as fast as I could. 
 
 The awful darkness, which fell like a pall over 
 the canon and on the misty waters of the Dolores, 
 I shall not forget. The silence was broken at 
 times by the hoarse roar of the snowslide, the 
 short bark of the coyote, and the dismal wail of 
 the mountain lion from some neighboring cliff. 
 But the only fear I had was that the mule might 
 fall. I was riding over ground consecrated by 
 the hardships of the first Franciscans, who hun- 
 dreds of years before followed the star of empire 
 westward and named the sparkling stream Do- 
 lores, sorrowful. Was it for the sense of loneli- 
 ness which came to the missionaries as they 
 passed the silent ruins on the Mancos, the empty 
 dwellings on the cliff, and the desolate country 
 which once fed happy thousands, they named the 
 stream, Dolores? At last, worn out by my long 
 ride, my limbs cramped and my muscles rigid 
 from constant tension, I beheld lights here and 
 there far up the Dolores, and my heart was filled 
 with joy. The mule seemed to quicken his pace 
 and we were soon at the hotel. It took but a 
 few minutes to locate the sick man, whom I 
 found recovering, at the turning point of a bad 
 case of pneumonia. I met the doctor and Nick 
 Hunt, who had carried the despatch over that 
 fearful road, and was nursing the sick man and 
 keeping up the courage of his friend until the 
 priest should arrive. I heard the sick man's con- 
 fession and then inquired about the welfare of the 
 community. The doctor told me he had a pa- 
 
 159 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 tient who would not live till morning. I asked: 
 "What is his name?" Hereplied: "Donovan." I 
 said: "He must be a Catholic from the name." 
 The doctor did not know, but it was useless to 
 see the man as he was asleep, and his life de- 
 pended on this sleep. ' 'Very well, then, ' ' I said, 
 "I must see the man for the very reason that he 
 is so low. I must prepare him for death." I 
 cut the conversation short by calling Nick, who 
 had a pair of shoulders that would fill a door, and 
 a fist like John ly. Sullivan's, to accompany me 
 to the doctor's office. The doctor had given the 
 patient a room and a colored man, who weighed not 
 less than 200 pounds, as a guard and attendant. 
 I was not very small myself and we sallied forth 
 into the midnight and were soon tapping at the 
 doctor's office door. The darky peeped out and 
 cried: "Who's thar?" "The Rev. J. J. Gib- 
 bons, of Ouray, to see Mr. Donovan, who is dan- 
 gerously ill," I replied, and pushing the darky 
 aside we walked in. The darky remarked as I 
 passed him: "I think he's a Prosbetyrian, I 
 does," but I declined any further parley with 
 him. Donovan was awake in the other room and 
 burning up with fever. He looked at me wildly, 
 while I drew a stole from my pocket. I held up 
 the crucifix to his gaze; it was enough. He 
 said: "Father, I wish to go to confession. I am 
 so glad you came, I have been longing for a 
 priest." Nick took care of the darky while I 
 was hearing Donovan's confession and preparing 
 him for death. Then we left the office, and soon 
 in the cold room and hard bed at the hotel I was 
 asleep, with no mules or bad roads to trouble me. 
 In the morning I met my old friend McCor- 
 mick, a bachelor, who came to Rico in 1881, 
 
 160 
 
TEN DAYS ON A SICK CAU, 
 
 when the boom was on, built a cabin and located 
 several claims. McCormick's cabin was the 
 warmest and snuggest house in town; every- 
 thing was as neat as wax, indicating what a 
 comfortable place a willing bachelor may have. 
 Mc had one of those famous chests modeled after 
 the traditional Irish chest, with the exception, 
 however, that the chest in question was his sleep- 
 ing quarters. In the daytime it served for a 
 lounge, the blankets being stowed within it. At 
 night it was unfolded. The lid with legs suitably 
 fitted to it, answered for one bed, on which I slept 
 when I was in Rico, while the ow,ner slept in 
 the chest proper. 
 
 "A chest contrived a double debt to pay, 
 
 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day. ' ' 
 
 With thick blankets and a blazing fire of pine 
 wood, the cabin was warm the coldest nights. 
 McCormick had been running a tunnel into the 
 mountain for years. Alone he had driven it 
 many hundred feet. Fickle fortune, however, 
 did not smile upon him, and the strike which he 
 hoped to make, remained in a state of possibility. 
 His hopes brightened when the great strike was 
 made on the Enterprise mine, and twelve hours 
 a day were put in forcing his way into the solid 
 granite. During all these years of suspense the 
 grub sack was in a low state, bacon, flap- jacks 
 and a dozen of Kansas eggs for Lenten fare, with 
 a surplus of Colorado potatoes, formed the solids 
 for the ambitious driller in the mine. Now and 
 then, when the larder grew empty, Mc was com- 
 pelled to work at other mines in order to replen- 
 ish his vanishing commons and acquire a little 
 capital to buy powder. Whenever I came to 
 
 161 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 town McCormick enjoyed a few days of feasting: 
 on porterhouse steak, ranch eggs, bakers' bread, 
 the best coffee and other things that are reputed 
 delicacies in mountain camps. He was a fair 
 cook and so was I, and the meals we dished up 
 were superior, if not in quality, at least in quan- 
 tity, to such as are furnished in many a moun- 
 tain hotel. After supper my genial host lit his 
 pipe, took an old violin from over the door and 
 sat down to discourse sweet music. While not an 
 artist like Paganini, he possessed more than 
 ordinary musical talent and played many difficult 
 pieces at sight, which is a rare thing for a work- 
 man. He loved to play the old Irish reels and 
 jigs, and like most Irish fiddlers, kept his feet on 
 the move, beating time. When tired of the fiddle 
 he closed the concert for the evening with some 
 well-sung Irish ballad. When the boys heard I 
 was at Mc's they would call at night to tender 
 their greetings and hear the news from the camps 
 around. I generally ended the entertainment 
 with some devotional practice. Mc was a de- 
 vout Christian. For twelve years in the moun- 
 tains around Rico, he had worked hard and tried 
 to make a sale of his property, but failed. He 
 was growing old and suffering from an injury re- 
 ceived when a boy, and his sufferings were ag- 
 gravated by the great altitude at which he lived 
 for so long a time. Scarcity of money, however, 
 prevented him from seeking change of climate. At 
 last, broken down in health, he saddled his little 
 burro, and, packing the necessary furniture, 
 sought an inferior altitude and milder climate 
 near Grand Junction. Years of toil had under- 
 mined the splendid constitution of McCormick 
 and he could stand no more; so, like Wolsey on 
 
 162 
 
TEN DAYS ON A SICK CALX 
 
 liis way to meet the king, Mc rested at a cabin 
 by the wayside, and asked the hospitality of the 
 owner. But after a few days' illness he died, the 
 burro, the violin, the gun and the dog defraying 
 the funeral expenses of one of the noblest men I 
 have met in the far west. May he rest in peace. 
 The Sunday morning following, a large num- 
 ber of Catholics and Protestants attended religious 
 services which I held at the Grand Army Hall. 
 I announced services for the evening again, and 
 requested the prayers of the congregation for the 
 speedy recovery or happy death of Paul Breffort, 
 a young man who was one of the pioneers of 
 Rico. After many years of prospecting, Paul had 
 struck it, and his young wife and two children 
 were then on the Atlantic on a trip to the old 
 folks at home. Paul had weak lungs and always 
 feared pneumonia, which is so fatal in the moun- 
 tains. The moment I stood beside his bed I saw 
 death written on his face. With his nerve lost and 
 a look of despair in his glazed eye, I could see there 
 was no hope of his recovery. The poor fellow 
 threw his arms around my neck and wept as he 
 thought of his absent wife and children. I suc- 
 ceeded at length in pacifying him, and bade him 
 employ the time as became a brave Christian. 
 He grew calm and resigned, receiving all the 
 rites of the church with great devotion. Sunday 
 night he died, mourned by every man, woman 
 and child in Rico. I remained over until Tues- 
 day to attend the funeral, at which the ceremo- 
 nies of the church were carried out with as much 
 pomp as a western mining camp allowed, and 
 grief-stricken Protestants and Catholics accompa- 
 nied the remains of a good man to the little 
 churchyard. 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 On the morning of the next day I set out on 
 horseback for Telluride in the company of a Den- 
 ver attorney. The day, as well as I can remem- 
 ber, was May 3, and the snow, although thawing 
 rapidly, was still very deep on the Meadows. 
 We left Rico at seven in the morning on two 
 stout bronchos, which we were to ride as far as 
 the roads would permit, and then dismiss, to 
 town. My legal friend permitted his horse to re- 
 turn before the roads became very bad, while I 
 kept in the saddle, riding between banks of snow 
 from six to eight feet high in some places. It 
 was hard to move with soft snow, cakes of ice, 
 slushy puddles and big holes, which gave the 
 way the appearance of a honeycomb. Struggling 
 and panting with the effort to hold his feet, at 
 length my horse fell and was unable to rise. At 
 that moment, opportunely enough, a son of the 
 green isle, with a big roll of blankets on his back, 
 came along. I seized the broncho by the head 
 and my hardy son of toil having released himself 
 from the encumbrance of his baggage, took him 
 by the tail, and after considerable effort, turned 
 him straight into the road. As a recompense for 
 the kindty help he lent me, I entrusted the horse 
 to him, requesting him to take the animal back to 
 Rico. Having arranged my pack on my shoulder I 
 moved on and soon overtook "the man of law," 
 who generously shared the burden with me. We 
 tramped over the rough road to Trout Lake, 
 where we arrived in the afternoon. There we 
 met the stage from Telluride, and having dried 
 our clothes and enjoyed a good dinner, we set out 
 for Telluride, which we reached about seven in 
 the evening. I said mass the following morning 
 and gave the Catholics of that little town an op- 
 
 164 
 
TEN DAYS ON A SICK CALL 
 
 portunity to make their Easter duty. When at 
 Telluride I used to say mass at Mrs. Margowski's. 
 Ten thirty of that morning found me again in the 
 saddle, pushing on to Marshall Basin, one of the 
 richest silver and gold camps in the world. After 
 riding three or four miles I intended, as usual, to 
 turn back the horse, but a mile and a-half from 
 town, I met a burro train in the snow. It was like 
 the Merrimac corking the bottle of Santiago de 
 Cuba, it effectually stopped me, so I was compelled 
 to back my horse and turn him around towards 
 Telluride and let him go back. Afoot and alone I 
 went up to the summit of the mountain near, 
 the Virginius. On the sunny side of the moun- 
 tain, miniature snowslides were slipping down at 
 every turn, and in many places on the trail I 
 walked over sixty to seventy feet of snow, with a. 
 probability of that mighty mass breaking loose,, 
 carrying me for miles to the gulch below, and 
 burying me in a snow tomb, which it might take 
 several years to thaw out. I watched my every 
 movement carefully, for I remembered the inci- 
 dent of the mail carrier who was carried away by 
 an avalanche one Christmas eve at a point near 
 the Ophir range. It was hinted that he had left 
 the country with the Christmas presents that 
 came from home to friends in the mountains. 
 Money is a prolific source of evil in thought as 
 well as deed. But the mail carrier's friends were 
 mistaken in their suspicions, for three years later 
 their theory of his sudden departure was exploded, 
 when they found the honest fellow on the farther 
 side of a lake in the shade of a hill frozen in 
 snow and ice, and faithful to his trust, with the 
 mail bag still strapped to his back. As I strug- 
 gled along with my ulster and grip, for I had 
 
 165 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 sent my vestments ahead on the stage, I was 
 nearly prostrated by the terrible heat. At two in 
 the afternoon I attained the topmost point of the 
 pass. It would shake the nerve of the strongest 
 to pass through a country of gulches in which a 
 mountain of snow suddenly came crashing along, 
 snapping trees in twain and carrying immense 
 boulders in its course. The ear constantly caught 
 the reverberating tones of distant snowslides, and 
 far up the giddy heights desolation and solitude 
 reign supreme. 
 
 In this gateway of the Rockies I knelt down 
 in the snow and returned thanks to God for his 
 protection in taking me over a passage full of 
 dangers and alarms. I felt hungry enough to 
 take my lunch, and after a while spent in reading 
 the inscriptions that were cut in the rocks, gen- 
 erally proclaiming God's goodness and man's 
 misery, I began the descent to Ouray, thirteen 
 miles down the canon. I moved slowly at first, 
 the frozen snow on the shad}' side of the moun- 
 tain being very slippery. Make a misstep and 
 you may be treated to a slide of a mile or two, 
 with a probability of taking fire from friction. 
 As I went down the mountain side the snow grad- 
 ually became softer. I manoeuvred around for 
 short cuts, not following the regular trail, and 
 using the tail of my great ulster for a sled. 
 When going too fast I drew up my feet, employ- 
 ing them as brakes, and before long arrived at 
 Porter's, wet and tired. For the rest of my jour- 
 ney the roads were fairly good, and I reached 
 Ouray early in the evening, having been away 
 ten days on a sick call. 
 
 166 
 
ELEVENTH SKETCH 
 
 GREAT dangers are apt to arise on sick calls 
 to the mountain camps, especially in the 
 winter season, which includes a period, ex- 
 tending from the last of September to the first of 
 June. Late in September, the storms of rain and 
 hail, which in the great altitudes are accom- 
 panied with thunder and lightning, are hard of 
 realization to a native of the lower country. The 
 rain falls in torrents, the atmosphere is saturated 
 with electricity, and ear-splitting peals of thunder 
 cause the stoutest heart to quail. By the end of 
 spring, it is well nigh impossible to travel over 
 the passes, the road being honeycombed with 
 holes, made by horses, mules, burros and men. 
 When the snow freezes at night, the pass be- 
 comes so dangerous, that people venture over it, 
 only in cases of necessity. 
 
 It was in such circumstances, that, in early 
 spring, I received a telephone message from the 
 
 Yankee Girl mine, announcing that C had 
 
 fallen 140 ieet down a shaft, and was lying, 
 broken and crushed, at the point of death. 
 The message came shortly before daybreak. 
 Dennis, my trusty Achates, and myself pre- 
 pared for the journey of nine miles. Owing to 
 the inclemency of the winter, I had not visited 
 Ironton for some time, so I determined to take 
 the vestments, and afford the little household of 
 faith, working at the mines, an opportunity to 
 hear mass, and go to holy communion. I tele- 
 phoned to Ironton to that effect; and we were 
 soon moving slowly along in the narrow trail on 
 the toll road. The journey was beset with dif- 
 
 167 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 ficulties, as the snow was not hard enough to 
 support us, and the road was perforated with 
 deep cavities, the edges of which were frozen. 
 We slipped into these holes from time to time, and 
 found it troublesome to draw our feet out of them. 
 We had two horses, but were compelled to walk 
 most of the way, and lead the animals. Having 
 arrived after many struggles at Ironton, we left 
 our horses at the livery stable, and proceeded on 
 foot to the Yankee Girl. As we went higher up, 
 the snow became deeper and the road, worse. 
 Many times we fell with the pack of vestments, 
 which Dennis was kind enough to carry most of 
 the way. At last, and, of course, much fatigued, 
 we reached the Yankee Girl and found poor 
 
 C in a sad plight. Most of his bones were 
 
 broken, and he lay on his bunk, suffering intense 
 agony, but still retaining his senses. It is in- 
 spiring to witness the rare patience with which 
 the hardy miner endures pain. The night shift 
 were in bed all around me, and in hearing the 
 confession of the wounded man, I was obliged to 
 make use of special precautions. Seven or eight 
 of the boys, all from Donegal, Ireland, were 
 anxious to go to confession and receive holy 
 communion. There was no convenient place in 
 the house, in which I could hear them. I was to 
 say mass in the long dining room, up and down 
 which the cooks and waiters continually rushed, 
 keeping a deafening clatter of dishes and plates, 
 which made it hard to hear. So I said: "Boys, 
 I will go out to the sunny side of the building, 
 and lean against the wall. You may come out, 
 one at a time, and I will hear your confessions." 
 Standing there, and to the passer- by apparently 
 drinking in the beauty of the mountain scenery,. 
 
 168 
 
VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 
 
 I spent half an hour hearing the young men's 
 confessions. Meanwhile, Dennis was busily en- 
 gaged, setting up a temporary altar, and making 
 appropriate preparations for the holy sacrifice. 
 After mass, at which the boys all assisted with 
 praiseworthy devotion, I administered the last 
 sacraments of the church to the sick man, who 
 was, presently, taken by a special train to Du- 
 rango, where the doctors decided that it would 
 be necessary to put him in a plaster of paris cast 
 to keep him together. 
 
 Mr. C , like all his compatriots, was a fine 
 
 specimen of nature's noblemen. Manly, cheer- 
 ful and christian, he was intelligent, hardwork- 
 ing and edifying. He was unlike those libels on 
 Christianity, who, to be reputed smart, copy the 
 ways of the profane, and vie with scoffers in re- 
 peating pert quips and flippant jests about holy 
 
 things. C lived well, and, consequently, 
 
 died well. I improve this opportunity to say a 
 word in praise of the young men, who came from 
 the Emerald Isle to this country. They are a 
 valuable contribution to our fast-growing popu- 
 lation, and, in the best sense, promote the grand 
 destiny of the American people, who, in their 
 cosmopolitan composition, possess little of the 
 boasted Anglo-Saxon, but a great deal of the 
 Anglo-Celtic, element. The future historian will 
 be amused to read the recent nonsense of the daily 
 press, upon the close kinship of Americans and 
 Britons. We are a mighty, independent, inventive 
 people; and do not plume ourselves upon mere 
 matters of descent. The Donegal boys, while in- 
 dustrious and self reliant, never forgot the les- 
 sons of the little catechism, which they had 
 learned at home. I pause to remark that no 
 
 169 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 philosopher will ever attain the satisfactory solu- 
 tion of the real problems of life, outside the doc- 
 trine condensed in this much-neglected catechism. 
 These boys, knowing that they were created to love 
 and serve God on earth and enjoy Him in heaven, 
 cultivated the theological and cardinal virtues, 
 which constitute the summary of true morality. 
 They were not ashamed of the religion of the great- 
 est heroes of history; and after crossing the ocean, 
 continued to devote themselves to the religious 
 practices of their childhood. When not com- 
 pelled to work on Sunday, it was their wont to 
 walk down to Ouray, nine or ten miles, and assist 
 at holy mass. They were known for the sobriety 
 of their lives, and the careful observance of the 
 laws of the church. They had in one of the 
 youngest of the boys a model of virtue, and, to 
 some extent, a guardian, who kept a fatherly 
 watch over them, and checked any exhibitions of 
 waywardness among them. How different the3' 
 were from those young men who frequent bar- 
 rooms and season their speech with curses and 
 obscenity ! 
 
 I often asked myself, why these young men 
 were so moral and faithful to their religion. I 
 thought it must be because they came from a 
 country where their fathers had fought and died 
 for the faith, leaving a priceless heritage to their 
 descendants. Living among pseudo-reformers, 
 and listening to the ribald songs and lampoons of 
 Orangemen, they grew strong in the midst of 
 adversity; and their roots, like those of the storm- 
 beaten tree on the mountain, sank deeper and 
 deeper for the opposition they encountered. In 
 an atmosphere of bigotry, and hostility to na- 
 tional freedom, they waxed vigorous and fervent 
 
 170 
 
VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 
 
 in their love for holy church and her salutary- 
 teachings, their mental faculties acquiring a rare 
 acuteness, as they were disciplined in defense of 
 the truth. Great as has been the growth of the 
 church in a land so favorable to it as the United 
 States, it would be much greater if her children 
 lived in strict conformity to her doctrine and 
 admonitions; and the young men, of whom I 
 speak, endeavored to extend the kingdom of God 
 on earth, by the best of all sermons, consistent 
 Christian lives. If they were remarkable for 
 anything in particular besides their religious 
 character, it was for their skill in dialectics and 
 their ready wit. Who has not listened to the 
 glib tongue of the Donegal peddler, and how 
 many have been forced to admit his victory in 
 discussion ! Many a doughty opponent has gone 
 down before his biblical knowledge. Taking his 
 adversary on his own ground, he would rout the 
 latter with his own weapons and on the field of 
 his own choosing. Perhaps, another reason for 
 the solid virtue of these young men, may be 
 sought in the circumstance, that it was in the 
 mountains and glens of the north they had been 
 bred. There was no place in such an environ- 
 ment for luxury and effeminacy. They were 
 inured to toil, content with little, and therefore 
 wise. Few appreciate the truth so beautifully 
 expressed by the poet, that adversity is the be- 
 fitting cradle of wisdom: 
 
 So, would'st thou 'scape the coming ill, 
 Implore the Dread Invisible 
 
 Thy sweets themselves to sour ! 
 Well ends his life, believe me, never, 
 On whom, with hands thus full forever, 
 
 The gods their bounty shower. 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 And if thy prayer the gods can gain not, 
 This counsel of thy friend disdain not — 
 
 Invoke adversity ! 
 And what of all thy worldly gear, 
 Thy deepest heart esteems most dear, 
 
 Cast into yonder sea. 
 
 As contrasts serve to enlighten, I will here give 
 an example of the opposite kind of character. 
 That same year, which is the period of my 
 sketch, I think it was during the second week 
 in June, I happened to be at Silverton. After 
 mass, one morning, I received a despatch from 
 Rico, urging me to come on without delay; as a 
 man was dangerously sick there. I took the 
 afternoon train to Durango, where I remained 
 over night, and in the morning, set out to Rico, 
 by way of Rockwood. We had a heavy load of 
 passengers and mail matter. 
 
 Rico was then enjoying its second boom. The 
 Enterprise mine, owned by the Schwickheimers, 
 had become one of the great properties of south- 
 western Colorado. Mr. Schwickheimer had 
 worked for years, sinking a shaft, and many 
 a time to procure the necessary funds, had 
 been obliged to go into the mountains and earn 
 some money, by running a saw mill. His pluck 
 and energy were rewarded, and in my time he 
 had 1 80 men engaged in the mine, for which 
 he afterwards received $1,000,000 in cash. His 
 success excited others, evetyone desired to grow 
 rich fast, and thousands of ambitious miners 
 and speculators were hastening to Rico. Real 
 estate went up 500 per cent. , houses and cabins 
 that had been neglected for 3 T ears were put in 
 repair and everyone had a prospect or two. 
 The rush had begun early in the spring, and 
 
 172 
 
VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 
 
 merchandise, mining and milling machinery and 
 household effects of every sort lined the way from 
 Rockwood to Rico. Mining experts and com- 
 mercial travelers were hurrying pell-mell to the 
 scene of new discoveries, the former, to buy and 
 place property, and the latter, to sell their vari- 
 ous commodities. Among the notables were big 
 
 C of Denver, and another drummer called 
 
 "Windy." He was a genial gentleman, whom 
 I had known for some time. Some time before, 
 we had together faced a dreadful storm on the 
 Ouray toll road, when the stage had to be aban- 
 doned. We were walking down a very steep place 
 leading to Ouray, on which there was nothing 
 but ice; all of a sudden, the two feet were taken 
 from under my cheerful companion and he fell, 
 with an awful thud, plump on the broad of his 
 back. Desiring to show my sympathy I asked 
 if he were hurt. To my surprise he seemed to 
 be offended by the remark, for he instantly re- 
 plied, ' 'What do you take me for, do you think 
 that would hurt a man V ' He was not at all 
 ruffled, but kept the whole crowd in good humor. 
 At noon, the stage drew up before a partially 
 constructed log house, which had a makeshift of 
 a roof in some thin white canvas. Our stage 
 driver, who hailed from New Jersey, having a 
 keen eye for the main chance and genuine 
 Yankee shrewdness, had taken up a homestead 
 between the two ranges of mountains, put the 
 house partly up, flung in a stove, and w T as ready 
 to serve meals in any style. Seventy-five cents 
 was deemed reasonable at the wayside in those 
 days, and when a strong, rough meal was dished 
 up hot, no one found fault. The stage driver took 
 the greatest pride in his wife's pumpkin pie, al- 
 
 173 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 though the pumpkins came in cans from the far 
 east, and pressed them on his guests, commend- 
 ing their rare qualities with an easy flow of wit 
 and humor. He made a typical boniface and did 
 everything to render his hostelry an agreeable 
 place of resort. 
 
 Among the passengers on the stage there was a 
 sour-looking character who laughed long and 
 loud at a filthy story, and sneered at everything 
 that related to God or Christian decency. A 
 drink now and then from a long black bottle 
 with a neck as short as the entrance to Santiago 
 de Cuba, increased his hilarity as well as the 
 volubility of his foreign tongue. Like the man 
 on the Appian Way, he felt compelled to reveal 
 himself upon the beloved subject, self — and boast- 
 fully proclaimed the infidel's views to the disgust 
 of everyone. No one would suspect that it was 
 only three short years since this blatant specimen 
 of humanity left the cottage of his father and 
 came to this country at the expense of a hard- 
 working brother, whose lamp of life was, at the 
 time, flickering on the upper floor of a rickety 
 boarding house in Rico. He did not let the 
 passengers know that this brother of his was then 
 lying ill, but interlarded his profane speeches 
 with Munchausen accounts of the mining pros- 
 pects of his worthy relation. 
 
 In crossing the Hermosa, the driver, while 
 making the turn at the bridge, swung the leaders 
 out too far. One of the horses, slipping over 
 the bank, in a moment was in the swift current, 
 and being rapidly drawn under the bridge, was 
 pulling his mate with him, when a passenger 
 sprang from the stage, and with his pocket-knife 
 cut the traces and lines. In an instant the 
 
 174 
 
VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 
 
 animal was swept under the bridge, and drowned 
 in the raging torrent. The rest of the distance 
 was made slowly; most of us got out of the coach 
 and walked up the steep hills to lighten the 
 burden of the horses, whose biggest meal in the 
 day is vulgarly called long oats, to wit: the 
 whip. We arrived at the mining camp, just as 
 the candle began to twinkle in the cabin win- 
 dow. A crowd awaited the arrival of the stage 
 at the postoffice, some looking for friends, others 
 for letters, and still others lingering around to 
 gratify their curiosity. Rico, at the time,, 
 counted a resident population of some 1,300, 
 but the floating population raised the figure 
 1,000 more. Everyone had a little money and 
 the people were rushing around, upon business 
 bent. The streets were thronged with men, who 
 were desperately earnest in pursuit of one pet 
 scheme or other, and there were not a few, who, 
 like Micawber, were waiting for something to 
 turn up. The class of promoters is always well 
 represented in a mining town. They sometimes 
 make a sale, or as it is called, a turn, but general- 
 ly live from hand to mouth. They seldom suc- 
 ceed, for they have neither the experience, the 
 ability, nor the perseverance, of the man who 
 has a vocation for mining. Here also congregate 
 the confidence men and thieves, who flock to new 
 camps, trying to make something out of nothing, 
 and have an easy time. The hotels were full, 
 and beds were at a premiun. Upon the first 
 rush, an enterprising firm came from the east, 
 and erected a showy hotel, which had very fine 
 appointments for a mountain town. It was three 
 or four stories high, and had winding stairs and 
 some handsome furniture. Waiters in flashy 
 
 175 
 
IN T-HE SAN JUAN 
 
 costume stood behind the chairs in the ordinary, 
 and pushed them under you with such a sharp 
 jerk that you felt as if you were about to fall on 
 your back; the napkins were done up in triangular 
 shape and the bill of fare was in the approved 
 fashion. The swell style of the whole concern 
 nearly paralyzed the miners, who are men of 
 simple ways; it was not long until it paralyzed 
 the firm, too, for the tall price and the airy menu 
 soon drove the hotel's patrons to the less aristo- 
 cratic boarding house and its substantial meals. 
 Having alighted from the stage, I lost no time 
 in seeking the sick man. He was very ill, but 
 had enough of strength left to make a long fight, 
 and perhaps recover. I heard his confession 
 and promised to bring him the holy communion 
 in the morning. I then betook myself to Mc- 
 Cormick's neat cabin, which was always open to 
 the priest. Next morning, I said mass and pre- 
 pared the sick man for death, as he showed signs 
 of growing weaker. During the day, I was ap- 
 prised that a mother and her baby were ill at the 
 springs on the West Dolores; I was requested to 
 come to see them. I visited most of the Catholics 
 in the camp, and we considered plans for build- 
 ing a church. Accompanied by a brother of the 
 sick woman, I left Rico the next morning for the 
 West Dolores. The air was fresh and bracing, 
 and the ride of eighteen miles was a mere 
 pastime. On the high plateau, called the Mead- 
 ows, over which we rode, the grass was stealing 
 up through the cold ground, still soggy from the 
 enormous snowfall of the previous winter. We 
 met a man riding a chestnut horse, which threw 
 out one of its fore feet, and I remember I called 
 the attention of my companion to the beauty and 
 

 VIRTUS, THE ONLY NOBIUTY 
 
 military step of the animal. The horseman wore 
 a Mexican sombrero and seemed to eye us with 
 suspicion, but we passed on without speaking. 
 That same day, and about the same hour, one of 
 the greatest bank robberies in the history of the 
 state occurred at Telluride, about thirty miles 
 from where we then were. The robbery was 
 well planned and executed, and the stranger on 
 the chestnut horse was, perhaps, on his way at 
 that moment to join his companions, who were 
 riding with the booty for dear life. For several 
 weeks before the robbery, three men had been 
 camping on the mesa south of Telluride. They 
 had four horses, one of which was used to pack 
 the camping utensils and cumbersome baggage. 
 The horses were well fed with oats, and blanketed 
 every night, something unusual for ordinary cow- 
 boys to do. Every afternoon they rode into town, 
 took a few drinks, smoked good cigars and were 
 social companions for the miners. Upon these 
 visits they learned all that was necessary about 
 the bank, ascertained the pay day of the miners, 
 and resolved to hold up the cashier. At that 
 time there were 400 or 500 men working in 
 Marshall J3asin, and on the day when the 
 miners were paid, a general holiday was ob- 
 served. When the day arrived the three men 
 came to town on horseback, a circumstance 
 which no one would notice, and after reconnoiter- 
 ing for some time, went to a saloon, where they 
 took only a cigar each. The day before $22,000 
 had been sent to Telluride, and was in the regula- 
 tion time safe. At twenty minutes to ten, the 
 cowboys again mounted their horses, rode past the 
 bank, and, I presume, saw that the safe was 
 open. Wheeling around in the square, they 
 
 177 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 withdrew to an alley, where they dismounted, 
 tightened their saddle girths, remounted, and 
 rode back to the bank. One remained in the 
 saddle and held the horses of the other two, who 
 strolled leisurely into the bank, as if to draw 
 money, or make a deposit. The bookkeeper was 
 just leaving the bank with a package of letters 
 for the postoffice, so that only the cashier, who 
 was also teller, was in at the time. Not a soul 
 was near, when the tall, dark robber stepped up 
 to the teller, and bade him throw up his hands. 
 That official turned around, looked at him and 
 began to laugh, but before the laugh left his face 
 the man on the outside pushed the long barrel of 
 a revolver almost into his mouth, and with an 
 awful oath threatened to kill him. The cashier's 
 hands went up at once, and the other robber 
 sprang over the railing and quickly emptied into 
 a gunny sack the crisp greenbacks that were 
 stacked on the counter, as well as all the gold 
 that was at hand. From the piles of silver he 
 took only a few dollars. The affrighted cashier 
 was informed by the robber who was guarding 
 him, that he had a mind to kill him, as a coward 
 is not fit to live. They warned him to keep 
 quiet, and give no alarm; and, with this caution, 
 the pair of daylight robbers walked out of the 
 bank. Strange to say, during the whole trans- 
 action there was not a man in sight. The cool- 
 ness of these men may be judged from the re- 
 marks of the tall dark one, who said, "Boys, 
 the job is well done, and we have plenty of time, 
 keep cool now and let us be gone. ' ' Once in the 
 saddle, they rode up the street, shooting off their 
 guns, as a warning, no doubt, to all who might 
 try to capture them. The sheriff of the county 
 
VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 
 
 was standing in the courthouse door when they 
 rode by, hooting, yelling and firing off their re- 
 volvers. He declared if he had had his horse he 
 would follow and arrest those notorious cowboys. 
 The cashier, growing bold, took a peep out; and 
 finding the coast clear, stepped into the street 
 where he met the bookkeeper, who was returning 
 from the postoffice. The former was as pale as 
 death, trembled from head to foot and with a 
 mighty effort, stammered out: " I-t-s-a-l-l- 
 g-o-n-e. ' ' Fifteen minutes after the bank had been 
 looted, twelve men were in the saddle, and away 
 over the hills after the robbers. The pursuit was 
 fast and furious for a few miles, but the grass-fed 
 horses were no match for the grain-fed and well- 
 picked animals of the bank thieves. Arrived 
 at Trout Lake, fifteen miles away, they rested, 
 swallowed big doses of whiskey, and amused 
 themselves by shooting the letters out of the signs. 
 When they beheld the sheriff's posse a short dis- 
 tance away, they mounted again and rode off 
 hastily. The sheriff followed, but some of the 
 horses lay down on the road, and when the 
 Meadows were reached, of the twelve who started, 
 only two or three were able to continue the chase. 
 The others went to Rico to get fresh horses. By 
 this time, the robbers were not far behind us. We 
 met a Swede on the trail about two miles out from 
 the Meadows; he had been looking at his bear 
 traps and was on his way home to prepare his 
 noon-day meal. While thus engaged, the bank 
 robbers came in, and it is said that the Swede 
 cooked the meal for the four in short order style, 
 as one of them, who was under the influence of 
 liquor, followed him around the house with a 
 loaded revolver; however, he gave a twenty - 
 
 179 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 dollar gold piece to the Swede; and, wishing 
 him good day, left in a hurry. In those days, 
 the timber was so thick that one man could de- 
 fend himself against a dozen. The robbers 
 knew every trail in Colorado and Utah, and a 
 brigade of soldiers would have little chance of ar- 
 resting them. 
 
 We arrived at the West Dolores Springs about 
 noon, and had dinner. I attended the sick call, 
 baptized the child and rendered whatever spirit- 
 ual aid I could, to the mother, and then we 
 set out on the return trip. There was a 
 light shower at the time, so we made up our 
 minds to shorten the way by crossing the moun- 
 tains, and make Rico in nine instead of eight- 
 een miles, which was the distance by the road. 
 By doing so, we missed the bank robbers, who 
 about that time were enjoying the enforced 
 hospitality of the Swede. 
 
 That afternoon, we passed through some 
 of the finest timber of pine and spruce I had 
 ever seen. Some of the pines were ioo feet high 
 without a limb; indeed, this was one of the 
 primeval forests, where the axe and saw mill had 
 not found an entrance. Going up the shady side 
 of the mountain, we found many feet of snow in 
 the old trail, although it was late in June. 
 Streams were rushing down on all sides, and 
 myriads of beautiful flowers, peering up through 
 the snow, made a pleasing picture. When we 
 reached Rico, all the town was agog over the 
 bank robbery. All the old horses and muskets 
 were brought into requisition, large rewards were 
 offered for the apprehension of the robbers; but 
 not one of them was ever caught. They must 
 have made their way to the Blue Mountains of 
 
 180 
 
VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 
 
 Utah and may be there yet. The Robbers Roost 
 has long been a thorn in the side of the author- 
 ities, and recently, some of these bandits were 
 captured and others killed. 
 
 Upon my return to Rico, I went to see my sick 
 patient, who had been neglected in the interval, 
 by his worthless brother, who was a gambler as 
 well as toper. I found the poor fellow weak, but 
 sanguine of recovery. I sat by his bedside, far 
 into the night. During my vigil, the brother, in 
 a state of inebriation, came into the cheerless 
 room, remained only a few moments and departed 
 for his dear haunt, which was a saloon across the 
 way. Before leaving the hopeful man, I informed 
 him that I should be obliged to leave early 
 for home next morning, as it would take two 
 days to get back to Ouray. I encouraged him and 
 promised to call again in the morning, before 
 taking the stage. I bade him good night.* Soon 
 I was sound asleep at McCormick's, where the 
 alarm clock startled me at five in the morning. I 
 dressed in a hurry, and, after a while, was on the 
 street to seek the boarding house of the sick man. 
 Up the old decaying stairs, which were built on 
 the outside, I pressed my way. At the second 
 story landing, I found a long dark hall, on the 
 right hand side of which, and near the middle of 
 the building, was the large room in which he lay. 
 I walked in with as little noise as possible. The 
 early dawn was just stealing in through the dusty 
 window, casting a sickening glamor over the pale 
 face and white coverlets, which met my gaze. I 
 approached cautiously and said to myself, ' ' He is 
 sleeping peacefully, and now that the crisis has 
 passed, he will surely recover." I laid my hand 
 on his forehead, and to my horror, found the man 
 
 181 
 
IN THE SAX JUAN 
 
 was dead. There he was, cold in death, the 
 blanket still drawn around him, but not a soul to 
 close his eyes or stretch out the lifeless form, j 
 went back to McCormick's, procured my ritual 
 and returned to the death-chamber. Lighting 
 the candle, I read the burial service — alone with 
 the dead man, sprinkled the corpse with holy 
 water, and, tearing a leaf from my diary, wrote 
 in substance: "This body has been blessed for 
 the grave," and signed my name. Having pinned 
 the notice on the breast of the deceased I put 
 out the candle, and from the awe-inspiring scene 
 stole quietly away. I was soon on the stage and 
 whirling along the mountain road to Telluride, 
 absorbed in the sober reflections awakened by my 
 latest experience. As I thought of the forsaken 
 brother, dying alone in that dark, cheerless room, 
 I might have well been led to consider that when 
 death comes, a man feels he is alone with God. 
 How true it is that if we desire to have a little of 
 the composure of the higher life in death, we 
 must cultivate much of the loneliness of death in 
 life ! It is the part of the wise to live in the face 
 of death. 
 
 182 
 
TWELFTH SKETCH 
 
 IT is said that Colorado will be one of the 
 greatest states in the Union. The unlimited 
 variety of her productions, the salubrity of her 
 climate, and her inexhaustible treasures of gold, 
 silver, coal, iron, marble and stone, insure her 
 future pre-eminence. The resources of other states 
 are few, and many of them have uncongenial 
 climates, but the Centennial state has all the 
 natural advantages of her sisters, and, besides, a 
 population that for enterprise and energy have 
 earned for themselves the significant title of Rust - 
 lers. Some portions of Colorado are barren, yet 
 there is a large part of the state so rich in the 
 precious metals, and having such a high degree 
 of fertility, that she promises to rival the most il- 
 lustrious nations of the past. What was the city 
 of Denver thirty years ago? A village. Now 
 what is it? A metropolis, and known far and wide 
 as the Queen City of the Plains. The same quali- 
 ties which have made Denver what it is, have 
 borne similar fruits in other portions of the state; 
 but perhaps nowhere more conspicuously than in 
 the San Juan, where possibilities are revealing 
 themselves, which will place it among the most 
 prosperous sections of the state. Take that tract 
 of land around Durango, Farmington and Fort 
 Lewis. What more fertile soil! What a field of 
 enterprise for the man devoted to agriculture and 
 horticulture! For here will one day be cultivated 
 the vine, which for quality and quantity will vie 
 with the products of the richest vineyards of 
 
 183 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 sunny France. I will reserve, for another part 
 of this sketch, the enumeration of other sources 
 of prosperity, which this region, teeming with 
 plenty, possesses. 
 
 Thirty years ago the San Juan was a mere 
 wilderness. With the exception of the hardy 
 trapper and hunter, the white man scarcely ever 
 entered its canons, traveled along its rivers, or 
 over its mountains and dense forests. The tepee 
 of the wild Indian, smoke-colored and tattered, 
 was the only sign of human life, where to-day 
 nature's latent forces are employed in the interests 
 of a progressive nation. Electricity has changed 
 the face of things. By this power the great min- 
 ing mill has supplanted the old-time water mill. 
 It has taken the place of the coal oil lamp, and, 
 in many cases, the miner's candle. With its bril- 
 liancy it has dispelled the faint gloom that for- 
 merly hovered over the town and the mine, thus 
 turning night into day. The ground is no longer 
 parched. Swift sparkling springs wind their 
 silvery course through plains, which once were 
 arid. Modern machinery, in skillful hands, has 
 cut channels through which rush the life-giving 
 waters, that convert the desert into a garden. As 
 I gazed upon these first fruits of nature, awak- 
 ened by science to a new life, there arose before 
 my vision fields of grain rising and falling like 
 waves of molten gold in the setting sun, and a 
 happy population engaged in industrial pursuits 
 and enjoying the fruits of their toil. 
 
 "There in full prime the orchard trees grow tall, 
 Sweet fig, pomegranate, apple fruited fair, 
 
 Pear and the healthful olive. Each and all 
 
 Both summer droughts and chills of winter spare; 
 
 All the winter round they nourish. Some the air 
 184 
 
COLORADO AMONG THE STATES 
 
 Of zephyr warms to life, some doth mature. 
 Apples grow on apple, pear on pear, 
 
 Fig follows fig, vintage doth vintage lure, 
 Thus the rich revolutions do aye endure." 
 
 And as my vision lingered over this scene, Du- 
 rango, bearing in her hand the horn of plenty, 
 appeared the mistress of the southwest. For lo- 
 cation, altitude, climate, mineral and agricultural 
 resources, this city is second to none in southern 
 Colorado, and must eventually become a great 
 center of trade. She has her smelters to treat 
 the train loads of ore that day by day are brought 
 down from Silverton and elsewhere. The waters 
 of the Las Animas River flow through it, furnish- 
 ing a power that might be conserved for many- 
 purposes. 
 
 Durango has mild winters. Snowstorms, how- 
 ever, prevail, but the snow melts so rapidly that 
 the tinkle of the sleigh bells is seldom heard in 
 the streets. The atmosphere is not so dry as that 
 of other towns, having an equal elevation. But 
 the climate possesses qualities which build up the 
 broken-down system without weakening the 
 nerves. The valley to the north, on the way to 
 Silverton, is one of the richest and most beautiful 
 in Colorado. It is nine miles in length, and 
 sheltered by red granite walls rising hundreds of 
 feet and shutting out the cold winds of the higher 
 regions. Fruit, vegetables and grain yield large 
 returns, and the opportunities for the ranchman 
 surpass his expectations. Toward the north is 
 one of the most notable watering places in the 
 San Juan. Hither throng year after year multi- 
 tudes of tourists, the sick, the decrepit and 
 rheumatic, all taking the medicinal waters which 
 boil up from the solid rock . To this fountain of 
 
 185 
 
IN THE? SAN JUAN 
 
 Perpetual Youth the miner repairs to invigorate 
 his system, impaired by hard work and the nerv- 
 ous tension caused by the high altitude of Sil- 
 verton and its neighboring mines. Pneumonia 
 is much feared at the mines, and when the first 
 symptoms of the dread disease appear the sick 
 miner at once seeks a low altitude and enters the 
 sisters' hospital at Durango. The miners look 
 upon the hospital as their home in time of illness, 
 and properly, too, because they liberally con- 
 tributed to its erection , and upon all occasions 
 show their good will toward it. 
 
 Some of the mines around Silverton are at an 
 elevation of 12,000 feet far above timber line, and 
 have been worked with profit for several years. 
 Silverton has always been a thrifty mining town. 
 It lies in a beautiful park and is surrounded by 
 very high mountains. It is well laid out and 
 has some large business blocks and many neat 
 cottages, and for those who can bear a dry, cold 
 climate, it is a desirable place to live in. The 
 summer and fall are delightful, and the winters, 
 though cold, are not unpleasant. It has churches 
 and schools, and as I said in a previous sketch, 
 an altar society worthy of great praise for their 
 zeal in the cause of religion. A branch of the 
 Denver & Rio Grande Railroad extends from 
 Silverton to Durango through the Las Animas 
 Canon. As there is a down grade nearly all the 
 way to Rock wood, the brakes are kept well set, 
 and the train is borne along by its own mo- 
 mentum. The scenery is varied, and generally 
 partakes of the sublime. Along the track flows 
 the Las Animas River, the bed of which is strewn 
 with immense boulders, over which the waters 
 dash in their impetuous course. Massive rocks, 
 
 186 
 
COLORADO AMONG THE STATES 
 
 weighing thousands of tons, overhang the river 
 and the track, and in some places shut out the 
 light of day. In every few miles, tributaries, 
 rushing through the sides of the canon, feed the 
 L,as Animas. At intervals along those inacces- 
 sible heights, the eye rests upon naked crags and 
 forests of pine, around which are scattered gigan- 
 tic trees lying prone on the ground. Now the 
 sight of the spectator is refreshed by patches of 
 green sward, and again by mountain flowers, 
 which lend enchantment to the view and clothe 
 the mountain with a varied hue. 
 
 What has been said of Silverton may be here 
 repeated about Rico, Ophir and Telluride. Situ- 
 ated in a spacious park, which narrows down into 
 the San Miguel valley, Telluride is a typical 
 mountain town, progressive, and having an en- 
 terprising population. Many of the modern im- 
 provements are found there, and its pretty resi- 
 dences are set off by the graceful trees which 
 grow along the streets. At some distance may 
 be seen the snow-capped peaks of Marshall Basin, 
 which contain the great mines, which have given 
 Telluride a prosperous community. 
 
 Life in the mining regions, especially in the 
 wilds of the San Juan, is little known to eastern 
 people. Indeed, even to most western people it is a 
 land of mystery, for only a few, and these princi- 
 pally miners, go there to seek their fortune. Far 
 away from the Queen City of the Plains, the cen- 
 ter of commercial life in Colorado, it attracts 
 only the energetic and the robust, who have the 
 hardihood to endure the severe cold that prevails 
 in those altitudes. Many of her mines discov- 
 ered and developed within the last fifteen years 
 may be classed among the richest in the world. 
 
 187 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 The quantity and the quality of the ore extracted 
 from those underground storehouses are such as 
 to surpass even the fabulous wealth of Croesus. 
 Let me point to the mines of Sneffles Basin, Mar- 
 shall Basin, the mines of Ophir, the Sunny Side, 
 the North Star and the Yankee Girl of the Red 
 Mountain district. The latter, I was informed, 
 produced $450,000 in the short space of four 
 months. It must not be inferred, however, that 
 nuggets of gold and chunks of silver are picked 
 up by chance on the surface of the mountains. 
 This may be true of some favored locality, but 
 most of San Juan's mines have become rich pro- 
 ducers by hard labor, an immense outlay of 
 money, and an endurance of untold hardships. 
 Nevertheless, some of the mines have been dis- 
 covered at the grass roots, and a few have made 
 fortunes in a very short time. But the locator 
 seldom realizes much from his valuable find, as, 
 generally speaking, hundreds of feet of a shaft 
 must be sunk in the solid rock before a mine 
 pays. To do this, machinery of various kinds 
 must be set up, houses erected, for the construc- 
 tion of which large trees must be cut down, and 
 often hauled up very high mountains, at an 
 enormous expense. 
 
 Those who have never seen a mine entertain 
 rather peculiar notions of its workings and gen- 
 eral appearance. The mines of the San Juan are 
 what are called fissure veins. Those veins may 
 be traced for a long distance across the country, 
 but ordinarily only in one kind of formation, 
 such as granite, trachyte, quartsite, etc. The 
 vein is found to vary in width, averaging from a 
 few inches to many feet. It is often barren on 
 the surface, or shows a little gold or silver, but 
 
 188 
 
COLORADO AMONG THE STATES 
 
 may increase in richness, as depth is gained. But 
 it may be a bonanza before even the pick or shovel 
 is used. In deep mines the shafts are neatly tim- 
 bered, to prevent the accidents that may occur 
 from the falling of loose rocks and caves. Elec- 
 tric light is used in many of the mines, rendering 
 the interior not the gloomy hole which the un- 
 initiated picture to themselves. A cage, resem- 
 bling the elevator in a hotel, brings you up and 
 down the shaft from one level to another. These 
 levels may be compared to tunnels, and are some- 
 times illuminated by electric lights. They are 
 excavated on the vein for the purpose of getting 
 out the ore with more facility and bringing it to 
 the main shaft, where it is conveyed to the sur- 
 face by the cage. Some of the machinery used in 
 these mines costs hundreds of thousands of dol- 
 lars. In most mines large volumes of water make 
 their way through the rock into the shaft, re- 
 quiring pumps of the largest capacity to keep out 
 the water and render the mines workable. The 
 number of men employed depends largely on the 
 hardness of the rock, the amount of ore, and the 
 extent of the mine's development. To cut 
 through the solid rock it is necessary to use 
 machine drills, which blacksmiths are con- 
 stantly engaged in sharpening. To sink a shaft 
 through certain kinds of rock involves a cost as 
 high as twenty dollars a foot, without taking into 
 consideration the expenditure for machinery, 
 hauling and other incidental requirements. 
 
 The average wages of miners in the San Juan 
 was three and a-half dollars, until the reduction in 
 the monetary value of silver took place. During 
 the pioneer days the wages paid the miners was 
 much higher. That the miners are a class who 
 
 189 
 
IX THE SAX JUAN 
 
 are deserving of high wages is evident to any 
 one who reflects upon the many dangers and 
 hardships to which they are subjected. The 
 miner is no time server "amid these mountains 
 old and gray." He is a freeman, and perhaps 
 enjoys a larger measure of independence than 
 most men. By sinking his shaft deeper on his 
 prospect, or lengthening the tunnel, he pays his 
 yearly taxes to Uncle Sam. 
 
 In the mining camps cabins are constructed of 
 logs of spruce or pine, hewed smooth by the keen 
 adz to fit closely, then the chinks are filled with 
 mountain mortar, which is a protection against 
 the intense cold of that region. The old fire- 
 places, similar to those which our forefathers 
 built on the frontiers half a century ago, may still 
 be seen along the streams of the San Juan falling 
 into decay. They are sad reminders of a gen- 
 eration that is passing away. If married, the 
 miner lives with his family in camps, villages 
 and cities like Durango, Silverton or Ouray. 
 Their homes are neat, and in them are found all 
 the comforts of life, comforts sometimes even 
 bordering upon luxury. He is a good liver, 
 there being nothing small or miserly in him. 
 Work and location require that he should eat 
 well. The nervous tension at such an altitude 
 has such an effect upon body and mind that the 
 best food is indispensable to supply the rapid 
 waste that is continually going on. In order to 
 blast the solid rock it is necessary to drill deep 
 holes. This is done by one man striking on the 
 drill while the other is turning it. Such work 
 demands no small amount of muscular force, 
 hence the necessity of good, substantial food. 
 Vegetables, such as radishes, onions, lettuce,. 
 
 190 
 
COLORADO AMONG THE STATES 
 
 beets and carrots, grow at an altitude of 9,000 
 feet, while potatoes and cabbage are raised at an 
 inferior altitude, or may be bought at reasonable 
 prices from the ranchmen in the valleys. 
 
 The miner is nature's student. His special de- 
 light is to examine the various rocks and discuss 
 the different formations. The geological knowl- 
 edge he displays would do credit to some of our 
 noted scientists. He is acquainted with modern 
 theories concerning the origin of the precious 
 metals. And it would seem that the lofty peaks 
 by which he is surrounded make him a man of 
 broad views and noble ideals, and as the nature 
 of his pursuit in life causes him to travel around 
 from one mining country to another, he has a prac- 
 tical knowledge of geography and an experience 
 which make him quite an interesting fellow. He 
 is possessed of a sound judgment and a critical 
 mind which place him above the average man, 
 though he may not understand formal logic; in 
 short, he is the embodiment of good nature and 
 sociability. 
 
 The Denver & Rio Grande Southern Railroad 
 has built from Telluride to Vance Junction a 
 branch, which makes connection with the main 
 line on the San Miguel River. Canon would be 
 a more appropriate name than valley, for this wide 
 chasm in the Rockies, as there is little vegetation, 
 and the ranches are few and small. Gold in fair 
 quantities has been discovered at Saw Pit and 
 close to Placerville. Some eastern syndicates put 
 up large plants of machinery, but receive small 
 returns for the vast sums invested. On either 
 side of the canon the red sandstone walls rise to 
 great heights. On the right as you go down the 
 stream is the San Miguel Plateau, rich in all that 
 
 191 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 makes a great stock country, while on the mesas 
 to the left are Gypsum Valley, Paradox Valley, 
 Basin Plateau and Island Plateau. A finer coun- 
 try could hardly be desired. The land is quite 
 level around Wright's Springs, and is irrigated 
 without difficulty. The San Miguel waters this 
 vast region, which also contains many small 
 streams, not yet named on the maps. Here the 
 deer and the elk winter and bask in the sunshine, 
 while the north wind pierces the traveler on the 
 mountains above. Grand Junction, which is on 
 the border line of this sparsely settled country, is 
 a well-known market of peaches, apples, grapes, 
 and other varieties of fruits. Even people out- 
 side the state have heard of Grand Junction Peach 
 Day, which is a yearly celebration of the wonder- 
 ful productiveness of this section of the San Juan. 
 There is a vast acreage of wheat, corn and other 
 cereals in the Grand Valley, where Grand Junc- 
 tion stands. There is not a sufficient rainfall to 
 insure regular crops, but the system of irrigation, 
 which has been introduced in recent years, is 
 complete and effective. Large farms are now 
 watered at the proper time and in a few hours. 
 The water is supplied from the main ditch, w T hich 
 is built on the highest ground and regulated by 
 headgates, which can be readily opened or shut. 
 A single acre has produced fifty bushels of wheat 
 or eighty bushels of oats. Generally, the returns 
 compare favorably with those of the best tilled 
 lands of the east. 
 
 Coming up the Gunnison River from Grand 
 Junction, the first town that greets the traveler is 
 Delta. It breaks on the eye bright and cheery 
 and drives away all the dreary impressions left 
 by the sand hills, jagged rocks and desert land 
 
 192 
 
COLORADO AMONG THE STATES 
 
 that skirts the river for many miles. At Delta 
 this gloomy canon spreads out like a fan to the 
 foothills. Here the Uncompaghre and the Gun- 
 nison form a junction, and the whole valley is 
 well settled. Many of the ranchmen are wealthy, 
 and all have comfortable homes. 
 
 In a southeasterly direction, thirty-five miles 
 from Montrose, and in the canon of the Uncom- 
 paghre, nestles Ouray, the picturesque. The 
 Uncompaghre is one of the most beautiful and 
 fertile valleys in the San Juan, and so favored by 
 nature that Uncle Sam regarded it as a good site 
 for a fort. Here Ouray, the chief of theUtes, 
 built an adobe house, where he lived in peace 
 with his charming Chipeta. The ruins of this 
 house still exist, and are pointed out to the trav- 
 eler, a memorial of a vanishing race. 
 
 Shall I describe Ouray? No. This task I will 
 leave to a poet priest, a dear friend of mine, who, 
 during a short sojourn there, was so enraptured 
 with the city and its surroundings, that he was 
 moved to sing its praise in these exquisite lines: 
 
 There's a spot among the Rockies, 
 
 In Colorado's wilds, 
 Where the breezes whisper music 
 
 And the midday sunlight smiles, 
 Where the mountains like grim wardens 
 
 Keep watch both night and day 
 Where nature's hand has placed them 
 
 The guardians of Ouray. 
 
 Do you journey thro' the canons, 
 
 Twixt high and rocky walls, 
 And listen to the murmur 
 
 Of busy waterfalls? 
 Are you seeking health or pleasure 
 
 'Mid the mountains old and gray? 
 You'll find the yearned-for treasure 
 
 In picturesque Ouray. 
 193 
 
IN THE SAN JUAN 
 
 Do nature's pictures tire 
 
 And the murmuring of the rills, 
 Do you long for something hcmelike 
 
 Amid the towering hills? 
 Seek ye a place to rest in 
 
 Where gentle calm holds sway 
 To soothe the weary spirit? 
 
 You'll find it in Ouray. 
 
 Finis. 
 
 194 
 

 
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