Eastwards The Look Of The Scenery Was
Changing Every Moment, While The Lake For Long Remained "One
Burnished Sheet Of Living Gold," And Truckee Lay Utterly Out Of
Sight In A Hollow Filled With Lake And Cobalt.
Before long a
carnival of color began which I can only describe as delirious,
intoxicating, a hardly bearable joy, a tender anguish, an
indescribable yearning, an unearthly music, rich in love and
worship.
It lasted considerably more than an hour, and though
the road was growing very dark, and the train which was to take
me thence was fast climbing the Sierras, I could not ride faster
than a walk.
The eastward mountains, which had been grey, blushed pale pink,
the pink deepened into rose, and the rose into crimson, and then
all solidity etherealized away and became clear and pure as an
amethyst, while all the waving ranges and the broken pine-clothed
ridges below etherealized too, but into a dark rich blue, and a
strange effect of atmosphere blended the whole into one perfect
picture. It changed, deepened, reddened, melted, growing more
and more wonderful, while under the pines it was night, till,
having displayed itself for an hour, the jewelled peaks suddenly
became like those of the Sierras, wan as the face of death. Far
later the cold golden light lingered in the west, with pines in
relief against its purity, and where the rose light had glowed in
the east, a huge moon upheaved itself, and the red flicker of
forest fires luridly streaked the mountain sides near and far
off. I realized that night had come with its EERINESS, and
putting my great horse into a gallop I clung on to him till I
pulled him up in Truckee, which was at the height of its evening
revelries - fires blazing out of doors, bar-rooms and saloons
crammed, lights glaring, gaming tables thronged, fiddle and banjo
in frightful discord, and the air ringing with ribaldry and
profanity.
I. L. B.
Letter III
A Temple of Morpheus - Utah - A "God-forgotten" town - A distressed
couple - Dog villages - A temperance colony - A Colorado inn - The
bug pest - Fort Collins.
CHEYENNE, WYOMING, September 8.
Precisely at 11 P.M. the huge Pacific train, with its heavy bell
tolling, thundered up to the door of the Truckee House, and on
presenting my ticket at the double door of a "Silver Palace" car,
the slippered steward, whispering low, conducted me to my
berth - a luxurious bed three and a half feet wide, with a hair
mattress on springs, fine linen sheets, and costly California
blankets. The twenty-four inmates of the car were all invisible,
asleep behind rich curtains. It was a true Temple of Morpheus.
Profound sleep was the object to which everything was dedicated.
Four silver lamps hanging from the roof, and burning low, gave
a dreamy light. On each side of the center passage, rich rep
curtains, green and crimson, striped with gold, hung from silver
bars running near the roof, and trailed on the soft Axminster
carpet.
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