They discourage me much about the
route which Governor Hunt has projected for me.
They think that
it is impassable, owing to snow, and that another storm is
brewing.
HALL'S GULCH, November 6.
I have ridden 150 miles since I wrote last. On leaving Twin Rock
on Saturday I had a short day's ride to Colonel Kittridge's cabin
at Oil Creek, where I spent a quiet Sunday with agreeable people.
The ride was all through parks and gorges, and among pine-clothed
hills, about 9,000 feet high, with Pike's Peak always in sight.
I have developed much sagacity in finding a trail, or I should
not be able to make use of such directions as these: "Keep along
a gulch four or five miles till you get Pike's Peak on your left,
then follow some wheel-marks till you get to some timber, and
keep to the north till you come to a creek, where you'll find a
great many elk tracks; then go to your right and cross the creek
three times, then you'll see a red rock to your left," etc., etc.
The K's cabin was very small and lonely, and the life seemed a
hard grind for an educated and refined woman. There were snow
flurries after I arrived, but the first Sunday of November was as
bright and warm as June, and the atmosphere had resumed its
exquisite purity. Three peaks of Pike's Peak are seen from Oil
Creek, above the nearer hills, and by them they tell the time.
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