116 



Rod, Gun, and Palette in the High Rockies 



withered, the sunflowers and cat tails have seeded, the crops have 

 been carried, the fruit, red-ripe, hangs heavy on the trees, but 

 summer still lingers. 



At Ogden, the Los Angeles limited, bound east, was picked 



up on time, the 

 traveler merely walk- 

 ing across a track 

 from one train to the 

 other. 



After leaving 

 Ogden came a suc- 

 cession of fresh splen- 

 dors. Vista on vista 

 of ranges behind 

 ranges, the eastern 

 faces of the moun- 

 tains above the val- 

 ley blazing with the 

 reddening evening 

 light, the near fore- 

 ground bluely lumi- 

 nous in shadow, the 

 western shoulders 

 and crags, crowning 

 in some heaven- 

 piercing point, in 

 violet silhouette 

 against the light- 

 flooded western 

 heaven, and the far 

 off distance at the 

 end of the pass float- 

 ing in a golden haze. On the observation platform the departing 

 sojourner sat, and looked upon the parting splendor, and made 

 farewell to the mountains, with a fresh and growing thankful- 

 ness for the kindly fellowship, the appreciative care and sympa- 

 thetic friendliness of "Art" and of "Bill," whose guest the artist 

 was, whose debtor he is. 



The last glimpse 



