After
That We All Sit In The Living Room, And I Settle Down To Write To
You, Or Mend My Clothes, Which Are Dropping To Pieces.
Some sit
round the table playing at eucre, the strange hunters and
prospectors lie on the floor smoking, and
Rifles are cleaned,
bullets cast, fishing flies made, fishing tackle repaired, boots
are waterproofed, part-songs are sung, and about half-past eight
I cross the crisp grass to my cabin, always expecting to find
something in it. We all wash our own clothes, and as my stock is
so small, some part of every day has to be spent at the wash tub.
Politeness and propriety always prevail in our mixed company, and
though various grades of society are represented, true democratic
equality prevails, not its counterfeit, and there is neither
forwardness on one side nor condescension on the other.
Evans left for Denver ten days ago, taking his wife and family to
the Plains for the winter, and the mirth of our party departed
with him. Edwards is somber, except when he lies on the floor in
the evening, and tells stories of his march through Georgia with
Sherman. I gave Evans a 100-dollar note to change, and asked him
to buy me a horse for my tour, and for three days we have
expected him. The mail depends on him. I have had no letters
from you for five weeks, and can hardly curb my impatience. I
ride or walk three or four miles out on the Longmount trail two
or three times a day to look for him. Others, for different
reasons, are nearly equally anxious. After dark we start at
every sound, and every time the dogs bark all the able-bodied of
us turn out en masse. "Wait for the wagon" has become a nearly
maddening joke.
October 9.
The letter and newspaper fever has seized on every one. We have
sent at last to Longmount. The evening I rode out on the
Longmount trail towards dusk, escorted by "Mountain Jim," and in
the distance we saw a wagon with four horses and a saddle horse
behind, and the driver waved a handkerchief, the concerted signal
if I were the possessor of a horse. We turned back, galloping
down the long hill as fast as two good horses could carry us, and
gave the joyful news. It was an hour before the wagon arrived,
bringing not Evans but two "campers" of suspicious aspect, who
have pitched their camp close to my cabin! You cannot imagine
what it is to be locked in by these mountain walls, and not to
know where your letters are lying. Later on, Mr. Buchan, one of
our usual inmates, returned from Denver with papers, letters for
every one but me, and much exciting news. The financial panic
has spread out West, gathering strength on its way. The Denver
banks have all suspended business. They refuse to cash their own
checks, or to allow their customers to draw a dollar, and would
not even give green-backs for my English gold!
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