In the San Juan, Colorado : sketches

t

BANCROFT

LIBRARY

<•

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

i

«

'''••<i«jrT»"< - ^-' T-. --5, v

\

In the San Juan

Colorado

SKETCHES

By
REV. J. J. GIBBONS

COPYRIGHT, 1898

BY
REV. J. J. GIBBONS

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
— Youag 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 DAI/LAS 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
3

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 Lake, 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." - -

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 —

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 prgmising 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

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.
"L,and of illusions and magnificent distances/'
cries the newcomer — where the atmosphere is
so rare that to visit before breakfast the foot-

7

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. They were, to be sure,
ignorant of the true God; but their idolatry was
pure and intellectual, compared with the gross

8

THE

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 coniefrom
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 iin 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 land 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,
9

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 ?
Twenty 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-

18

IN THE SAN JUAN

perior how to discharge his duties, nothing but
confusion prevails. "But heresies must be that
the approved maybe 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 .ZEjscula-
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, the pathmaker 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 the 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

17

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, went 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
Ironton, 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 operatioil 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 from the church door,
or build afire 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 TH3 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 wre 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

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

24

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 fifty 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

26

FUNERAI, 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 honor to entertain
his caller, however poor. Should the reader ask
of what nationality such generous people were,
the answer is Americans, Irish- Americans and
Irish. 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 SAN 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 Iron ton. 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 Billy 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.

28

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 sisters.
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 THB 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 ordinar}*-
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 x 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

30

p
<
o

O

rt

o

fc
o

|

>

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 off 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 : 30 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 any 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 the heavy
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

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: 'L,et 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 conie 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

FUNKRAI, 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,
however, if her example serves as a warning to
others. The last prayers having been said, the
funeral cortege moved through the little town 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 and
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

37

IN THK 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

39

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, yes,
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 2ist of February I received from Tel-

40

FROM DAU.AS TO TEUJJRIDE

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 Sneffles 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
Sneffles. 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 would
be hurled two thousand feet below. Almost on
the apex of the range, in the Sneffles 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 1 80 men. A well-beaten trail connected
the mine with Porter's. Every 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 hardy 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

FROM DAU,AS TO

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 SnefHes' 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

44

FROM DALLAS TO

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 occurred. 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. Paddy, however, bewailed his
sad fate, keeping up the monotonous cry: "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 DAU,AS TO TKLUTRIDB

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 air line. The snow was very deep. If
the horse stepped off the well- beaten burro track,
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

47

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 DAU,AS TO TEUJJRIDE

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

49

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 TKLLURIDK

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 backed
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

trish 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, the}' spent their money
freely, and fairly made the town howl during
their all-night carousals. They turned out by
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 L,one 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

52

FROM DALLAS TO TELLURIDK

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 jointly 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
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

word of encouragement to the dying man, so I
told him to prepare for death and I adminivStered
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.

55

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 lady's
strategy, and it would take such keen students of
manners and customs as were the writers of the
Spectator 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

g

w
%

CO

I

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 tjiird 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 SnefHes, 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 nry 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-

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,

59

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 SOCIAI, 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 L, — 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 lay 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 physician 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

63

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 I, — 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 medicine man 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-

64

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 fo/£-less,
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. Long 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 REUGIOUS C3NTKR

Unaweep. 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 wa$ 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
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 RKIvIGIOUS 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 Lake, which 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 wait 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 Lake to Ophir, I came out in a little
canon, at the head of which is Ophir camp. A
stream of clear water, which 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 sympathy
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 my 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

75

IN THK 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 Gary'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 k
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

THE: SNOW TUNNEI, 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

77

IN THB 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, for I 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

82

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.
Erought 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 Sunday
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

84

THRIVING 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-

THRIVING 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 Sneffles 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 THE 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

o
o

o

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

90

THRIVING 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 the 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. Frofn 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-

92

THRIUJNG 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

94

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 and 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 THK SAN 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

THRIVING 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, wrapping it
tip 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
flght. 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 Missouriart
to the left, and, armed with a gun loaded witk
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

THRIVING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP

liogback — 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 rind-
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 SNOWSIvIDB

With rumbling tones, the mountain woke,
Tossed like a giant, shuddered, spoke,
L,ike peals of thunder in storm's wake,
When leaden clouds the lightnings break.
The calm, placid snow untrodden lay,
Gathering 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.
X/o ! 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.
99

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

THRIVING 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 da}rs' 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 THK 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 Crod." 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 ,1 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 he 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

109

IN THK 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 with 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 readily 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 happy

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
1 '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 fill 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
Europe. 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 common wealth. 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, iny 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,
1 '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
up 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, "andl'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 bray. 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 defined 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 THK 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,
I/oaded 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 gram'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,
Bats 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.

319

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

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

I

to

w

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 I^ake 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. c ' Blessed tongue that spoke the
praises of God," cried St. Bonaventure, as he
kisse4 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 THB 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 4'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
with 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
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 every-
thing that was patriotic, from * 'The Wearing of the
Creen' ' 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
young, and feed on the countless fish which
swarm in those remote reservoirs. How the fish
ever got 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 years 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

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 THK 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

128

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 allOuray
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:
4 '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 THK 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 lay,
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 SAN 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 snowy 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 Tippera^ would never
again be visited by one, whose fondest hope was
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

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, whose 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: "L,et justice be done, though the
heavens should fall." If men practised justice
more generally in their dealings with 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 many who 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

BANEFUIy 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 towTn
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 c 'wind up, ' '
as he said, the faro banks of Ouray, but lost all
his money. 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 TH3 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.
* '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

BANEFUI, 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
years 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,

144

BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE

liis share netted him $12,000. He resolved to go
back to Ireland and lead a reputable life among
liis 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 THK 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 catne 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 i yth 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, sway ing 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. L,oving 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

BANEFUI, 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: "L,et 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 young 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
were 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 Tvelcomed to her
home the wanderer. I am also pleased to have
the assurance that the old man, home again with

152

BANEFUI, 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.

£63

TENTH SKETCH

T N the winter of 1 890 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 ist 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 2 yth 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

154

TEN DAYS ON A SICK

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, which
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 you 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 Silvertcn. 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

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 L,. 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.
Me 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 owner 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, Me 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. Me 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 CAU,

liis way to meet the king, Me 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.

163

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 kindly 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,1'
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 CAU,

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 shady 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 leet 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 ta
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 ONI<Y 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 toOuray,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 they
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 ONI.Y NOBIUTY

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 circumstancev 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 Rock wood. We had a heavy load of
passengers and mail matter.

Rico was then enjoy ing 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, everyone 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 years were put in
repair and everyone had a prospect or two.
The rush had begun early in the spring, and

172

VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBIUTY

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 T ' 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 was 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
tip 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 NOBIUTY

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 THE 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

176

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 Basin, 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

178

VIRTUE, THE ONI,Y NOBIUTY

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 100 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 SAN 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. I
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 niy 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

§

o

I

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 sta tes
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
1/ewis. 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. Kach and all

Both summer droughts and chills of winter spare;

All the winter round they flourish. Some the air

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 L,as 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 I/as 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
Las 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. BANCROFT

Life in the mining regions, especially in the JJBRAR/
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

IN THE SAN 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 make§ 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, which
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 THK 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 THK 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

^P ::Aj %. >•** . -3? II

ill

m

s -V /