I Little Thought That Miserable, Broiling Day On Which I Arrived At It With Dr. And Mrs. Hughes, Of The Glories Of Which It Was The Gate, And Of The "Good Times" I Should Have.

Now I am at home in it; every one in it and along the St. Vrain Canyon addresses me

In a friendly way by name; and the newspapers, with their intolerable personality, have made me and my riding exploits so notorious, that travelers speak courteously to me when they meet me on the prairie, doubtless wishing to see what sort of monster I am! I have met nothing but civility, both of manner and speech, except that distraught pistol shot. It looked icily beautiful, the snow so pure and the sky such a bright, sharp blue! The snow was so deep and level that after a few miles I left the track, and steering for Storm Peak, rode sixteen miles over the pathless prairie without seeing man, bird, or beast - a solitude awful even in the bright sunshine. The cold, always great, became piteous. I increased the frostbite of yesterday by exposing my hand in mending the stirrup; and when the sun sank in indescribable beauty behind the mountains, and color rioted in the sky, I got off and walked the last four miles, and stole in here in the colored twilight without any one seeing me. The life of which I wrote before is scarcely less severe, though lightened by a hope of change, and this weather brings out some special severities.

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