OUR first morning in camp found us sore, stiff, and but half refreshed after the hardships of crossing the Pass. Nevertheless, we breakfasted, saddled, packed, and got under way with alacrity, encouraged by the prospect of a restorative bath at the Hot Springs, which are said to heal all sorts of ailments, bring the hair to bald heads, and put new blood into old veins.

The trail bore away to the left of Frazer River, over gently undulating ground, still wooded; but the trees were smaller, the soil dry, and the increasing gleams of sky through the topmost boughs indicated that we were getting out of the mountains. On the way we found a geranium— pink, veined with purple; a beautiful orchid, almost identical with the cyclamen of Italy and Greece; violets; rose-colored pogonias, with a delicate, peach-blossom odor; and huge beds of a snow-white, golden-hearted star-flower. The occasional openings among the pines were natural gardens, which I regretted to see trampled upon by the hoofs of our beasts.

After riding thus for half an hour, there was an exclamation from the foremost of the party. The long, long forest was at an end; we found ourselves at the head of a superb meadow stretching westward for five or six miles; bounded on the north, first by low gray hills of fantastic shape, then by great green ascending slopes of forest, and above all, jagged ranges of rock and snow. On the south were low swells of pine and aspen, near at hand; twenty miles behind them detached spurs of mountains, conspicuous among which rose a lofty wedge-like peak. Although on the Pacific slope of the Rocky Mountains, the dividing ridge, or water-shed between the two oceans, embraced us on three sides. The main chain meanders through Colorado in a curiously tortuous course. It comes down the west side of the North Park (which is drained by the head-waters of the North Platte) ; then turns directly eastward, separating the North from the Middle Park; then southward, bounding the Middle Park (the waters of which flow to the Colorado and the Californian Gulf) on the east; then due westward, dividing the Middle from the South Park (which collects and unites the waters of the South Platte) ; and finally, after making an abrupt curve around the head-waters of the Arkansas, strikes southward toward New Mexico. The Parks form a very remarkable feature of the mountain region. They resemble, on a smaller scale, the lofty, mountain-bounded table-lands of Cashmere and Thibet. They are still but imperfectly explored, and still more imperfectly represented on the maps. I have not been able to find any minute description of their scenery, soil, amid climate; hence, every step of the present journey has been full of interest. In fact, none of the accounts of travel among the Rocky Mountains seem to me to present their individuality, as mountains, very distinctly — to discriminate between what is original, and peculiar to them, and those general features which all mountain regions possess in common. Each day, thus far, has brought me its new surprises; but I shall content myself, at present, with giving the details of the journey.

The change from the forest to this meadow was that from confinement to liberty. Our animals seemed to feel it also, and trotted forward briskly through the thick green grass. Near the head of the meadow we passed a large hay-stack and squatter’s shanty, where the horses pastured in the Park are fed during the winter. Only one man — Jones, who discovered the new pass — has attempted to establish a ranche. He has sowed sixty acres of grain on the lower part of Grand River, but White informs me that the attempt does not promise much. The average level of the Park above the sea cannot be less than eight thousand feet. Although the extreme of cold is not so great as in Denver, the winter is so long, and the summer nights so cool, that it is doubtful whether grain (except barley and oats) can be raised.

My lean mare was evidently not adequate to the task; so White, catching sight of a herd of horses and mules, near the further end of the meadow, promised me an Indian pony in exchange, and rode off in advance to drive in the herd. The animals, like those we had taken from Empire, belong to Chancy Utter, whom we had hoped to have as a companion for the journey; but he had joined the rush of gold-hunters for Bear River (a hundred miles west of the Middle Park), and had not yet returned. Mr. Beard, also, groaned over his McClellan saddle, and the gait of his mule. We both, therefore, looked forward with some impatience to the noonday halt.

After crossing a number of swift, swollen streams which came down from the left, we reached a higher and dryer part of the meadow, and the strong, juicy grass gave place to sage-bush and flowers — a plain of silver-gray, sprinkled with a myriad minute dots of color. The odor which filled the air was so exquisite as slightly to intoxicate the senses. For miles I seemed to be riding through a Turkish bazaar, and inhaling the mingled scent of cloves, sandal-wood, and attar of roses. My aches and cramps were forgotten: I swam in an atmosphere of balm, half narcotized with the rich, voluptuous delight of breathing it.

White started up a very large fox, which was cunning enough to keep out of rifle-range. We skirted the wood on the left, and left the meadow for a low, dry plateau, which was one mile-long bed of blue larkspurs and scarlet star-wort. The grazing animals had been added to our caballada, and we sped merrily along the trail, increasing the breadth and sweep of our panoramic landscapes, as we penetrated deeper into the hilly region. I exchanged my mare for a tough little yellow Indian pony, barefooted, but nimble and intelligent: after inspecting me with his nose, and apparently finding no objection, he established confidential relations at once, and has served me, thus far, with unswerving fidelity.

It was a singular country through which we rode, and I regret that I am not able to describe its geological character. Hills wooded with aspen, and narrow, grassy dells, alternated with wide sweeps of irregular table-land, treeless and bare, except for a growth of sage and larkspur. The valleys of the larger streams which thread the Middle Park were shut out from view, but the distant cincture of Alpine summits met the eye, in every direction. We rode twenty miles, — two thirds of the distance to the Hot Springs, —made a brief noon-camp beside a brook, and then pushed forward again toward a lofty range of hills which arose before us.

Gradually, all the eastern portion of the Park came into view. I readily distinguished the Berthoud Pass, as well as that at the head of Clear Creek, and could roughly measure by the eye both their elevation above the Park and the character of the approaches which they offer for a railroad. On this side of the mountains there seems to be no difficulty, except such as might arise from heavy snows during the winter. To the northeast Mr. Byers pointed out the Bowlder Pass, which rises above the timber line, but is almost bare of snow. It is practicable for wagons, but is very little travelled. An isolated chimney rock, two or three hundred feet in height, stands like a beacon on the very summit of this pass.

I can add to my own Mr. Beard’s testimony as to the originality of the Park scenery, in an artistic point of view. The features are large and broad, with outlines to some extent fantastic, yet not inharmonious. In color, gray predominates, but a gray most rare in landscape, — silvery over the sage-plains, greenish and pearly along the slopes of bunch-glass, and occasionally running into red where the soil shows through the thin vegetation. In the grand views — fifty miles in extent — from the ridge we were climbing, there were no positive tints, but the most delicate and surprising succession of broad half-tints, to which sunshine and cloud-shadows lent the loveliest effect. The brush only can describe landscapes so new in character. I found myself thinking of Central Asia, — of the regions of Kokand and Kashgar, as I imagine them to be. From this point, there were no forests, except aspen groves, on the crests of the hills; the gray undulations swept into the distance, dipping here and there into hollows of singular form, and leaning, far away, against the feet of mountain-ranges, where there was the faint green glimmer of a meadow at the foot of every snowy ravine. The flushed snows of the farther summits did not seem lofty and inaccessible, — our own elevation reduced the highest of them to less than seven thousand feet,— but their irregular character and great variety of outline gave the true background for such landscapes.

The animals occasioned us much trouble during this day’s journey. Our little black pack-mule, Peter, has a diabolical knack of shifting his load, so that the proper balance is lost, and the pack-saddle turns. On one of these occasions, while White and I were engaged in repacking, Mr. Beard rode up and offered his services. It was fortunate that we did not need them, for he afterward confessed that he had tried to dismount, and (in consequence of the previous day’s hardships) was unable to do so. I was in scarcely better plight, but had no reason to complain; I had been wishing for severe physical fatigue, and now I have it in abundance. We were obliged to drive with us an Arapahoe mare, belonging to the new herd, and a more outrageous creature never grazed. By some sort of animal magnetism, she immediately took command of all our horses and mules, and yet never lost an opportunity of biting, kicking, and driving them from the trail. The more violent her behavior toward them, the more they were fascinated with her. Her vicious eyes were always on the lookout; while we watched her all was quiet, but the moment we became absorbed in scenery or some topic of conversation, she would dash at one of the animals and break up the line of march. White confessed that she had exasperated him to such a pitch that he shot at her, and was now sorry that he missed.

Gradually climbing the hills, among beds of crimson and violet lupins, scarlet star-flowers, and many showy unknown plants, we came at last to a divide, whence the trail sloped down to the valley of Grand River at the hot Springs, now four miles distant. Mr. Byers pointed out a bluff, covered with scattering clumps of red cedar, as the objective point of our day’s journey. On our right towered a lofty ridge, thrusting out buttresses of perpendicular rock, crowned with pines; and beyond the Grand River arose a similar, but much grander and more abrupt formation. Between the two the river issued, winding away westward among green, interlocking hills, until we could only guess its gateway out of the Park among some snow-peaks, thirty or forty miles away.

The prospect of a sulphur-bath helped us over the remainder of the way, and in another hour we dismounted in a meadow on the banks of the Grand River, directly opposite to the Hot Springs. Mr. Byers looked at the stream, and meditated; White did the same thing. It was fluid ice (for coldness), forty or fifty yards wide, swift as an arrow, and evidently too deep to ford. On the opposite bank we saw a rough log-cabin, on a little knoll, and a stream of white, smoking water tumbling down a rock, ten feet high, in a smoking pool below. Forms were moving among some cotton-woods on the river bottom; their red blankets announced that they were Indians. While we were hesitating, some rheumatic eremite whom White knew, came down to the bank, and with much difficulty shouted across above the roar of the water, that it was impossible to cross; we must go eight miles higher up the river. (But eight miles on the opposite side meant fifteen on ours.) Two of us, at least, were in no mood to remount that day, and the rest of the party did not seem very enthusiastic.

It was finally decided that we should camp where we were, and those who wished to visit the Hot Springs should swim the river. White and I stripped to our shirts and drawers, mounted our animals bare-backed, and rode down to the water. While we were trying to force them in, they refusing with all their might, we were again hailed from the other side, and warned against making the attempt. A short distance below us the river entered a cañon, and became a cataract. This fact, combined with the fearful coldness and swiftness of the current, made us pause. It was no doubt well that we did so, — well that we silently turned and rode back to the camp. All I can say of the Hot Springs, therefore, is, that they gush from the earth in a stream almost large enough to turn a mill; that they make a smoking cascade, with a hot pool below; that they are said to work wonderful cures; and that two gentlemen dispute the priority of preempting them.

There we were, on the bare plain, without a tree for shelter, our only fuel the rubbish left from former camp-fires, and a black thunder-storm coming up. Turning the horses loose to drag their lariats and graze, we first kindled a fire, and then set about securing our baggage from the rain. Forming a sort of platform with fragments of wood, we placed our blankets and sacks thereon, and covered them with india-rubber cloth. Mr. Beard was at great pains to find a place for his umbrella under the water-proof; and not until the storm was over, leaving us half-soaked, did it occur to him that he might have used it! Fortunately, there was more wind and thunder than rain, and the superb indigo-gray of the mountains in shadow repaid us for the drenching. Toward evening, it became very evident that the Arapahoe mare was slyly leading our animals out of our view, in order to make off with them. White trudged away through the wet grass and brought them back; but it was necessary, moreover, to catch and picket the mare.

It was easier to decide that this should be done, than to do it. The mare was separated from the other animals, and driven into a corner of the meadow between the river and the bluffs at the entrance of the cañon. One of the gentlemen then took his stand above, while White cautiously approached with a lariat. Skill and strategy were alike in vain; with a whirl and a dash she avoided the flying noose, and shot off between her pursuers. Others went  to the rescue, and the scene soon became very exciting. All the other horses and mules left off grazing, drew near, and watched the contest with the most absorbed interest. It was perfectly evident that they understood this was to be a test of power, settling the question whether they were to be ruled by us or the mare. They were politicians on the fence, and reminded us of newspapers and individuals, who and which shall be nameless. To watch them was to me the most interesting part of the spectacle; they followed every movement of men and mare, standing knee-deep in rich grass which they never thought of cropping. It was nearly an hour before the provoking beast was finally cornered, noosed, and tied to a tree. The other animals then turned away and went to their grazing, paying not the slightest heed to her. She was nobody, now that she could no longer kick nor patronize. Then I thought of certain political leaders.

White’s rage was not yet allayed. He took a piece of sapling, and laid it heavily on the mare’s hide. Then he came back and sat down by the fire, declaring that she should have no pasture that night. Half an hour passed; the rest of the herd were luxuriating on the meadow, while the culprit, sore and hungry, hung her head dejectedly beside the tree. White arose, stole quietly away, made a picket, brought the mare down to the meadow, and fastened her in good pasture. "She looked kind o’ pitiful," he said.

We made our bed on the wet earth, expecting to be rained upon during the night; but the heavens were merciful, and we enjoyed sound and tolerably dry sleep. I experienced three distinct electric shocks, probably from the fact that I was insulated by the india-rubber cloth upon which I lay, and then touched the earth with my hand. On the snowy ranges persons are sometimes so charged, that there are sparks and crackling sounds at every movement of their bodies. Men unacquainted with the phenomenon imagine that bees have gotten into their hair and that rattlesnakes are at their heels. Many strange stories are told of the effect of the fluid, which seems to manifest itself in an eccentric but not a dangerous form.   NEXT