132 FISHING WITH THE FLY. 



tongue but once, to snake the wagon oyer an otherwise 

 impassable boulder. The rock stood a foot out of 

 ground, stretched entirely across where the road was to 

 be, and at an angle of 45°. The team could barely get a 

 foothold upon the top, when the traces were let out full, 

 and the double-tree hooked on the end of the tongue. 

 The horses understood their business, and upon a word 

 settled their shoulders into the collars together, the 

 breeching gradually lifted as their knees bent a little ; 

 without a slip their iron-shod hoofs held to the hard 

 granite, and we were up as deftly as a "French dancing 

 master would raise his hat to a lady. In travelling in 

 the hills there is nothing so gratifying as a team whose 

 pulling powers you can swear by ; a balky horse is an 

 engine of destruction or death ; if you know Tiis fail- 

 ing, shoot him before you reach the foothills. 



As the sun dropped behind the range, lighting up 

 the high peaks with his golden rays, and the pines were 

 beginning to take on tints of darker green, we reached 

 the head of the Park, and within three miles of our 

 camping ground. To the right of us " Olympus," with 

 the dying sunlight dancing on his granite head, to the 

 left Long's Peak, with patches of snow here and there, 

 towering godlike above the surrounding giants. Be- 

 fore us, Prospect Mountain with its rugged front far 

 reaching above its robes of green, while around its base 

 and toward us came leaping the beautiful mountain 

 stream for two miles through the meadow-hued park, 

 with scarce a willow upon its banks. What a place to 



